NotesMy apologies for this chapter taking a bit longer to write than I anticipated. My job, coupled with a sports league I run, has me short on spare time and energy left for writing. But things are looking up slightly now, so hopefully that means quicker updates. Just rest assured that no matter how long passes in between chapters, I'm still working on this. I also wanted to mention that I've decided to start posting some drabbles and one-shots about the brothers that won't make their way into this story, but they're still a part of this universe I've created for them. The series is called Two Princes, and the first little scene is posted. I hope you enjoy them in between chapters of this story. :)

As for this story, sorry to say there's not a great deal of action in this part. It's mostly set up for what's to come, though we do get to visit with everyone, even those left back in Troy!


Hector estimated it was nearly two hours after landing, and already three of his group were gone. Christos, Theoderi, and Eiriodos had left soon after docking near Voles, off to seek horses and a wagon. Eiriodos would return, while the twins were to set off for the city of Sparta to seek out employment in the city's army. Hector was not worried for the two, for their Greek was impeccable and their dark complexions had them perfectly looking the part. They had not been part of Hector and Paris' company when they'd come to Sparta just a week ago, and would not be recognized by any Greek eyes, for their youth had not seen them engage in any past battles with the Spartans.

The same could not be said for he or Lysander, though, and it was for that reason that they were to stay with the ship, making plans and strategizing from afar whilst their soldiers put their lives at risk. The guilt ate at him bit by bit, though he knew it shouldn't. Everyone here had volunteered, and even if Hector ordered them all to return home, he knew they would disobey. They were loyal to him, and for that he was grateful.

"The provisions are all accounted for, my lord, and when Eiriodos returns, we shall set off for the city." Niko approached the prince, hands dirty from unloading cargo. "Alexander has volunteered to come with us, acting as a stray wanderer we have picked up along the way. He'll return with news once we've settled into our roles."

Hector nodded, his eyes flitting around their ship, taking in the site of his men. They were all in travelling cloaks of gold and red, perfectly tattered and sea-worn to suggest their merchant identities. They were not out of place at the dock of Voles, though Hector could not help but feel as though they were all being watched by some great eye, unseen to men. Lysander had been quick to suggest what he felt was the weight of Apollo's stare, the God's left eye fixed on them, while his right continued to watch Troy. Hector wished he could find the comfort in the statement that Lysander found. But he was not one to rely on deities.

"When does Anton leave? I thought he was to go with you?" Lysander asked, curious gaze flitting from Hector to Niko.

"He prefers to come by Sparta on his own, hitching a ride with some local. We've all decided it would be for the best, as he may be able to come by some useful information from loose merchant tongues."

Lysander nodded. "An intelligent decision." Turning his head to the city, he raised one hand to his forehead, shielding his eyes from the sun. "I believe Eiriodos returns, with your merchant cart. Our plans are underway, then." He turned his head once more to look back at Hector, who stood with crossed arms and a sour expression. Leaning closer to his friend, Lysander lowered his voice. "Is something amiss, my captain? Or are you still plagued with guilt?"

Hector glanced at the older man, frowning once more before turning his head to watch the cart that rumbled closer to them. "Nothing is amiss, my friend, and my guilt does not plague me. Instead it is worry, for all involved."

Lysander nodded but said nothing in return. He suspected the bulk of Hector's concerns lay with his brother, and there was nought to be done about that at the moment. All they could do was wait for word from their spies – who had not yet set out for the city. Clapping a hand to Hector's shoulder, Lysander squeezed it gently before heading down the pier. "Come, my friend, let us help the others load the cart so they may set off."

Hector watched the rest of the crew walk away, before turning his head skyward. If you are watching, Apollo, please do what you can for my men. I do not mean to insult you with non-confidence, but we are in enemy land, and some of my men are young and inexperienced. Please guide them, if you can spare a moment. He felt rather silly, sending a prayer to the clouds, but perhaps over time he'd grow used to the action.

"Come, my friend! There is work to be done!" Hector heard Lysander yell, finally casting his eyes back down and walking forward to join his men. If this endeavour somehow managed to go smoothly, he would dedicate more of his time to Troy's patron God. He would make that sacrifice for his men, and for his brother.


It had been nearly four days since Hector had left with his men, and five days since she'd last seen Paris. Helen stood alone in the garden, hands rubbing her arms, feeling chilled. Though Troy itself was beautiful, she had found herself unable to appreciate its splendour, unable to keep her eyes focused overly long on anything outside the palace. Though no one had ever spoken to her out of turn or harshly, she still felt the stares, the weight of Troy's anger focused on her back. If it weren't for her, Troy would not have lost soldiers, and her princes would not be in enemy land.

How could she be worth it all? How could she have allowed anyone to die for her? Both were questions that confused and shamed her, though she tried to ignore them. She could not undo actions or reverse time. She was now a part of Troy, and all she could do was wait for news.

