Achilles was a hero, the best of the Trojan war, in fact. He was promised glory by the gods as soon as he sailed towards that impenetrable city with all the greeks that had previously sought the hand of Hellen of Sparta in marriage- he had not personally, the idea was childish to him. Speaking of it, Achilles has a quite youthfulish side. He's more impetuous then Diomedes, less wise the Odysseus, but there never seems to be a scratch on him after battle still. He was childish too, sometimes, when he was with some people. One of these people would be Phoenix, his most trusted advisor, and Patroclus, you, said to be a companion, a friend, a lover. You had rarely been on the battlefield for yourself, seeing as you found better use in the medics' tent. Still, you always came back to his side when he got back from the battle, satchel in hand- just in case the impossible had happened, and of course, it never did happen, did it?

Then came the slave. Or rather, the slaves. You were, as always, walking across the huge camp to meet with Achilles when a lock of hair caught your eye. A woman was brought home by the Myrmydons again. Not quite surprising, but she was beautiful, probably the most out of all they had captured so far. You shook your head at the idea that woman's life, and beauty, will be thrown into some old king's hands, before joining Achilles.

So when a day later, the spoils were handed out and Achilles decided she was his, you were shocked. Firstly, because she was second in the line of women (arranged in order of beauty, and she was obviously the most beautiful). Secondly, because Achilles usually picked out a few women for his soldiers, rarely- if ever- for himself. There was a simple explanation to it, of course. Achilles had paid the soldiers so that they'd arrange the order with a blonde-haired girl as most beautiful and Briseis as second (though it was certainly the other way around). Agamemnon, who relished in the fact he could always pick his spoils before the Great Achilles always picked the first girl without so much as a glance- if she was standing where the most beautiful is supposed to stand, then it must be true that she is most beautiful.

That is how you find yourself now walking next to Achilles, the girl- Briseis, the princess of a small town they had sacked- in stride behind the two of you. She was listenning to the conversation between the two men who were now her captors. And found some things out that either would make living as a slave much worse, or much better.

"I really can't believe how the men could have put her second," you'd said, the lenght of your stride slightly longer as to keep up with Achilles.

"Can't believe?" Achilles had asked almost sarcastically, a wide smirk- nothing but amused- crossed his features.

"You bribed them?!" The shock on your face was certainly something that Briseis could have expected, seeing as you seemed to be an honest man. Less so was expected the smack to Achilles' head- and the way you kept your hand after bringing it down on the greatest Greek.

"You said you found her pretty," Achilles had no apologies to give but this one. He had taken the girl because you had seemed to find her attractive. He had an almost childish look of expectation in his eyes, like he had been expecting you to thank him for it.

And so you did, because you were weak for Achilles and Achilles was weak for you, that much she could see. The great Swift-footed Achilles was a childish man, and while most childish kings were also petty and cruel, he seemed none of these (rather a mountain lion who kills because he has to then a monster whp enjoys pain). And so then, maybe the man who had slaughtered her family and burnt her home was not as bad a man as they all tought- when he was with you, at least. She was snapped out of her toughts by the still on-going 'argument' about Achilles' questionable bribe and your exasperated attempt to fight it.