Disclaimer: I own nothing but my OC and parts of the storyline. All rights go to Wolfgang Peterson, the wonderful director of Troy.
A/N: So, this chapter is kind of a filler but the beginning of the movie will be present at the end so that will be our little intro so excited that its really starting now. There's going to be some Panthea and Hector interaction but he's still freaked out about Cassandra's prophecy. Hello to my new favs/followers: dvildead, Naomi97, Pizza-Slut-5-Life, and randyorton'sgirl. Love you all and thank you for reviewing. Makes my day! 3
Response to Guest: Don't worry. Everyone is split between team Achilles and team Hector haha its make a better story ;)
Percilla: No problem! I always like to answer reviews no matter if you have an account or not. Haha I would have that problem too. Both men are pretty appealing to me. Such a hard decision. Thank you!
Ch. 7
"All things are in the hand of heaven, and Folly, eldest of Jove's daughters, shuts men's eyes to their destruction. She walks delicately, not on the solid earth, but hovers over the heads of men to make them stumble or to ensnare them."
― Homer, The Iliad
The King of gods was lounging in the garden of Olympus, his imposing presence sitting erect in a throne of gold as he watched Demeter tend to the flowers of the garden. As the goddess of agriculture, the harvest, and the fertility of the Earth, she presided over the mortals as a type of Earth goddess as Gaia had. She was also known as a sort of consort of Zeus, being the mother of his child, Persephone. Her hair looked as if it was spun of gold as it was held up by brooches on her head to keep stray hairs from falling. She had cat-like eyes of emerald green, reflecting her kind nature that could turn deadly in a second. Her body was covered in that of yellow silk, molding to her curves wonderfully. Even though she was considered one of the "older" goddesses, she still retained her youthful beauty. Her hands emitted a golden glow as she waved them over a mound of soil she had made and a beautiful poppy rose from the ground, her symbol often seen growing with barley.
Zeus had been relaxing in the gardens that day, enjoying the company of his so-called wife as he hid from the other one. Hera was being a nuisance as of late, always nagging him and trying to sway his mind on the whole Panthea matter. That woman infuriated him to no end, saying how normal Panthea was and that she didn't deserve the attention of her great warrior, Achilles. However, Zeus could not help whom Aphrodite cast her eyes on and ordered Cupid to strike with his arrows.
Watching Demeter, he was graced with one of her charming smiles before she returned to her work. Hearing a rustle behind him, he turned his head to see three of his children coming towards him: Athena, Apollo, and Artemis. The twins both held their hunting gear in hand, bows and arrows, whiles Athena carried her wise owl on her shoulder. The trio had encountered each other on their way to their father after they had finished performing their tasks of the day and decided to see him together to provide a united front for their cause. They had come to update the mighty Zeus on his beloved Panthea. Much trouble had been caused by her lately and her patrons wished to tell their father all that had transpired, first between Achilles and Panthea and now with Hector, Prince of Troy. Her training was progressing nicely, her body getting stronger and faster every day. Her intelligence was also unmatched by all, her challenging nature becoming noticeable.
"Why have you come here my children?" Zeus questioned the three of them. "Do you have news for me of our champion?" Demeter's attention was caught by Zeus's words, though she remained as if she had not heard a thing and continued her gardening. She was curious of this child, Panthea. She was like her Persephone, before she was abducted by Hades. In some ways, she was an innocent soul still unplagued by the actions of man. Panthea was clueless to her virtue and beauty that attracted men to her. Of course, only honorable men and warriors were deemed suitable for the granddaughter of the mighty Zeus of Olympus, Achilles and Hector included.
"Father," Apollo spoke first, "We have indeed come to discuss Panthea." Zeus's eyes lit up with interest. He was intrigued by his so-called granddaughter. "She has been lectured by us in her dreams yet she still wavers over the idea if it is the gods conversing with her. She is not frightened, only confused. She still has not recognized her full purpose, only that the time of Agamemnon has reigned for too long. She already despises the man and we have shown her that he will die, but she still does not understand that it will be her doing, that she will cause his demise." Athena looked to her father for an answer as she finished speaking. Artemis stood by Apollo, worried that her siblings work would not be enough for their father.
Zeus stroked his beard thoughtfully, running his fingers through the rough strands. His children's progress was moving along nicely, but things needed to be spurred into action. Athena then spoke up again. "Achilles has left, his reason wavering for all he thinks of Panthea. Aphrodite has struck him yet he still resists it somewhat. He is a man of his own. And now the Trojan retinue has arrived, Hector not knowing what to think of our champion. Both men are within her fate father, but even we can intervene so much. She will have to decide if she will follow her path or not." Zeus nodded at his eldest daughter's words. As the goddess of wisdom, he valued her opinion above all else. She was intelligent beyond her years, her mother being the goddess of the quality before Zeus swallowed her for fear of her child being too powerful. Athena emerged from his head one afternoon, the cause of a massive headache. That was the story of Athena's birth and would forever remain intact with the gods' history.