She heard the crunch of gravel behind her and she held her breath, afraid to turn around. What if it were a citizen of Troy, come to air grievances against her?

"Helen, just who I was looking for," came a soft voice behind her, and she let out the breath she'd been holding.

"My lord," she said with a slight bow, turning to the king and forcing a smile to her lips. "It's a lovely evening," she remarked, though she still felt chilled.

"Indeed it is," Priam remarked, his eyes on the young woman's hands, his smile soft as he reached out to place his hands over hers. "Are you alright, my dear? You don't seem well."

Helen shook her head, berating herself silently for worrying the man. Priam had been nothing but supportive since meeting her, a sturdy rock in times of need, every bit the father Paris had proclaimed him to be. "I'm well, my lord."

"None of this my lord nonsense, Helen. You'll be calling me father soon enough, I imagine," Priam replied, squeezing her hands.

Helen again tried to smile, but found it hard. What did you say to that? How do you even begin to make amends to a father for forcing his sons into danger? How do you return kindness when all you deserve is bitter resentment?

"Come, Helen, will you join me inside? My niece, Briseis, is to return from temple soon. We would be delighted with your company for dinner. Come, I'll hear no other answer," he said, before turning back to the palace.

Helen followed, mostly out of respect. If he wished to dine with her, she supposed it was the least she could do for him. She followed him through corridors and halls, and soon he broke the silence. "In my long years as king and commander of men, Helen, I have learned that it does not help to sit and suffer with mourning and despair. Until we hear otherwise, we must believe that Hector and Paris will return whole and healthy. It is very important, not just for our own well being, but also for the people." He paused then, his eyes fixed on her.

She felt the weight of his stare but could not meet his eyes. What good could she be to Troy's people? What could they gain from her?

"I know what thoughts plague you, my dear, and you must push them aside. My people know that much was risked for you, that Paris risked much for you, and they do not hold you accountable for what has happened. I would not have you walk my streets with grief and sadness, Helen. I would have you greet each day with a smile, as I would have you greet my people. If you open yourself to them, my dear, they will get to know you, and they will come to love you. But they can not approach you when you walk as a ghost, unwilling to meet their smiles." Priam watched as the expression on her faced changed, confusion settling over the sorrow.

"Forgive me, for I could see no reason why your people would choose to greet me as such, for in my coming there has been death, and even now there is sorrow while your sons venture far from home. I did not think any would be willing to call me friend when I have brought such pain." She spoke softly, almost embarrassed to admit to her feelings. Priam offered so much, and she could do nothing but question him.

The king smiled, for he understood her concerns. "Life will not always present you with answers freely given, my dear, but if you phrase your questions in just such a way, then you will find the answers you need at that moment in time."

Helen could not help but smile at his comment. "You mean to say that I cannot hope for a friendly reception if I myself do not offer one to begin with."

Priam smiled back and raised his hands to cup her cheeks, leaning forward to kiss her forehead. "Already you have found an answer. Now come, Briseis probably awaits me already!" He moved off down the hall and Helen watched him for a moment before moving forward to join him. She knew that his advice was sound, and perhaps tomorrow she would walk the streets of Troy with her head held high, and she would greet the hard stares with soft smiles, and maybe the people of Troy would see that she hurt as much as they did.


Paris was vaguely aware of the sensation of water trickling down his face, cool and refreshing, and he fought to open his eyes – but he couldn't. They remained shut, despite his best efforts, and he wondered then why that was, and he tried to remember what had happened to him. He remembered something about a battle, and a giant that killed his horse, and a ship, a king, and a beautiful woman...

"Prince Paris? Please wake up," a voice whispered, and he felt soft fingers touching his skin, prodding his face. Paris, Paris... Was that his name? Was he the prince?

He tried once more to force his eyes open, but they remained shut. He tried to breathe in deeply but a sharp pain shot through him, starting all the way down in his toes and running along all the way up to his head, to the very tip of him, and everywhere the pain spread his skin seemed to ache, and suddenly he remembered where he was.

Sparta. Menelaus' captive.

His memories came back to him then and he tried to sit up but found that he couldn't move, but suddenly then his eyes opened, but he shut them again quickly when the sight gave him a headache. He tried to speak, but his words came out mumbled if they even came out at all (he wasn't sure) and he was aware he was groaning quietly, the pain in his body manifesting itself in guttural grunting.

"Shh, please don't make much noise," the voice whispered again, and he chanced opening his eyes and that's when he saw her. Menelaus' slave. The girl who'd served Helen.

"I remember you," he said softly, or tried to at any rate, he tried to reach out and touch her hand, to reassure himself that he was still alive, still there.

She just smiled and pressed something cool and damp against his skin. "Shh, please don't speak. I don't want anyone to hear us," she whispered, "I shouldn't be here," she added by way of explanation. He didn't fully comprehend her, but he stopped trying to speak and his hands rested at his sides.


