(Disregarding mythos and gods and apples of beauty- Words of wisdom, actions that could have prevented the fall of troy. Taking into account a glorified, westernized version of the tale where heroes are not brutal rapists, cowards, mutilators and generally unlikeable by our so-called 'civilised' standards, further taking into account that these men thought themselves immensely cultured too.
So heroes shall be decent. morally upright people, and women will still be considered chattel, because that is part of the tale of Helen of Troy. But our heroes will consider this… unfortunate, at least mildly.)
Paris, you're my brother and I love you. But if you do anything to endanger Troy, I will rip your pretty face from your pretty skull.
Now get some sleep. We sail in the morning.
1-
"Turn the ship around. We sail back to Sparta."
His orders are quietly furious. When Paris attempts to speak he shuts him down, hissing, "You fool!" He shakes his head, rage too much to contain within himself, evident in every sharp gesture. "Do you know what you've done?"
"I love her." Paris insists with the certainty of youth.
"You love her? You're a child!" His voice rises over the sound of the waves and the wind and the work of the sailors. "What do you know about love? I love my country, my wife, and my father, and you. And you wish to doom everything for this- infatuation with a beautiful face?
"What about our love for you? Your father's love, you spit on it with your actions! You are a prince, Paris! Your wishes can never come before them."
Hector turns, gestures at the ship, a wide all encompassing wave of his arm. "These are your people. They have wives that love them every bit as much, more even, than the love you profess for Menelaus's queen. How dare you endanger them?"
He turns back to the prow, face black. "We will return the Queen to her king, and have you horse-whipped in front of the city gates. Then we will beg forgiveness on bended knee, make absurd concessions on the treaty and blame everything on your youth and idiocy. And hope they agree to not have you executed. And then we will go back to Troy, if I have to drag you there myself, kicking and screaming.
"This is my country," he hisses, "These are my people, and I will not see them suffer just so that my brother can have his prize."
Paris is a fool but I will fight a thousand wars before letting him die.
Forgive me father, but you won't be the one fighting.
2-
Paris dies, cowering at Hector's feet by Menelaus' hand. In the next moment, Agamemnon orders the Greek armies to attack.
There is a moment of absolute silence on the battlefield, for miles around in which Helen's anguished scream rings clearly.
Underneath the sound is the metallic ring of a sword unsheathing and the dull meaty thud of a death blow.
Menelaus falls.
Agamemnon is stunned for only a second, then he roars, and armies thunder towards each other.
Hector is a madman during the battle. He stands over Paris' body, protecting it from all comers. There forms a circle of relative clear around him where few dare to venture.
Ajax attacks him.
When the giant hits the ground, the Trojans roar for Hector, and Hector wakes, some. He takes over command of the Trojans and leads them in a decisive rout of the Greek forces.
Achilles and his Myrmidons do not join the fight.
Achilles joins battle, leading the black-clad Myrmidons into the fray His sword flashes surely, and soldiers fall around him. The Greek roar his name, and advance, newly energized.
Trojan morale falls, till Hector engages mighty Achilles. Skirmishes pause around them, as soldiers gather to watch the duel that would decide the battle, even the war.
The two greatest warriors of the age circle each other slowly, with all the grace and intent of great predators. Then they clash.
Hector is sure, swift, fighting with every bit of his famed skill. Yet, every time his sword crosses Achilles' Achilles falters. Stumbles.
The soldiers watch with growing dread.
He strikes swiftly, finally, knocking Achilles' sword wide with his shield, ducking within his guard in that instant, a strike angled at his face.
Greek soldiers groan, even as the Trojans roar for their prince. Hector's sword flashes in the sun as it connects.
Achilles' helm goes flying. Young stunned eyes blink up at Hector.
"I thought something was wrong." Hector says, his voice loud in stunned silence. He levels his sword at the youth's face. "Who are you, boy?"
"Patroclus." he pants, finally, "Patroclus of the Myrmidons."
The name means nothing to him. But the obvious youth, the naked fear on the- child's face- That was the last thing he saw on Paris' face.
