Disclaimer: Not associated with Wolfgang Peterson, Homer, etc. Not mine, blah blah.
Man of Legends
It was said he was the champion of Troy, Hector the tamer of horses. It was said he was second to none in combat. It was said that when he walked in war, bodies dropped like footprints behind him. It was said that for every drop of blood that stained his sword, a man had fallen to its point. It was said. That.
What does it matter what was said?
The texts lie. The old scholars who get that faraway look in their eyes when they speak of war lie. Ink-stained pages that preach the glory of war and dying in battle lie. The legends of Hector. Lie.
He was the champion of Troy, but he did not delight in war. Killing sons, and brothers, and fathers brought him no satisfaction. Knowing that with every death, another widow wept or another mother cried brought him no pride. He found no glory in the blood he spilled, the screams he wrought, the slick slide of his blade into flesh.
He had a family.
He fought for them.
He had a wife and baby to defend. He had a father to uphold. He had a brother to protect. It was for them that he fought, not for victory's treasures. Not for the gods or goddesses on high Olympus. Not for revenge for those already dead. He fought for the living.
And he died for them.
He had died for the living, and for a dead boy on the battlefield. He had died for the dead. For the living. He had died.
He had been killed in single combat before the walls of his city. He had fallen protecting his family. He had died knowing the end was coming, with a certain resignation set into his eyes.
They would later say it was a duel for honor, for justice, for glory, but I know better. I watched as he fell, prince of Troy, under the eyes of his family and the uncaring Apollo. I watched him die, knowing that he knew he would die before the battle had started.
And in his memory, I write this.
I write this so the ages will remember him as a man who loved his family and treasured life. I write this so his legacy will be that of a noble soldier fighting for that which he held most dear. I write this so he will be seen as a hero who wanted peace, not a killer who rejoiced in death. I write this so that he will live still, as a guardian to our line, as a man who wanted no more to do with war. I write this. For my brother.