No One But You

Chapter Eight : Nowhere To Run

A/N : That ass though lol

Where can you run to escape from yourself?
Where you gonna go?'

Switchfoot, 'I Dare You To Move'

Briseis walked through the palace gardens, her head held high, her heart burning with fresh resolve. She did not need him, nor did she want him. He was gone: no longer a part of her life, and it was now up to her to forget him and move on.

She knew, deep down, that she was ruined, and she thought that she had come to terms with it. She would never marry, for what man would want a woman soiled by Greek flesh? She would never bear children, and equally she could never return to the temple. The latter was not such a great sacrifice, for, Briseis thought, how could she pay homage to the Gods that had cursed her so? A dry, disconnected part of her mind pointed out that before, she would never had dared to even think such disrespectful things of the Gods, but Briseis found that she no longer cared. They had cursed her already. How much worse could it truly get?

And, as she realised this, a huge weight that she did not even know she was carrying, rose from Briseis' chest, and she suddenly she felt light and free. She almost laughed out loud as she padded through the dewy grass on bare feet, her gown trailing on the ground behind her and soaking up the water on the grass.

And then she came around the corner and saw Andromache. The thin woman was sitting on a stone bench, her body curled forwards and her back shaking as she was wracked by silent sobs. She had her back to Briseis, but sensed her presence and whirled around, angry at the intrusion on her grief.

Briseis paused, uncertain as to what to do or say, and as her eyes met those of Andromache, Briseis flinched as the force of the hatred in those eyes hit her.

She knew. That thought took over and dominated Briseis' mind so that nothing else could break through to calm her sudden terror. Somehow, the grieving Princess knew that Achilles had been with her that night. Briseis stood, frozen, as Andromache walked slowly and deliberately towards her. The red-eyed woman paused a pace from Briseis, her face full of loathing and contempt.

"Whore," she said softly and cruelly, slapping Briseis hard around the face before walking past and leaving Briseis alone in the garden.

It was some time before Briseis found that she could move again. The slap itself had not really hurt her: she had known much worse pain in the hands of the Greek soldiers before Achilles had saved her, but that one word had penetrated to her very soul and caused her more harm than any beating she would ever endure.

Briseis wanted to turn around, to scream at the retreating form of Andromache that she was not a whore, but she found that she could not do it. She could not blame Andromache for hating her, neither could she find it in herself to deny the malicious label that she had given her.

Something in Briseis died then. Perhaps it was because only a few short minutes earlier she had been so content, but whatever it was, it killed Briseis. She moved out of the garden, he eyes dead, her footsteps heavy and her head bowed, filled with shame.

It was as she was walking towards the arched doorway that led from the gardens to inside the palace that Briseis suddenly remembered something. She was not the only outcast priestess in the city. She wondered dumbly why she had never thought of her before: Cassandra. The poor, mad priestess who floated around the palace like a ghost. People turned away as she passed, and closed their ears to her ramblings. But if there was anyone in Troy that she could actually talk to, it would be Cassandra.

So Briseis moved out of the palace gardens and through the stone hallways, her feet, still damp from the dew, leaving a trail of footprints on the floor. She wondered dimly why she was going to see the mad priestess. She had usually been afraid of her, and had done all she could to stay away from her, but now she was somehow drawn to the lonely girl who people avoided, as if she knew that Cassandra would understand.