Paris, stumbling away from Menelaus, fearful, retreating to his first protector, his best protector, hand clasping Hector's leg, and disgust, bitter final disgust coats Hector's mouth.
A prince of Troy does not start a war, kill his people for- nothing. A prince of Troy does not falter in the face of his enemy. His brother has never taken responsibility for his actions, and now it costs his people lives. And even now, he can't die for his people with honor?
And that disgust costs Paris his own life. Hector is too slow, and Paris dies on the ground at his feet, a sword through his chest, and he coughs and blood sprays across his feet- and the fury that takes over Hector is- tamped, controlled, until Agamemnon cries treachery. Then it finds outlet in the killer.
Hector finally hefts his sword, pulls it away. He looks towards a soldier among the soldiers, Odysseus, if his guess proves correct.
"Enough war for today," he says, sick to the stomach. "Enough children have been killed today."
When the man nods, he knows his instinct was correct. He heads back to Patroclus and offers a hand up, pulling him close enough to speak in his ear when he accepts.
Myrmidon black swarms around them, and Trojans stir and mutter worriedly for their prince.
"Tell Achilles," he says lowly, "to guard you better, boy. Today Patroclus lives because Paris did not."
Achilles escorts Briseis back to Troy in front of the entire army and Agamemnon's impotent fury. The gates open for him, when he is seen from afar, a lone chariot.
"Tell Hector," he says to her as she takes her leave, "that I send him his cousin in return for mine."
Achilles returns to Greece with his Myrmidons.
Odysseus thinks of his famous scheme, only to shake his head. Hector would order any construct of enemy design burned before he would touch it with a ten league pole.
Troy's walls are never breached.
Hector- whose men would fight the shades of Tartarus if he commanded.
3-
The final orders are the last straw.
Hector spreads his feet slightly, standing at rest, and locks his hands behind his back, so that none will see them tremble.
"No." he says firmly.
His father is unused to being refused. "No?" he repeats incredulously.
"No." says Hector. "Father, the priest prophesied a victory, but there would have been no victory if not for my commanding. Two of their kings fell, yes- to my sword! The gods had nothing to do with this!"
"Your arrogance does you no-" the priest tries to interrupt. Hector shuts him out, focusing only on his father, his King, the man who has loved him ever.
"Father," he says, pleads, "Father, you care for every blade of grass, every rock in the rivers, every grain of sand. You love all of Troy. But I- I care for every man, woman and child of Troy. My people, father. This city can fall, and every stone of it be crushed to dust, as long as none of it's people are hurt. A cornered beast fights most fiercely, and burning their boats does nothing but corner the Greeks. We cannot kill every last man in the army!"
"We are making a mistake, father, and this mistake will cost my men their lives. To you, they are only casualties of Troy. To me they are men. I fight besides them. I will not order them into a pointless battle."
"Prepare the army!" the king repeats.
Hector shakes his head slowly. "I command the army, Father."
His father rocks back on his heels. "You refuse me, boy?" Hector nods, slowly. Internally, there is an odd of peace. He has to do what is best for his people.
Around them, the balance shifts. The council consists of older men, many of whom see Hector as young and foolish, at the least. But he is the de facto commander of Troy's armies, and none truly wish to oppose him.
In the end, they deal with words. And Hector- he deals with men. They will follow none but him.
So Hector knows everything that is about to happen, sees in his mind's eye every swish of robes as his father turns and sweeps away. His eyes are closed.
He doesn't want to see what he broke within his father.
Hector's armies remain within the shadow of the walls of Troy. The Greek forces have learned their lesson and fear to charge closer, where the archers on the walls can pick them off with impunity.
The Greek try to lure the forces away, taunting them, attacking from afar. That is where their loyalty to Hector is put to the test. They hold the line, for above all, they love the man who leads them into battle, fighting as one of them, protecting each and every one with all his power.
Achilles hesitates and does not leave, intrigued by this man, this king, the Trojan forces whisper, who fights with such honor.
