Dragon Ball/Z/GT Fan Fiction / Crossover With Non-anime Series Fan Fiction ❯ Remembrance ❯ Part III ( Chapter 3 )

Disclaimer:  I do not own the rights to any of the DBZ characters contained within.  The Greek Myth of Helen of Troy is public domain, so yay.   I have made no money in the making of this story, well actually that's not true.  I was at work when I wrote part of it but I made no money off of this story, it just kept me occupied for long hours.  This story also contains scenes of sex and death.  Please be mature in reading this.

A Big thank you goes out to Mia Skywalker for beta'ing this.

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::Text here.:: = Character's direct thoughts
*Text here.* = thoughts that are not coming directly from the character themselves.
 
 

Remembrance

Part III

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Crowds of people milled around anxiously in the square behind him.  But they were of no concern, only the approaching army mattered.  The defenders had withdrawn completely into the fortified city, forcing the Greeks to come to them on the Trojans' terms. It had finally happened.  The Greeks had hurled themselves against the walls of Troy for what appeared to be one final assault.

The attacking army advanced on the walls and front gate, desperately trying to gain a foothold.  Foot soldiers ran carrying scaling ladders, while the defenders rained sheets of arrows down upon them.  Those few who reached the walls were subjected to a bombardment of boulders and torches from the Trojans.  The shouts of soldiers and the clash of metal filled the air and the stench of charred flesh assailed his nostrils.  This would be the final battle between the warring nations; he could feel it in his bones.  If his army emerged victorious, then she would be his for all eternity.  Finally the suffering of his people would be eased and she could feel truly happy here with him.  Indeed, this would be a momentous day.

He pulled his eyes away from the advancing army to glance behind him.  He spotted her quickly; she was standing on the balcony off of their bedchamber, her hand raised to shield her eyes from the sun's glare.  He smiled and turned back to the battle.

He had decided to fight shoulder to shoulder with his men, joining the ranks of the archers.  He loved being in the thick of battle, it enflamed his senses and caused his blood to race.  Pikemen waited next to the archers, ready to push down the scaling ladders and assault towers.  If he had any say, the pikemen would not have to perform their duties this day.  Effortlessly, he pulled back on the string of his bow and released it.  The arrow embedded itself in the neck of a hapless Greek soldier.  He smiled grimly, pleased with his aim.  In one fluid motion, he pulled another arrow from the quiver at his side and nocked it.  He held his pose, sighting down the shaft, his head tilted slightly to one side. 

He spotted one of the Greek commanders, Achilles.  As if the Gods themselves were aiding him, he suddenly knew where the man was vulnerable.  He smirked and adjusted his aim.  Then he let the arrow fly.  It sped straight and true towards its target, Achilles' left heel.

The arrow pierced the Greek's skin, wounding him mortally.  Achilles fell. As one, the Greek army cried out in grief.  Many soldiers fled the battlefield, while others gaped senselessly at their fallen hero in shock.

The Trojans cheered wildly and Paris felt a huge surge of exultation fill him.  He had done it.  He had killed the supposedly immortal Achilles.  He turned away from the battle, seeking his wife's eyes.  He captured her gaze and gave her a triumphant smirk.

"Who?" she shouted down to him.

"Achilles," he mouthed back to her.

She smiled down at him and waved happily.  Then she gave him a fierce look as she gathered up the skirts of her chiton and raced off of the balcony.

The Trojan prince smiled smugly, certain that she was hurrying to him.  He glanced at the Greek army beneath him.  As he had expected, the majority of the troops were demoralized by Achilles' death.

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw her emerge from the doors of the palace and stand on the wide marble steps, trying to reorient herself.  Her eyes locked with his once again and she started across the crowded square toward the stairs leading up to the battlements. He wrenched his eyes away from hers, forcing himself to pay attention to the army below.

He saw a Greek officer, his face twisted with rage and grief, nock an arrow and aim it.  His mind and body froze.  He watched detachedly as the arrow flew from the fingers of the Greek and embedded in his chest with a meaty thunk.

He felt the strength leave his legs, as he slowly collapsed to the ground.  Through all of the cacophony of the battle, he heard her scream his name.  And he wished to all of the Gods of Olympus that he could spare her the agony of watching him die.

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He shook his head.  Somehow he had drifted off while in the shower.  He had remembered or dreamed about some other life, he wasn't sure which. It was too clear to be a dream and to surreal to be a memory.  Almost absentmindedly, he reached his hand up to his chest; half expecting to see an arrow embedded there.

And the woman, she was magnificent.  There was no other word for it. He remembered snatches of their life together, of them making love, while surrounded by a besieged city.

He shook his head again to clear it.  He was the Prince of All Saiyajins; he had better things to do than dream about some warrior and his mate.  He snorted ::Next, I'll be seeking out that annoying woman and claiming her as my mate.  Bah!  I need to focus more. My training is what is important.::

But he couldn't get his mind off the woman, both of them.  He kept comparing them in his mind and noting the similarities.  He conceded that both the dream woman and Bulma were beautiful, like it mattered. Beauty was a luxury among his race.  

Besides, Bulma's beauty did nothing to hide that annoying and exciting personality.  They were both strong-willed, although his woman was more stubborn and spoiled.  Both were intelligent, but, he thought to himself, that other woman, Helen, had nothing that could rival the genius that resided in his Bulma.

He paused in his thoughts, reflecting on them.  His eyes widened slowly with dawning realization.  His thoughts were betraying him.  He had been thinking of that woman as "his," as if she were his prospective mate.

*Isn't she, Vegeta?*

He didn't want a mate; they were only a distraction and a burden.  A mate would keep him from realizing his true potential, that of the True Legendary Super Saiyajin.  And if he took that woman as a mate, she would most likely hound him until he went insane.  Still, she did excite him with her courage and audacity.

*Maybe you should seek her out.*

The thought threaded through his musings to come to the forefront of his mind.  But he disregarded them as the foolish meanderings of his lonely heart.

*She could ease your loneliness.*

He shook his head sadly.  ::No one can ease that.  I am the last of my race.  Not even Kakarot or his brat is a true Saiyajin.  No, all I have left is my honor.  And my honor demands that I defeat Kakarot and become the strongest being in the universe.::

He leaned his head against the shower tiles, letting the hot water cascade over him.  He needed to focus.  He needed to figure out how to achieve the power of the Super Saiyajin.

Turning off the water, he stepped out of the shower.  He was intent on beginning the next phase of his grueling training regimen today.

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