Title: Path to Glory

Summary: She was in love with Destruction. Oneshot.

Rating: K+

Disclaimer: I do not own Troy, and have no affiliation with Warner Brothers nor Wolfgang Peterson. Furthermore, I am not Ingrid Michaelson, and the lyrics for 'Lady in Spain' are the sole property of she and her respective record label.

"I am in love with a boy, manufactured to destroy."

-Lady in Spain, Ingrid Michaelson

"Don't disturb her, Achilles."

The voice was firm, absolute. She could hear it from her place on the beach, though she made no effort to let them know. Achilles made a grunting sound. The woman heard the brush of sandals against the sand and Achilles' powerful strides stop once more.

"Let her pray."

"She's my war prize, and she will not pray if I do not wish her to."

Stiffening, she closed her eyes more tightly.

"Give her a few minutes of solitude. She deserves it, having lost so much."

"And what have those Gods ever done for her?" Achilles challenged, his tone growing louder. She opened her eyes slowly, still going through the motions of prayer. Glancing quickly behind her shoulder, she witnessed Achilles shoving Odysseus aside, walking towards her. Ignoring him, but her heart beating faster, she picked up a sharp rock and brought it to the crook of her elbow.

"Briseis," he breathed, softly.

Without acknowledging him, she pierced her skin and let the blood pool into a small crevice in the sand.

"Do you believe that Apollo is so masochistic that they wish a beautiful woman to harm herself?"

"Sometimes sacrifice is the only thing that sates the Gods' thirst," Briseis murmurs.

"Bloodshed," he says, slowly, awkwardly, "should not occur unless necessary."

She pauses, lips stopped in mid prayer as she processes his words. The sentence seems foreign on his tongue.

"You would do better to worship a harmless God. Aphrodite, for instance."

She stands up and faces him, studying his face intently, "The Goddess of love is perhaps the most bloodthirsty of all. Look around you. Has she not caused all this?"

"This proves my argument. We could do without them," he stated harshly.

"Shh," she whispered, "They hear you."


"Briseis," he whispered, as they lay together at night.

"Yes," she breathed back, indicating that she is awake.

"My end is here. Here in Troy."

"I know."

His arms tighten around her, searching for security.

"I had chosen glory over life. I was made to kill men. And...that's all I'll ever be able to do. I know nothing more."

She turned around in his embrace to face him.

"I know."

He took in a deep breath, catching in his throat.

"I am... afraid."

She said nothing but cupped his face in her hands, running her fingers over the smooth architecture of his features. She wished that he'd stop. Such talks were making her sick.

"It's cruel how the Gods mock us. They make an irony of our lives. I was destined to be glorified, something that I thought to be a blessing. I found something else on this path to glory, and now I wish I could stay here."

She took in a deep breath, and nestled her head into the crook of his neck. He continued monotonously, as if uttering these words not to her, but to some other unknown entity.

"I've decided. It's a blessing, this Glory. Without it I could not have meet you. But, Briseis, I don't think you realize the worst of it. I want to stop, stop this war, stop killing. But," he stilled, "I can't."

She kissed his shoulder, "Quiet, don't hurt yourself this way."

"I cannot stop, Briseis. I am cursed and blessed, am I not?" he laughed, mockingly.

"Yes," she murmured, as he stroked her long, brown hair, "And I would not have it any other way. No regrets, agápe."


"None at all."


A/N: A review would be appreciated.