A/N: FOR THOSE OF YOU WHO DON'T KNOW, THE ROUGH TRANSLATION OF EXCIDIUM TROIAE IS ''OUT OF TROY'' SO I GUESS THAT SHOULD TELL YOU HOW THIS ENDS, SHOULDN'T IT?

PERSEUS ran a frustrated hand through his hair, trying to shut out the loudness of the council room. His head hurt, and he could swear someone had amplified all the voices in Priam's audience chamber. He sat at attention next to his brother Aeneas, his other hand clenching and unclenching around the spear he held. Beside him, the son of Aphrodite looked equally miffed at the proceedings, which had been going on endlessly for what seemed like hours.

The immortal demigod cleared his throat amidst the shouting. There was no sign that anyone had heard.

He pounded the spear into the ground. This time, the audience chamber was silenced. Perseus looked them over—all the kings and allies from the territories surrounding Troy, all the royals and courtiers in Priam's service, the Amazon leaders and the Ethiopians, and then lastly, all the many sons of the King, still dressed for battle, still bouncing with anxiety, as though the Achaeans were going to burst through their gates any minute.

"I think we should burn it," His voice boomed through the chamber, the intensity carrying his words to the farthest corners. "I destroyed the Greek camp. Why not finish the job?"

"I agree," Aeneas backed him up almost instantly, leaning forward in the seat. "We must wipe away every remnant of their influence from our island. From our city."

"The Greeks are gone," one of Priam's courtiers, Polydamas, argued. The soldier Sinon admitted as much. The soldiers mutinied and left."

"He's right," one of the Amazons piped. From our understanding, it's not something they have not done before—or tried to."

"This time, there was no Achilles to stop them," Another courtier spoke. Perseus was getting quite annoyed. Priam's court officials hadn't been with them on the battlefield. They didn't know the Greek host like he did. After everything they had gone through to bring Troy down—after a decade and more of fighting and being away from their home, he didn't believe they would just up and leave without finishing the job, much less leave behind a present. And he found it quite suspicious that they had left a soldier behind to tell them all this.

Perseus' voice was hard and brutal as he said, "The Achaeans have been fighting us for ten years. They've killed our sons, our brothers and our fathers. They've taken almost every surrounding territory, which is why most of you are even here in the first place. Athena had stood solidly behind them for these years, pushing us against our walls, using trickery and cunning to support Odysseus and fulfil prophecies which signal our doom. They just brought in the son of their most prized fighter hoping he can take us down. Do you really believe they would just leave us with gifts?"

His voice was condescending. He hated that this was even an ongoing discussion. How foolish could they be? How stupid were these men and women?

"He speaks true," Deiphobus supported from his spot beside Priam. "The final decision rests on your shoulders, father. But Perseus is right. I think we are all too anxious and weary for this war to be over, and so we are jumping to accept this happenstance even though it seems so good to be true."

"Exactly," Aeneas was scowling. "Something smells fishy here—no offence to my brother—but I vote for destroying that stupid wood carving." Perseus snorted.

He turned to gaze at the King. Priam looked...haunted, and the son of Anchises supposed that Deiphobus was right. The king had seen much carnage, and everyone was just eager for this to end. They had scouted the whole Island, and there had been no sign of the Greeks apart from the soldier Sinon, whom they had left behind. The horse still stood on their shores, menacing and beautiful, hauntingly looking upon their city walls. It was taking everything within him to restrain himself and not call a gigantic wave to rip the 'gift' to shreds.

One of Priam's sons bared his teeth from the other side of the room. "This is madness. This horse is a symbol of our victory. Can't you see? We won. We chased them away. They rebelled against their leaders and if Odysseus and his band of merry kings did not want to be left behind with no army, they would have had no choice but to go along without a fight."

"Right," An older Ethiopian, Memnon's second, said, "The horse is a trophy. It shows the end of this long and arduous war. I call to bring it into the city."

"It's a trick," Antaneira pounded her spear into the ground, "Every man worth his salt can see that. It's suspicious, and we know the Greeks for their cunning and deceit. This horse doesn't get built in a day. To construct something this big they had to have been planning it for months. This is no simple mutiny."