"Good," Zeus spoke, pleased with what was occurring. "And yes, only she can decide her destiny from this point. We cannot become too involved with mortals lives for they are the cause of their fortune and their misgivings." Athena shook her head at her father. Looking to her siblings, the three bowed and left their father in peace with their preferred consort. They went on their, discussing amongst themselves the next step in their plan. All would be as it should and Panthea would control what her fate would be.
Hector had been avoiding the Spartan princess at all costs, not entering conversations with her as was expected. He greeted her and paid his respects, but that was it. It was not that she was unpleasant to look at. In fact, he thought her to be unique in appearance with her white-blond hair and sea blue eyes. Her pale skin was not ugly, but appealed to him because of how smooth and bright it looked in the sunlight. She was slim with smaller hips than usual and of shorter height, but her body was well proportioned and her legs proved how quick she could be. He was never alone with her for fear of Cassandra's prophecy. Her visions had never affected him, but this one seemed as if it was true. Many times, Hector had caught the princess with an inquisitive look on her face, her head tilted to the side as she eyed him in his actions. Hector would turn away, uncomfortable that she was judging him. Only his father ever did that and it unnerved him.
Panthea was titillated by the man, how he was so unlike Achilles, yet they shared some qualities. She was amused by his behavior, how he rejected every maiden that set themselves in his path. Many ended their conversations with sour looks on their faces and it entertained Panthea to all ends. She watched him, studied him as he conducted the business of the court with her father. He was more of a diplomat than a warrior she thought, but he proved her wrong when she saw him on the training field. Only Achilles rivaled him in skill or perhaps, could be his better. His looks were dark, but that made him appear more rugged and handsome than the Dardanians. His beard accentuated his masculine looks and with his broad shoulders and defined muscles, he looked like a force to be reckoned with. Hector did not strike Panthea as a predatorial type of man. He was more honorable and trustworthy than most princes and she admired that about him. He had an air around him of authority, but humility, something Achilles did not possess. He did not flaunt his abilities, but commanded attention wherever he went. He was kind to all, giving them the respect that he deemed rightful. He knew he was better than most, being of royal stock, but he never tried to put people in their place, never tried to make them feel lower than they already were. It was if Achilles was the sun and Hector the moon, both forces of the universe who ruled in their perspective spheres, but also rivaled one another in their greatness.
Paris, however, was the opposite of Hector per Panthea. He was not cruel, but he was arrogant of his looks and let others know it. He was neither a diplomat or a warrior, but a younger son of Priam who was pampered rather than prepped for duty. Hector was the more accomplished of the brothers though Paris had not been cast in his shadow. He made one of his own for others to follow, especially women.
When Panthea had first encountered the Trojans, she was curious of them. They had darker looks about them than the Greeks did, but their eyes made up for it. No matter what color they were, it seemed to Panthea that every one of them had a warmth to their color. The Trojans were a noble breed and Menelaus had often commented on how much he venerated them. Hector had watched her with a wary expression though, but his eyes never lost their kindness. Paris looked at her indifferently, his gaze more on Helen than Panthea. She had noticed immediately after the royal parties had greeted each other that Paris's eyes followed her mother like a magnet and Helen did the same to him. When she caught them looking at one another, however chaste looks they were, her mouth would form into a thin line and her eyes would narrow. She knew something was happening between them, though she prayed to the gods it was just a fleeting attraction. It seemed the elder Prince of Troy noticed too, but he did not notice Panthea's quick wit in the matter as well.
At the current moment, the Trojan and Spartan royals were in one of the various palace gardens enjoying the rays of sunshine and the fresh air. The hyacinths were in bloom as well as the lilies, narcissuses, and poppies. It was an odd combination, but the princesses of Sparta had insisted on those types of flowers in that particular garden. It was their favorite, especially to Panthea since it was the one Achilles had first tried to kiss her. Menelaus sat with his men as well as his royal quests in one portion of the garden. Helen and the women of the court lounged across from them, an awning set up above them so the hot sun would not burn their skin. Alexandra, Helen's head lady, was braiding Hermione's hair while another lady played the lyre. Slave and servant girls waved large fan like structures around them to keep the ladies cool. The women were engaged in court gossip and motherly advice while the men discussed wars, strategic planning of wars, and the training of troops. Other topics included trade, conversations of other nations, and women. Every so often, Paris would eye Helen greedily when no one was watching him. She would look at him through hooded eyes and flutter her eyelashes at him coquettishly before casting her gaze back at her lap again. Helen knew she was treading on a dangerous boundary. She prayed to the gods that they would not strike her down for her sins against her husband and as of yet, nothing dreadful had occurred. However, if she was caught and Menelaus was informed, it would be the end for her and maybe her Trojan lover, though that would only cause chaos with Troy. So far, their secret trysts had remained undiscovered and Helen hoped it would remain that way.
