Hermione
Three weeks passed before Neoptolemus sent a messenger to Sparta to formally announce he was ready to wed. The messenger returned after two weeks, with news that King Menelaus would send his daughter in a year's time.
"A year!" Neoptolemus repeated in disbelief when he heard the news. "Even if the girl walked on foot like a slave she could be here in a matter of weeks!"
"He wants to spend some more time with her," said the messenger. "She is his only daughter."
Neoptolemus scowled. "He dotes on his daughter as if she were a son."
One morning, all the female slaves went to the stream to do laundry. Once they had washed the soiled fabrics they unloaded from the carts, they took off their robes and washed them too. Molossus was not there—King Peleus wanted to spend some time with the boy.
The slave women were silent in the palace, but out by the stream they could finally be themselves. They joked about things they would never dare say in the palace.
"King Agamemnon of Mycenae was said to fear his Spartan wife," said Strophe. "Do you think our master will live in fear of Hermione?"
"He doesn't have enough emotion in him to fear," said Antistrophe.
"Well I hope she beats him," said Strophe.
"He is so deranged he will probably enjoy it," said Antistrophe.
"Maybe he will scream loudly from his bedroom," said Strophe. She made mimicking screams, "Aiai! Aiai!"
Epode cleared her throat. "Have some sensitivity. You don't seem to realize the mother of his child is with us."
The younger women looked at Andromache and grew silent. Andromache didn't want their pity.
"I am glad he is getting married," she said. "He will focus his attention elsewhere."
"If the Spartan princess bears the monster a son, Molossus will never amount to more than a slave," Epode warned. "What's more, he may even have to fear for his life. King Peleus killed his own bastard brother, what is to stop the son of Hermione from doing the same?"
Andromache grew quiet. She knew it was a possibility, but had tried to remain optimistic. After a moment, she regained her composure and simply said, "Whatever plans The Fates have in store for him are out of my hands."
The words pained her heart even as they left her mouth.
A week later, Andromache was sweeping the stone steps at the front of the palace. Molossus sat close to her, building a little tower of pebbles.
Andromache gazed out at the road that led to the palace. She knew Hermione would be arriving in a matter of weeks.
Suddenly, she sensed she wasn't alone. She turned around in a start and saw King Peleus standing behind her.
"Thoughts on your mind?" he asked pleasantly.
She quickly lowered her head. "Sorry, Master." She began sweeping again.
King Peleus sat on a stone bench slowly. "The cold weather is hard on old bones. I feel myself requiring my cane more often these days."
Andromache hesitated for a moment, wondering if he expected her to chat with him. She decided to keep sweeping.
"You've raised a lovely boy," Peleus remarked, watching Molossus stack his pebbles intently.
Andromache rested her broom for a moment. "He means the world to me."
"I heard you had another child. His name was Astyanax, I believe?"
The mention of her first son still pained her.
"We called him Scamandrius," Andromache clarified. "Astyanax was his nickname, given to him by the people of Troy."
"Are the rumors true? Did my grandson really kill him?"
Andromache was careful not to insult Neoptolemus to his grandfather's face. "He said he only did as the Odysseus ordered."
"Of course. He was a boy then. Our bodies mature faster than our minds, and Pyrrhus was a child in a grown man's body—all the strength of a warrior, with none of the reasoning."
Andromache did not believe Neoptolemus had reformed since then, but she pretended to agree.
Peleus put his hands on his knees. "It seems the gods too hold Odysseus accountable. They say he still hasn't arrived in Ithaca."
Early morning, a Spartan messenger arrived at the palace on horseback. He said he was part of Princess Hermione's wedding procession, and had traveled ahead so that preparations could be made for her arrival.
Neoptolemus ordered both guards and slaves alike to greet their new mistress at the front of the palace. When someone shouted that they sighted her carriage and seven horse-drawn wagons approaching, the slaves and guards hurried out and assumed their positions. Andromache escorted King Peleus, who walked slowly. Molossus stood by Andromache's side.
The carriage stopped at the front of the palace. The driver halted the reins, climbed down from his seat, and opened the door.
