The Will of the Gods
Summary: King Priam's thoughts before he goes to Achilles for Hector's body.
Disclaimer: Characters belong to Homer.
A/N: Precedes my absolute favorite scene in the movie.
Perhaps I have not prayed hard enough. A shadow crossed his face at the thought which he knew to be blatantly untrue. No king had been more unwavering in his faith in the gods nor more considerate of them in his actions than Priam.
It is their will. He silently repeated to himself while contemplating the why and wherefore of the day's events. The olive green cloak weighed heavily on his shoulders as he stepped outside his chambers and traversed the corridor. Save for the sound of sandaled feet grazing stone floor, there was a hollow quiet all around. Flanking the passageway were doors, many of which had not been opened in some time, leading to rooms which had not been used in some time.
He stopped and paused at one of them. His hands balled into a fist, as if to restrain himself, but he could not resist one last look inside. Pushing the wooden door slightly ajar, his knotted fingers trailed down the edge of it in a soft caress. They were still there, those notches he had carved to recognize the boy's height each passing summer. His palm ran back up the length of it, and he remembered. The nicks on the lower portion were evenly spaced, denoting steady growth during childhood. Towards the middle, there was a large gap, marking the first sprout towards manhood. Their annual ritual had ceased when he suddenly realized the boy had grown as tall as his father. Somehow even then, life had a way of creeping up on the blissfully unaware.
Absently, he brushed away the cobwebs that fell on him like wisps of smoke as he stepped inside. This room had not felt human presence since its last resident moved to the apartment on the other side of the palace. With his son constantly by his side, there had been no reason to visit or reminisce. Until now.
His eyes scanned the room for all things beloved and familiar. In front of him was the cot where the boy had lain each night, at the edge of which he had sat when he kissed the boy good night. Beside it was an army of wooden beasts, arranged according to size and shape, stacked neatly in reed baskets. Horses. Lions. Bears. Some had been fashioned by his own hand; others, by the boy.
His boy. No truer son had there been, and no prouder father than he. Priam had watched him grow from sapling to massive oak, with roots reaching out beyond Troy's shores, leaves and branches extending over the city walls, offering shelter and protection to its people. In one swoop, that oak was no more, reduced to a piece of log and dragged back to the enemy camp, leaving all of Troy exposed to the scorching heat of the Achaean sun.
The window looked out to the east where the sun rose over the mountains, befitting the youthful nature of the room's previous occupants. He had always hoped that when the right time came, this would have been Astyanax's room. As it had been Hector's. As it had been his. As it had been Laomedon's and Ilus' before him. Such were the ways of Trojan kings.
A feeling of lightheadedness came over him and he felt his breath catch in his throat. Sadly, the good king turned around and left the room, having lost all desire to dwell on what could no longer come to pass. With a leaden heart, he closed the door behind him softly and continued down the hallway. He made his way down to the stables where a servant had just finished attaching two horses, both the color of midnight, to the center pole of the chariot. Both shifted nervously from one leg to another and hung their heads low, as if aware of their master's passing. As Priam approached, the one called Lampos nickered dolorously and strained towards its master's father for comfort. Priam patted its neck gently, running his hand down the silky coal black mane.
Good Lampos. You were always his favorite.
Mounting the chariot, he closed his eyes for a moment and prayed.
Hermes of the winged feet, may you show me the swiftest and safest path to my son.
Apollo, sun god and patron of my city, may you not forsake me at this time. May you offer me protection as I wade through the enemy camp. Most of all, may you sway the man who has my son's body to show mercy and return him back to me.
When he finished, he opened his eyes and fixed his stare on the infinite blackness ahead. Squaring his shoulders, he shook the reins gently and spoke to the beasts in a hushed voice.
"Come. It is time to bring him home."