Titania of Troy

Chapter 11

As Apollo took to the sky with his chariot the next morning the Greek ships set sail for Troy, which would adorn the horizon by mid-morning tomorrow. Titania could hardly wait, despite the war she knew was coming. It would bring her peace to be on familiar soil.

Her old chiton, gifted to her by Iphigeneia, had been tossed into the Myrmidon fires the previous night. All of them were particularly angry at Agamemnon's exploits. Menesthius and Eudorus had launched into a fiery speech proclaiming her honour, before drinking ceremoniously to their commander who had saved their favourite singer. Titania's heart was warmed by their care, a thought that surprised her. They were her captors. Her tormentors. Although, she realised now, that the Myrmidons wanted this just as little as she did. Achilles was determined to make a name for himself, but she caught him staring at the oceans every now and then. The home of his mother.

She now wore a long cotton shirt that had belonged to Menesthius (who swore he hadn't worn it yet). It came to above her knees, and left her feeling exposed amongst all these men. She doubted they would be as bold as Agamemnon, but her experience with the king had left her paranoid.

Even the seas started to look familiar. Her hands, no longer bound, rested peacefully on the railing as she watched the waves. The blue was slowly becoming the familiar turquoise that surrounded Trojan shores. It wouldn't be long now.

The harsh clang of a sword clattering the ground woke her from her trance. Achilles watched her curiously, gesturing to the sword, "Let's train."

Titania let out a surprised scoff, "Train? I think you're forgetting that I'm supposed to be your prisoner."

Achilles chuckled. Titania realised with a start how comfortable they had grown around each other, especially after the events of the previous day, "You're the only one on this boat who can properly use it, and I need a good swing."

The men around them jeered at Achilles for his insult, but gathered nonetheless to watch them. Their last fight had been rather entertaining for them, she recalled. She'd almost defeated him then, but she doubted she would come as close ever again. He had underestimated her, but now he knew her skills too well. Despite the threat of a hard loss, she picked up the blade. She needed a good sweat just as much as he did.

Feeling arrogant with a blade in her hands, she twirled it in her fingers jokingly before facing him. The weapon gave her peace, and confidence. This was something she could do.

After testing its balance she gave him a cocky wink, "Your move, Heracles."

Achilles raised an eyebrow at the name. The comparison to the mighty hero certainly fuelled his ego, and he took a swing at her right side. Titania blocked it easily and instead dropped down to swing her foot at his legs. Achilles saw it coming and leapt over her feet, instead raising his sword high and going straight down for her head. She dodged and swiped at his arm. He blocked and swung at her face. So the two continued to dance, neither relinquishing to the other. Titania laughed as she swung around again, Achilles copying her joy as he blocked her onslaught.

She realised in that moment how similar they were. They were both tied up in immortal families and important wars they wanted no part of. Achilles was obsessed with a glorious death, just as she was obsessed with earning her place in leading Troy. They wanted to be remembered. They wanted glory. They both wanted it with a weapon at hand, not by politics or social power.

Distracted by her thoughts, the warrior disarmed her and pointed his blade at her throat – her scar from Patroclus the perfect target. She grinned and nodded, accepting her defeat. If she had to lose to someone, the undefeated warrior of Greece was a worthy opponent. The fact that he had been bathed in the River Styx would always act against her.