A beautiful young woman stepped out of the carriage wearing a wispy peach-colored tunic. Her golden hair was piled elegantly at the back of her head, a few glossy curls falling loose to frame her face. Her face was round, her sharp nose distinctively Hellenic. The skin on her arms and legs were golden and lean with muscle.
Andromache turned to her fellow slaves. The others gaped at Hermione, in awe of her beauty.
Hermione of Sparta married late, even by Spartan standards, due to the circumstances of her betrothal. Andromache guessed the young woman was in her mid-to-late twenties.
Hermione was naked from the side—her ribs, waist, hip, and thigh clearly visible through the flaps of her tunic. The only thing that held the tunic in place was the belt around her waist, and even that was loose.
Neoptolemus moved forward to greet the Spartan princess. "It's a pleasure to finally meet you, Hermione. I am Pyrrhus, son of Achilles and king of Epirus. This is my grandfather, King Peleus of Phthia."
Hermione gave a laugh as she reached out and touched his beard. "You are as handsome as they said your father was!" Even her voice was lovely—there was a musical quality to it.
"And you your mother. I have prepared—"
"Are these the Myrmidons?" Hermione asked excitedly as she looked at the guards in awe.
No one ever dared interrupt Neoptolemus before, especially not a woman. Neoptolemus appeared to ignore it for the sake of the event.
Neoptolemus calmly answered, "Yes, the men are my Myrmidons and the women are my prizes from Troy."
Hermione looked to the four female slaves, and then to Molossus.
"What about the boy?" she asked.
"That is my bastard son Molossus." Neoptolemus made an indication towards Andromache, "and his mother."
Hermione's eyes flickered to Andromache. Andromache lowered her head.
"My father never told me you had a son," Hermione said. She returned her gaze to Molossus. Molossus stared back at her innocently. Then he giggled and hid behind Andromache in embarrassment."
After a moment, Hermione tore her eyes away from the boy and turned to Neoptolemus, "He doesn't look like you."
Neoptolemus began walking back into the palace, "Maybe he will when he's older."
"Maybe," Hermione agreed as she followed him.
Hermione brought four female attendants to Epirus—three were young women from wealthy Spartan families, the fourth a woman of about sixty—Hermione' nurse. There were also seven Spartan men—six were her guards, the seventh her carriage driver.
The formal wedding feast would not take place for two more nights, as Neoptolemus needed time to extend formal invitations out to all the highborn men of Epirus. Many of these men had been residing on the Epirot Island of Ithaca for years as suitors to Queen Penelope.
Hermione spent much of the day walking around the palace, deciding what needed redecorating. She was certain the palace looked too colorless, and gave her men some money so that they could go to the nearby villages and purchase some rugs. She said she wanted deep red ones, as red was a vibrant color.
Until the night of the wedding feast, Hermione would have her own quarters in a guest room of the palace. Meanwhile, Andromache had been moved out of Neoptolemus's sleeping quarters. She was to share a room with Strophe, Antistrophe, and Epode from now on.
That night, she slept on some blankets on the hard wooden floor. Strophe slept on her left, Antistrophe and Epode on her right. The sisters were giddy with gossip.
"Did you see how he walked off when she said Molossus didn't look like him?" Strophe whispered in delight.
"She talks too much," said Antistrophe. "I bet he will send her back to her father in the morning."
"He won't," said Epode. "If there's one thing our master cares about, it's his reputation. If anything, he will wait until they are married and beat it out of her."
Andromache stared up at the wooden beams above them. "I like her. She reminds me of Cassandra."
Her fellow slaves silenced for a moment.
"Before or after Cassandra went insane?" asked Strophe.
"After, clearly," grunted Epode.
"Before," answered Andromache. "Cassandra had a boldness to her that I never had. She could look a man in the eye and tell him off if he made her uncomfortable. I could never do that."
"Which is why she is dead and you survive," said Epode.
A/N: Thank you Mya for the review! To answer your question without giving anything away, I just like to overthink the original myths. For example, I ask myself why Neoptolemus is so crazy and I try to apply modern logic to it (sociopath, grew up without a father, lots of pressure to be like the father he never knew, etc.) and so my story is based on taking the classical mythology and overthinking the hell out of them. Thus the things the characters do and the way they behave is based on earlier myths. I would explain more but I don't want to give too much away.