Perseus was about to chip in when another voice, another prince, Gorgythion, popped, "It could be a gift from the gods. Maybe Athena? It is far too intricate and magnificent to have been crafted by human hands."

"Right," He said dryly, one green eye locking on the offending prince, "Because the goddess who has been trying to murder us for a decade will just up and deliver a package for us to decorate our ballroom with."

The son of Priam shrugged, "I'm just saying, if this really is a gift from the gods, refusing it would be disrespectful and blasphemous, and we'd be invoking Athena's wrath. We'll be screwed either way."

Aeneas scoffed loudly. One of the advisors, Priam's distant cousin, cut in, his voice harsh and loud, "I must disagree, my King. The sudden disappearance of the Achaeans from the battlefield with no clear reason could be a tactical manoeuvre. The horse might be part of a larger ploy we know nothing of."

At this, were was a burst of voices, and Perseus groaned to himself, burying his head in his hands. Could these people be more daft? It was not arguing that had kept them alive for this long. It was action and beating back every threat to their lives with intelligence, ferociousness and a sprinkle of godly interference. They were shouting, each of them trying desperately to be heard over the others and Priam was looking around at his court, confused, old and torn.

"Perhaps the gods have shifted their favour onto us!" One priest yelled. "Is that so hard to believe? To accept the horse would mean aligning with divine will, and securing further support from Olympus."

"No!" Deiphobus banged his fist on the armrest of his throne. "This horse may be divine, but I still call trickery. It's a ruse, to get us to believe they have left and strike back at us when we lower our guard. It's a plan worthy of the wisdom goddess herself, and we know who she backs in this endeavour. We cannot fall for Achaean deception!"

"Maybe it is a test," Priam's brother spoke up from where he lounged down the row, "There have been tales and myths in which the gods deceive we mortals to create a precedent for suspicion. The horse might be a manifestation of divine guile to test us for hubris...if we are too proud to accept a symbol of surrender from the Grecian devils, they could punish us for it."

"No," Aeneas boomed, "There is no one closer to the gods than my brother Perseus. If he says we should destroy it, then I think you should be listening."

He glanced back at his brother with a nod of appreciation. Aeneas pursed his lips and nodded back before turning to face Priam, "Given the long siege and the various strategies employed by the Achaeans, thorough examination and outright rejection of foreign objects would be a more prudent approach to ensuring the city's safety. We take everything with a grain of salt. We are careful. It's how we've survived this long."

Perseus picked up from where he left off, trying not to let his anger bleed through his words, "The horse is silent. Its appearance after years of fighting and the coinciding vanishing of the enemy could signal a supernatural setup. Such abrupt changes in war scenarios are historically marked by divine interventions. Selene and Apollo said to trust nothing, and I think this is what they meant. Jove might have banned interference days before, but with something of this magnitude, it's been going on for months and so yes, I would definitely say this counts as meddling."

"Or, bringing the horse into the city and dedicating it to Athena could be an act of appeasement—" It was Achates' father, draped in gold and dripping in jewellery, "We can honour the goddess and gain her protection or blessings for the future."

They weren't listening. Perseus bit his lip, trying not to let his frustration show. No matter what arguments he brought up, they wouldn't listen. Because he was just the Polemarchos—his place wasn't in court. He held no sway here, and neither did Priam's sons or any of the other war generals pushing against this. The old men who sent them to the slaughterhouse outside their gates each morning were holding the reins of this meeting.

"I agree," another official said, voice hoarse, "Who says this is from the Achaeans anyway? Perseus himself destroyed the camp with the powers of the earthshaker. What, apart from a gift from the other gods, could survive that? Perhaps this is a token of the gods' pronouncement that the war should end. After endless conflict, a miraculous gift could be the gods' way of endorsing peace."

Memnon, from his honourary seat a few feet away, cleared his throat, "I would not pretend to understand your customs in this foreign land. But doesn't a gift of this magnitude require proper rituals and examinations as per divine expectation? Rushing to accept the horse without due rituals might displease the gods. Personally, I think it must be destroyed."

"Bringing the horse within the city walls would symbolically demonstrate our strength and show confidence in our victory," another argued, "I think this war has made us warier than we should be. We should show confidence in our victory. Mock the retreating enemy."