Paris awoke hours later to sunlight, city noise, and a pounding headache. His first instinct was to reach out for his temples, to press his fingers into them and try to massage away the aches – but his left arm was so stiff he could barely move it, and seconds later intense pain flared from his shoulder and he didn't want to look but he had no choice – and once he had he wished he hadn't. There was no doubt now that his shoulder was infected. Perhaps he would die of infection, out here in the cage, dust choking him because he had no strength left to cough.

He needed a doctor. If he wished to live, that is, and he wasn't entirely sure about that, not given his current situation. Not while he remained in Sparta, Menelaus' captive.

Menelaus. Suddenly everything about the previous night came back to him, his attempt to fight, the way in which the Spartan king had easily outmanoeuvred him, and the way Menelaus had punished him for it. He suddenly felt sick to his stomach but he couldn't even roll to his side, and he had to fight against his reflexes to keep the bile from rising any higher, and his throat burned with the effort.

He shivered and wished for a blanket, and a pillow, and a bed...

Instead he remained on the floor of the cage, alone and bare and chilled to the bone. He was sure that this was how it felt to die, for he was sure that he was dying, out here in the cage. Menelaus would be in no rush to save him, and even if Hector did come he would be too late.

His brother would bring home nothing more than the charred remains of his bones.

"That shoulder of yours looks terrible, little prince," a voice boomed from behind him, startling the Trojan prince. Paris turned his head and saw the crouched figure of Ajax just beyond the bars, sporting a malicious looking smile. "Perhaps they'll have to cut off your arm."

Paris said nothing in return, no energy left in him to give the Salaminian. Maybe if he just ignored him, Ajax would grow bored.

"I think perhaps I should speak to my friend, though, and ensure he sees to your health. After all, we do not want you expiring before the party, do we?" Ajax left the reference vague on purpose, knowing just how to bait the Trojan out of his shell. Though Paris did not seem to have the energy to speak, the confused expression on his face at the mention of an upcoming party told Ajax that the young man was listening.

"Oh, you didn't know, did you? Why, your new master's brother is coming for a visit! Agamemnon himself, king of all the Greeks! I'm sure he would be delighted to see you again, young Paris. But the loss of one arm would do nothing for your beauty, so perhaps we'll see to that infection." Ajax watched as Paris' expression registered the news of Agamemnon's visit, and the giant king of Salamis laughed when he saw the way Paris' face lost what little blood it had regained, his face pale and waxen.

Paris said nothing as he watched Ajax rise and walk off, feeling sick all over again. He shuddered at the thought of the impending visit, wondering what would be planned for him.


"Is there any other news I ought to be aware of?" Menelaus asked as he sat down, glad to rest his legs for a moment. It had been a long day of inspections, all part of the preparation for his brother's visit. Though they were family, Menelaus still felt the need to impress his eldest kin, to prove that Spartans could overcome their militaristic lifestyles when needed and throw a wondrous party. Everything had to be perfect for the envoy from Mycenae.

"Nothing pressing," answered his senior adviser, Actaeon. "It was a slow day, the only thing of any potential interest to you were the merchants from Crete. I've allotted them a stall in the market place, as they had some good stock with them, in particular some handsome looking boxes of citron."

Menelaus laughed and rubbed his hands together. "A funny occurrence, that! These merchants show with a favourite treat of my brother's, just in time for his visit. One would almost think he sent them himself."

Actaeon grinned in return, glad the news had pleased the king as much as he'd expected. "Perhaps so, or perhaps their arrival is simply a blessing sent from the gods. They wish to show their pleasure at recent events."

"Mm, one would hope that is the case," Menelaus answered, his thoughts momentarily interrupted as the doors to his study were thrown open. Just as he was set to yell in anger at whosoever dared to interrupt him, his eyes fell upon his guest. "Ah, Ajax! I did not think we were to meet until dinner?"

The Salaminian nodded at the comment, coming to stand by the table. "Indeed, and my apologies for bothering you earlier than anticipated! In truth I have just paid our Trojan friend a visit." Ajax paused, his eyes straying from Menelaus to Actaeon. The adviser's face was a mask of stone, well trained to reveal nothing to anyone other than the king he served.

"And how does he fare?" Menelaus asked, his own face curling slightly in disgust. After he'd roughly taken the young prince the night before, he'd spent three hours at the baths. He'd taken the company of four of his favourite women, but had them sent away after only one of those hours. The other two he'd spent drinking himself into a furious stupor. His desecration of the prince had not pleased him the way he'd expected it to. Maybe it was because the boy had passed out before the king had been able to see the look of shame on his face.

"Rather poorly," Ajax replied, walking slowly to the table. He flicked his hand toward a servant, who rushed from her place at the back of the room to pour him a goblet of wine. "If you don't have him treated soon, he may lose his arm."

