"So it seems," he said finding amusement in her gesture and compliment. "I was never devoid of the arts, fair Helen." He could sing, and was the favorite of the muse Calliope because of that.
Achilles held no fault to her, and it was perhaps the mentality of most of the Argives that she had been taken wrongly, be it by Paris in the cloak of the night or by his witty and weak-minded charm. Either way, Helen had been abducted and taken when she belonged to another, an idea that Achilles could relate to strongly after having Agamemnon snatch what he cared for so dearly out of spite. Whether or not Paris had done his deed out of love, shame or spite; it was in all just the same, and Helen in Achilles' eyes at least would always be seen as a Spartan and never a child of the Trojans.
Moreover, he had not come to fight that war for her, or it's cause. Achilles was prophesied to have a glorious hand in the fall of Ilion, and the heart of a born and bred warrior, seeking that kind of glory that put your name down in the books was what every one of them wanted. Achilles just wanted it even more. Still sometimes that burn would hit him, and never would he let go of wanting recognition for his talents. At one time he may have wanted to forgo that life, and at times he still did; it would however always be taken over by the price of pride.
"It is what it is, and now I must pursue my duty in new ways." He paused, linking her arm around his as they walked. "I like directing, writing what I know." It suited him, but it was never easy. He had still coined the reputation of being quite brutal in his temperaments. Actors and fellow directors alike could attest to it.