Panthea had remained behind in her rooms, reading from one of the many scrolls her father had given her to study. They ranged from maps of Greece to the works of Nestor and his story of the Argonauts as well as others. Her forehead creased as she read over the map of Troy. It was not in Greece, not near the other great kings, but was settled in Anatolia. They had allies surrounding them, but they were by far the greatest nations there. The other cities paid their tribute to Troy, bringing wealth and prosperity. Placing the scroll down, she brushed a stray hair out of her face before rising from her chair. She thought it was time she joined the others, having been late enough already.
Exiting her rooms, Panthea's guards followed her loyally as she trekked through the palace walls. Her seafoam colored peplos trailed behind her and her silver coronet glittered in the sunlight. The colors fit her complexion beautifully, making her appear goddess-like. As she entered the gardens, she waved her guards off, telling them she would be alright by herself. Leaning against a white marble column, she watched the festivities below her as she stood on the platform in front of the staircase leading to the gardens. The women and men were within the same area yet separated as was expected. She shook her head at the sight. The essence of war was perhaps too gruesome for ladies to hear.
She began to make her way down the staircase, her face lighting up in amusement as her father let out a loud roar at something one of the men just said. Spotting her, he winked and beckoned her towards him. Helen saw the action, and shook her head at Panthea telling her to come to the women instead, but Panthea ignored her and went to her father. Reaching out, Menelaus pulled his daughter into his lap, pressing a kiss to her forehead.
"Tell me men," Menelaus said proudly, "Isn't my daughter the prettiest woman in all of Sparta?" The men all let out hearty cheers, making Panthea blush. She leaned back into her father's embrace, enjoying the comfort he gave her. Unlike what many thought, Menelaus was loving towards his children, doting on them often, especially Panthea. He knew she was given by the gods for a purpose, but he did not know what for. Menelaus continued joking with the men. "Tell me Prince Paris, how would you like to have my daughter as your wife? You'd be King of Sparta after my death and have your own kingdom instead of sharing with your brother." He let out a loud chuckle, the men joining in.
"I think his grace has little time for marriage father. Besides, his eye is on someone else already." Panthea eyed Paris with a piercing look, as if she was staring into the depths of his soul. Her look and tone were serious, but no one noticed. Instead, they let out loud roars at the princess's words. Hector raised his eyebrows at Panthea, clearly amused she had ousted his brother, but wary of the edge in her voice. She apparently knew what was happening between her mother and Paris as well. Rising from her position in her father's lap, she flashed a cat like grin before bowing and moving towards her mother.
"That one, untamable I tell you," Menelaus spoke. "She could rival any man, my daughter." He took a sip of wine from his chalice, the conversation then turning to another subject. Hector cast his gaze upon Panthea as she walked away. She was a mystery to him and as much as he wanted to stay away, he was drawn to her. Their eyes locked at that moment, dark brown meeting sea blue. She didn't look away as she should have, her innocence shining at him brightly, but something secret lay underneath her naïve nature. Her eyes were beckoning him to her, like a siren to its prey. He couldn't look away, no matter how hard he tried. He was awakened from his stupor when a servant refilled his wine cup and the connection was broken.
It was raining downpours and the sky was pitchback with the occasional lightning illuminating the vast expanse of darkness. One could barely see the space in front of them, nothing visible at all until Zeus's bolts lit up the sky. A man walked through the dense blackness, his hands stretched out in front of him with his sword attached to his belt on his waist. His body was covered in full armor: a breastplate and greaves to protect the lower legs. His shield was attached to his back, a design of silver and gold imprinted upon it which detailed the labors of mighty Heracles and his ascent into Olympus. The wind was chilling yet the warrior did not shiver at all. In fact, his muscles tensed and his jaw clenched as the wind swept across his face.
Moving across the ground, he realized he was standing on one of the many plains of Greek land, rolling hills and flat earth. Another strike of lightning darted across the sky, and for a moment, the man could make out a figure, dancing in the rain. Her peplos clung to her body, leaving little to the imagination. The material was see threw and did nothing to protect the woman's modesty. Her breasts were visibly seen through the wet fabric, the rosy peaks and round mounds at their perfection in life. No lines marred her skin. She was the apex of life, her youth in bloom. Her white skin made her appear more like a vision rather than a real person. Turning, the warrior saw that the woman's almost white hair was plastered onto her face despite the rough winds. A devious smile appeared on her face, and she reached her hand out to him in question before rushing across the expanse of the field. A voice could be heard calling to her and was what had made her turn from him.