"And what a loss that would be!" Menelaus replied, sarcasm heavy on his voice.

Ajax smiled, his lips pulled back to bare his teeth. "I don't mean the censure out of pity or concern for his well-being, my friend," he began, taking the wine he was offered, but not before groping the servant girl's breasts. "She's a nice one you have here," he remarked, pausing to take a sip of his wine.

"You can have her later if you wish, I've grown tired of her lately," Menelaus replied, taking a swig of his own goblet.

"Many thanks, my friend," Ajax replied, his eyes still studying the Spartan king's. "Back to young Paris, though. What are your plans for him ere your brother arrives?"

Menelaus was silent for a moment, contemplating the question. What were his plans? Surely he wanted to see Paris further shamed, and he would like something entertaining for his brother to witness. "Why do you ask? Do you have an idea to offer?" He asked Ajax, finally looking up into the face of the giant Salaminian.

"As a matter of fact, I do," Ajax replied, meeting his friend's gaze with confident eyes of his own. "I say we ought to offer him a chance for freedom," he said, "A chance to showcase his legendary skill with the sword." He knew he was treading precarious ground with his chosen words, and he carefully studied Menelaus' face to gauge his true reaction.

The Spartan knew he was being observed, and it piqued his anger nearly as much as Ajax's words themselves! But he could little afford to let his feelings show at the moment. "I assume you wish to be his sparring partner this time, my friend?" He replied, teeth grinding on the last word. There are no friends in politics.

Ajax laughed, amused at the reaction he'd drawn. There was and always had been such difference between Menelaus and Agamemnon, the Salaminian thought. Try as he might, the Spartan king never could keep his feelings masked, while with the elder Mycenaean king could tell a lie to the gods themselves, and none would be the wiser. He would have to be careful when Agamemnon arrived, as he did not wish to draw the ire of the most powerful of the Greek kings. For now, though, he would raise the hackles of the Spartan. "That was my intention, yes," he said, taking a slow sip of wine. "As long as you are willing, of course."

Menelaus nodded, finishing off his glass in an attempt to keep his mouth occupied so he couldn't call the Salaminian on his taunts. Slamming the goblet on the table, he nodded his head and attempted a smile. "It's settled, then. We'll arrange a duel for when my brother visits, and we'll make a true spectacle of it."

Ajax finished off his wine as well and laid his goblet on the table before nodding to his host. "Brilliant! So you'll see to his health, then? I do not wish for him to fall over before we even begin!"

Menelaus nodded. "Yes, I'll have him seen to."

"Good, good! Well then my friend, I do think I'll take my leave of you now and retire for a few hours before dinner. Do you mind if I partake of your girl now?" He asked, beckoning the young woman forward. She timidly approached the table, and looked as though she were silently praying to the gods to spare her from Ajax.

Much as Menelaus did not wish to do the Salaminian any favours at the moment, the girl's weakness and fear aggravated him far more. "Yes, take her! I've no further need for her." He watched as her face dropped slightly, and she obediently followed the tall man from the room.

The study was quiet for a moment, the footsteps echoing down the hall as Ajax led the girl away. The king's anger and ire festered in the silence, until finally he picked up his wine goblet and hurled it across the room at the wall.

Actaeon observed the action, and was careful in his choice of words. "My lord, I am certain our guest meant no disrespect," he said calmly, though he believed the opposite. But he knew Menelaus, and at the moment he could not allow the king to stew in anger for too long.

"Oh he most certainly did mean to insult me," Menelaus replied, picking up the bottle of wine and taking a swig from it. "But there is little to be done about that now."

"Indeed," the adviser replied, "Ever in politics is there distrust and disrespect. But we must always be careful to pick and choose our battles properly, and Ajax's actions and words should not concern you."

"You are right," the king replied, loathe though he was to admit it. "We have more important matters to attend to, you and I. Ajax will get what he has coming eventually, and may it be a Spartan to strike that blow when the time comes."

Actaeon smiled and nodded his head in compliance. "In the mean time, I'll see to arrangements for our Trojan prince. Perhaps he'll surprise Ajax in the end," he replied casually, his mind already working over possibilities.

"Yes," Menelaus said with a smirk, remembering well what it had cost him to underestimate the Trojan prince. "Perhaps he will taste the sting of a cornered dog's teeth, and in front of all of Sparta, no less. I'm sure it will be a spectacle for all time to behold."

Actaeon smiled and bowed his head, backing away to the door and exiting into the hall. He called to the first female he saw, a well endowed maid he knew the king favoured, and sent her to the study to see that Menelaus did not drink himself back to ill intentions while he was busy seeing to the health of the Trojan. And after he was finished with Paris, perhaps then he would visit the apothecary. He had plans to lay.