"Agreed," Another official, Antenor, spoke. "The populace is growing war-weary. Longing for a sign of peace and triumph. Accepting the horse could placate and unify the citizens in a moment of communal celebration. I say we bring it in." The majestic hall, adorned with tapestries, now hummed with discussions and angry voices, fluctuating between cautious curiosity and angry resistance.

"No—" Deiphobus' younger brother, Pammon, was about to speak when a loud bang sounded through the room. Perseus jerked in his seat.

The heavy bronze doors burst open. The force of the entry startled the gathered nobles, and all eyes turned toward the figure at the entrance. Perseus felt something constrict in his chest. It was Cassandra, the prophetess and daughter of Priam, her appearance dishevelled and her expression wild—a usual look for the cursed princess. Her once beautiful features, now shadowed by the weight of unheeded visions, conveyed the urgency of her motions as she stumbled into the audience chamber. He stood.

"Stop!" she cried, her voice echoing through the hall with a haunting resonance. Her eyes, full of turmoil, darted around the room, locking onto the faces of those who had gathered. Perseus heard Aeneas swear. Murmurs broke out in the room. In everyone's mind's eye, she saw only doom and devastation, her clairvoyant gift a relentless curse. They were wondering how the Mad girl had escaped the confines of her quarters. Perseus scowled.

"The horse—it is no gift from the gods!" Cassandra's voice trembled with desperation. Her hair, once neatly braided many, many years back, now hung in tangled locks, and her garments were in disarray as if she had torn at them in her endless torment. "It holds our death in it! The Achaeans have not fled; they are here, hidden, waiting to strike!"

The courtiers exchanged uneasy glances, their expressions a mixture of pity, scepticism, and discomfort. A few laughs. Perseus frowned. For years, they had grown accustomed to Cassandra's dark prophecies, her words always true yet forever disregarded, a cruel joke from Apollo who cursed her with foresight that no one would believe—except him. He was the only one who believed Cassandra, because he knew what had happened to her. But no one would listen.

A bitter taste entered his mouth. She was saying the Greeks were still around. Still in hiding.

"She is mad," whispered one advisor to another.

"Always seeing shadows where there are none."

Perseus cringed.

King Priam, his face lined with the agony of war and the sorrow of fatherhood, raised his hand to silence the murmurs. "Cassandra," he said gently, though the weight of his weariness was evident, "you must rest. Your mind is troubled by the wrath of the gods."

"Father, no!" Cassandra pleaded, stepping closer. Her eyes, wide with a frantic intensity, pleaded with those around her. "I see it all so clearly—the flames, the blood, the screams. They will butcher us in our sleep if we bring that cursed horse within our walls."

He felt a cold fear enrapture him. Perseus glanced around. Surely they would listen to reason. There was no logic behind the horse. She spoke true—it would be their end if he allowed them to bring it in.

But her words fell on deaf ears, her visions dismissed as the ravings of a mind fractured by divine cruelty. He could see it, in each face his eye skittered across. The court turned away from her, their decision seemingly set as they resumed their deliberations, speaking of victory and divine favour, or destruction and burning the 'gift.'

Cassandra's shoulders slumped as the bitterness of despair settled over her. She looked around the room one last time, and Perseus swore he could see her heart breaking anew. Her eyes met his. They pooled with tears, and Perseus made to step forward, but then she whirled around, and with a final, anguished cry, fled from the court, her haunting warnings lingering in the air like an unacknowledged omen.

He felt anger filter into him then—these madmen, trying to justify this abrupt victory, trying so hard to be right, just because they were afraid. He knew Apollo's curse would solidify their resolve—once Cassandra had prophecied it, none would believe her. They would do the exact opposite, and bring ruin to them all.

"Enough!" He banged his spear on the ground, and the court silenced once more, "You are all fools if you think bringing this horse into the city is a good idea. You have twelve hours to make a decision. But if you choose wrong, I'm still going destroy this horse, whether you want me to or not. I'll crush it under a wave. You know where to find me when you come to your senses." He knew he wasn't really giving them a choice, but Perseus did not care. Pivoting on his heel, he marched out of the throne room right after the crazy princess and her omens of doom.

