Dragon Ball/Z/GT Fan Fiction / Crossover With Non-anime Series Fan Fiction ❯ Remembrance ❯ Part IV ( Chapter 4 )

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.

~*~

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

Remembrance

Part IV

~~~~****~~~~

It was over.

Through deception and deceit the Greeks had won.

Hidden in the bowels of the large wooden horse given to the Trojans as a gift hid several Greek soldiers.  When night fell, they crept from their hiding place, ambushed the gate guards, and let the waiting Greek army into the sleeping city. 

The surprise was total. 

The Trojans, suspecting nothing, put up little defense.  And the Greeks, still enraged by the recent death of Achilles, showed no mercy.  Women, children, young and old alike were slaughtered heartlessly.

She had awakened from her fitful slumber when the door to her bedchamber burst open.  Framed in the doorway stood Meneleaus, her first husband.  The short sword clenched in his hand dripped with blood.  Stepping over the bloodied body of her serving woman, the Spartan King strode purposefully across the room to her.

“You are finally mine once again!” he growled as he grabbed her chin and roughly kissed her.

She recoiled from the kiss.  Placing her hands on his chest, she pushed away from him while turning her head to one side.

A confused expression crossed his face as he pulled back from her.  Taking her chin between his thumb and forefinger, he tilted it up so he could look at her better.

She glared at him icily.  Slowly, he traced the dried tracks of tears down her pale cheeks.  Tilting her head to the left, he traced the hollows in her throat.  Carefully he turned her head back to face him.

“What has happened here?  Has that disgusting Trojan harmed you?” he asked harshly.

She reached up and removed her chin from his grasp.  Her expression remained unchanged, her unusual blue eyes snapping in anger.

“What has happened here?” she echoed softly looking down at her thin hands.  She sighed once sadly, then met Meneleaus' dark gaze.  “You happened here.  You were so full of pride that you couldn't let me go, could you?  You couldn't accept that I didn't want you anymore.  No!  You had to go and embroil two nations in war for over ten years.  And what have you accomplished?  Nothing.”  She drew a breath and continued in a hard voice, ignoring the hurt expression on his face.  “No, `that disgusting Trojan' did not harm me!  He cared for me.  He respected me, not just my beauty.  He loved me.  And I loved him.”  She paused looking down at her hands once again.  She studied her fingers and palms balling them into little fists.  “Now . . . Now, he is dead.  As is my heart,” she said with a catch in her voice.

“You loved him?” he asked bewildered at her outburst.

She nodded, unwilling to trust her voice.

“But why?  You were my wife and I cherished you.  I gave you everything you ever asked for,” he said softly looking to her for an answer. 

She remained mute, staring down at her tightly clenched fists. 

He grabbed her chin once more and forced her to look at him.  “You are still my wife,” he hissed, “and I mean to have you, all of you!”

She smiled sardonically.  “You can't have what isn't there,” she pointed out coldly.  “You're welcome to what little is left, though.  I don't care anymore.”

He stared down at her, trying to figure out her words.  He shook his head and lifted her out of the bed.  He set her on her feet.  When she made no move to clothe herself, the Spartan king picked up a discarded white chiton and carefully pinned it on her shoulders.  He then wrapped a thin gold belt about her waist.    He stepped back; she hardly looked like a queen.  She resembled a lost waif more with her midnight blue hair falling disheveled about her shoulders and her ill-fitting garments.

“Come, wife, we have a long journey home,” he stated softly.

She turned her eyes to regard him sadly.  She knew he still loved her in his fashion.  But she no longer had any feeling for him.  She had been angry with him at first; now she realized her anger would do no good.  It wouldn't bring Paris back, and that was all she desired now. 

Meneleaus still thought of her as the young girl that she had been all those years ago.  The young girl who had laughed gaily and longed for nothing more than a new bauble or trinket. 

But that girl had been gone long before Helen had fled with Paris.  She had grown up. She had grown up into a woman who had been forced to learn to govern a nation while her husband was away.  She had grown up into a woman who discovered that she had intelligence as well as beauty.  She had grown up into a woman who realized that the palace she lived in was little more than a cleverly glided cage.  She had grown up into a woman who longed for freedom.

“Yes, yes it is a long journey home,” she replied in a contemplative voice, but her mind was not on Sparta.

Meneleaus offered her his arm, and she took it gently, letting him lead her out into the conquered city.  She saw the dead staring at her with sightless accusatory eyes.  She heard the screams of women as they were brutally violated by the victorious Greeks.  She smelled the stench of burning wood mixed with that of charred flesh. 

The city that Paris had loved so much was destroyed; his people murdered or enslaved.  She felt tears prick her eyes, but she ruthlessly suppressed them.  She had spent all of her tears when Paris died.

Now, now she would simply wait until death claimed her body so that she could rejoin her soul.

~~~~****~~~~

It happened again.  Three times in less than twenty-four hours she had drifted off into that dream world of Greeks and Trojans.   She put her fists to her head, fighting the urge to scream.  It was so frustrating.  The dreams were so vivid, so disturbing that she was beginning worry that she might be unbalanced. She had even done research to see who the Greeks and Trojans were and found that they were not a race that had ever populated this planet.

Then why did the whole thing feel so real if it was only a made up fantasy?

What should she do?  Then, unbidden, a voice drifted through her head.

*Find him.*

She straightened up abruptly, looking around her.  There was no one in her lab with her and the air was filled with the hum of machinery.    Find him, the voice said.  Find who, she wondered.

*Find your soul.*

The voice once again intruded her thought.  She pushed herself backwards and stood up, placing her hands on her hips.  “Oh, that's great advice!  Find my soul!  Who in the hell is . . .” her voice trailed off.  She knew.  She knew whose soul completed hers.

“Oh hell, it's him,” she whispered.  No one else fit the profile, no one else made her feel so alive.  The fight this morning proved that.  One half of her wanted to kill him; the other half wanted to pounce on him and start licking the coffee from his skin.   He stirred desires in her that she had never experienced with Yamcha or any of the other men she dated.

“Ok, I've found him.  Now what?”  she mused.

*Love him.*

Great, now she was getting romantic advice from the voices in her head.  Love him.  What kind of advice is that?

*Do you need me to draw you pictures?*

The voice in her mind sounded amused as little flashes of lovers entwined invaded her thoughts.

“Stop that!” she snapped, stomping her foot on the ground.  She felt rather than heard the voice trill a little laugh.

She sat back down in her lab chair, leaning back in it heavily.  If she were being honest with herself, she admitted ruefully, the thought of making love to Vegeta didn't bother her; it excited her.

Tomorrow.  Tomorrow she would end these dreams.

*Why wait?*

“Because I need to build up my courage.  In case you haven't noticed, he's not the most approachable of men,” she shouted at the mysterious voice in her head. “Oh great, now these dreams have me talking with random voices. I must be going insane.”

The voice laughed again.

~~~~***~~~~