Achilles returned to the greek camp as he gripped hold of his new war prize another girl for him to bore with his stories, abuse in his anger, torment with his pride. He thought it was something to be laughed at to celebrate with wine and song, that he had butchered a son at his father's altar and left the pride of Troy to bleed out across Apollo's marble floors. He feared nothing. "They will not touch me." He said. "No god would dare harm Aristos Achaion." No god would dare, but a father.