BREAK

THE SUN hung low in the sky, casting a golden hue over the sprawling beach. The air was heavy with the scent of salt and the distant cries of seagulls. Aeneas stood on a plateau overlooking the Greek encampment, which lay in shambles beneath him. Their little meeting had migrated from the palace audience chamber onto the beach, and now there were Trojan officials and their allies milling about in the sand, all eyes locked on the gigantic horse, but none daring to get any closer. Perseus had not shown, but Aeneas knew he was just a breath away from summoning a wave to crush the wooden animal. His brother had gone to find Cassandra, and frankly, Aeneas agreed with his sentiments one hundred per cent.

He bit his lip, fingers pawing on the hilt of this sword at his side. Beside him stood Memnon, also gazing towards the shore. The Ethiopian scratched his beard in thought, and said, "Your people are hard-headed fools." Aeneas glanced at him. "No offence."

"None taken," He shrugged. "I agree. Anyone with sense would see that this is a set-up."

Beneath them, the officials were gathering around the King as he prepared to make his decision. The son of Aphrodite bounced on his heels slightly, looking down in worry. As Deiphobus had said earlier, the final decision rested on Priam's shoulders. He just hoped Hector's father would not make a stupid one. He also hoped the gods would respect Lord Zeus's decision not to interfere and not whisper any fallacies into Priam's ears. He knew the gods just loved doing that.

Aeneas watched from his position atop the hill as Priam raised a hand to catch everyone's attention. The king was getting on in years. He looked tired and frail, and personally, the demigod did not believe that he should still be in charge of the administration of their city. But with Hector's passing there really wasn't anyone well-suited to take his place. The late crown prince had been the one who'd been trained all his life to be the next King, after all. None of the other princes, not even Deiphobus, had what it took.

Aeneas smiled sadly. Had Hector been around he would have given the order to destroy the horse as soon as Perseus' earthquake was over, and no one would have dared to question him. The loss of his best friend gnawed at him, and Aeneas exhaled to release the pressure he felt building up in his chest.

Priam cleared his throat, and the murmuring and whispers stilled.

Aeneas watched with bated breath. The sea was silent behind them, still, as though waiting in anticipation for what Priam's decision was going to be. The breeze wafted across the sand dunes. Priam tried to straighten, and his voice carried across the entire beach.

"I know there have been some disagreements about what to be done with this horse," Hector's dad began. "But remember that I am the King, and my word is law. And I—I have decided that we shouldn't—"

"Burn it to the ground!" A loud scream tore through the silence of the beach, and Aeneas' head whipped towards the source in surprise. "Beware Greeks who bear gifts!"

His eyes widened as he spotted the priest who had spoken, moments before he hurled a spear towards the giant horse. His gaze trailed after the projectile as it tore through the air, and right as it got close enough to touch the horse, the spear seemed to bounce on an invisible forcefield and ricochetted away and into the sea. Gasps echoed through the throng of people. Aeneas swore and recoiled in shock.

"We need to get Perseus," Memnon spoke up beside him, voice tinged in worry. "Maybe he can put an end to this madness. Destroy it quickly so they don't have a chance to make any sort of choice at all."

"Right," Aeneas bit his lip and whirled around. He motioned to one of the soldiers hanging about and sent him off with a quick message to the palace. Then he turned his attention back to the shore.

Laocoön, a tall and imposing figure draped in priestly robes, stood resolute by the shore, his eyes burning with defiance. Beside him, his two young sons stood, looking unsure and wary. One of them handed him another spear. The priest of Apollo began to march forward. And then Aeneas felt his gut drop as his eyes moved to the sea behind Apollo's ambassador.

There was an ominous tide swelling in the distance.

"Laocoön!" Priam's advisor, Antenor, barked, "What is the meaning of this? You dare interrupt your king?"

Before the priest could speak up, more gasps swept through the crowd. All of a sudden, the tranquil sea was beginning to churn violently as if possessed by a malign force. Aeneas' eyes narrowed. Whatever was going on, he had to stop it before it got worse. "Come on," He said. The demigod