A king who fights his own battles. Achilles' words haunt him. This man, this king, fights his own war, and not just in single combat. He took down Ajax, Ajax the strong, a feat that Achilles can only respect. And took it upon himself to spare his soldiers the battle.
All know that he is the strongest among the Trojans.
Briseis can speak only good of him. He loves his men, and is kind to friend and foe alike. He is a peace-loving man, and where Achilles would have scoffed only a year ago, finally he understands the craving for peace, for security.
In the end, it is Briseis who decides him.
Briseis wants to go home, away from this war camp of men who would rape her given a second of chance. She wishes for the cool of her temple, the love of her family. But she will not leave Achilles, and she cannot go alone.
Achilles escorts her to Troy with all the pomp and dignity that should have been accorded to a priestess, even one a prisoner of war. The Myrmidons follow her chariot, and Achilles rides besides her. It is open insult to Agamemnon that he offers, and when Briseis laughs, bright and shining in the sunlight, he knows that she knows what he is doing.
The armies of Troy allow them to approach without attacking. Achilles wonders if they know why he comes, or whether they are just struck dumb by the sight of the Myrmidon black, conspicuously absent in the war up until now.
He orders his Myrmidon's to pause a distance away from the Trojan ranks, and continues with Briseis, alone, a gesture of good faith, had he not been Achilles himself. But by the time the carriage rolls to a stop, the Trojan soldiers are parting for a galloping rider.
Hector has eyes only for Briseis. He swings off his horse even as it comes to halt, helps her down from the carriage with his own hands, and embraces her as soon as her feet touch the ground. For a long moment he simply holds her, whispering reassurance, worry, comfort down at her head where she has buried it in his shoulder.
When Achilles stirs, he sees corresponding movement out of the corner of his eyes. When he turns to look, he sees archers with drawn bows, covering him from every side.
Hector looks up at that, and makes a sharp gesture. The bows are lowered, if grumblingly, as Hector finally turns to Achilles. "I apologize for that," he says, "Believe me, it was not under orders."
Surprised, Achilles barks out a laugh. "Yes," he agrees. "I know something about that." He gestures back at the Myrmidons who stand in tense shifting ranks, ready to race to his defense if necessary.
"Thank you." the prince of Troy says softly, "Thank you for Briseis. She says you treated her well."
"She is a brave woman." Achilles says gruffly, uncertain how to breach anything further.
"Yes." says Hector thoughtfully, "She is that." He tilts his head in consideration, then says, "Would you join us? My family would wish to render their thanks as well."
There is something odd in that. But Achilles simply turns and roars, "Eudorus!"
With Briseis mounted pillion behind Hector, the two men ride through the gates of Troy.
When the Myrmidons appear, fighting for the Trojan side, Greek morale shatters.
"He has found a reason to fight," Odysseus whispers, "Gods help us."
Agamemnon's fury does not discriminate between friend or foe. His supporters start to edge away from him.
King Priam cedes the throne to his eldest son in everything but name.
Hector and Achilles are an undefeatable combination, and often appear on battlefields fighting in it's very thickest, never very far from each other. Soldiers witness them laughing, calling each other 'brother'.
They win great glory, victory against great odds, and their names are mentioned in the same breath, always Hector and Achilles, or Achilles and Hector.
The soldiers of Troy love Achilles as they loved Hector.
Paris learns to like statesmanship, never a man of war.
The Trojan war lasts barely another year, after which the Greek forces are routed from Trojan shores, retreating in oddly untouched boats. The next year, envoys carrying messages of peace come to the kings of Greece from Hector, king of Troy.
Odysseus is one of them, and he laughs as he accepts.
I guess my author's note is on the top. I don't approve of that, generally, but it's almost part of the story.
So. I've often called the tragedy of Troy the tragedy of Hector. Because poor guy was the only sane man forever. And he loved em all so much... So here. Have a oneshot. I might expand this if I think of any other scenarios.
Except one scenario is simply 'If Paris was not such a whiny coward." Which defeats the purpose.
Hija