Hurrying away from him, the man followed the woman, his loins already hot with the flame of desire. His breathing became heavy as he sprinted after her, not wanting to lose sight. It was then a shadow appeared out of nowhere, grasping the woman out of thin air. She embraced the figure, looking back to the man with sorrow in her eyes before bursting into flames. Within those flames, the figures emerged, lost in the sins of the flesh. The woman cried out in pleasure as she was devoured by the mysterious figure. Her eyes connected with the warrior, calling to him, before she let out a horrific scream.
Achilles awoke from his nightmare, shaking in anger and sweat clinging to his body as he tried to erase the image of Panthea from his head. He hands clenched the furs of his bed, threatening to break the material. He had had the nightmare three times now, although this one had been longer than the others and Panthea had burst into flames. He didn't know what it meant, he didn't want to know. He just wanted to be reunited with his beloved warrior before Helen tried to marry her off to one of the Trojans. Grasping the gold chain around his neck, he rubbed his fingers over the smooth medallion attached to it, calming the beast within.
Evening out his breathing, he looked down next to him, disgusted at the maiden lying next to him. He was revolted with himself, he had been when he brought the woman to his bed. His sexual drive had lasted far longer than he thought, but he had needed to let out his frustrations before things had gotten worse. He was only a man. As he rose from the bed, he tied a chiton around his waist before exiting onto his balcony. Panthea would understand he thought as he braced himself against the concrete wall. His arms were stretched out in from of him as he hands griped the balcony's edge and his legs were braced to hold his weight. She knows I have my needs and that I would never do this to hurt her. It will be different once we are married. He cried out in vexation as he punched the wall, his body crying out in pain, but his voice not uttering a sound. I deserve it he spoke in his mind as he tuned his body to slide down the wall. Assessing the damage, he saw that his knuckle was red and bloody from his actions and he cursed himself again. With his knees pressed against his chest, Achilles let the blood drip down from his hand and slide across his fingers until it dripped to the marble floor beneath him. It would heal, but the thought that Panthea would hate him plagued his mind. She might forgive him, but he would not forgive himself.
"Brothers in arms!" Menelaus yelled through the crowd at the banquet within his Spartan reception hall. It was the last night of the Trojans stay and he was delivering his goodbye speech. His body was clothed in a fine garment of red cloth with jewels signaling his status around his neck. Helen sits next to him in her chair, her eyes downcast as her husband speaks next to her. Her hair was arranged in a simple style for the evening, nothing too elaborate. She too was wearing red, her peplos a darker red than the robe she wore over it. Gold chains hung from her neck and gold earrings shined from her ears. Panthea sat on Menelaus's other side, smiling up at her father as he spoke to the men. She was a vision in white and a large diamond hung from her neck between her breasts, a gift from her father for her upcoming birthday. Her hair was also arranged in a simple fashion to hang over her shoulders in bountiful waves. They were the only women in the room and their presence outshined that of the many warriors.
"Friendship!" Menelaus spoke as he holds his goblet out towards the men.
"Friendship!" The warriors replied to their King and host.
"Princes of Troy, on our last night together, Queen Helen and I salute you. We've had our conflicts before, it's true. We fought many battles, Sparta and Troy. And fought well!" The men cheer drunkenly around them. Helen and Paris connect eyes for a moment before she demurely casts them downwards again. Paris continues to stare. "But I have always respected your father. Priam is a good king, a good man. I respected him as an adversary. I respect him now as my ally." More cheering erupts from the massive crowd. "Hector, Paris, young princes, come. Stand. Drink with me." Hector rises from his position, but Paris continues to stare across the table at Helen. Annoyed with his brother, Hector nudges him to get his attention and Paris stands quickly. Panthea raises her eyebrows at the scene, her eyes narrowing at Hector. If looks could kill, Paris would have been to the underworld and back several times. "Let us drink to peace." Menelaus speaks.
Hector nods at Menelaus's words before raising his cup. "To peace between Troy and Sparta." All the men drink heavily from their cups before slamming them down on the table in front of them.
"May the gods keep the wolves in the hills and the women in our beds," Menelaus yells out to the men. They all cheer drunkenly and rise to their feet. A band of musicians strike up a tune before hired dancers for the evening emerge from the corridor and into the banquet hall. The men all howl at the sight of the beautiful women, each attaching themselves to one of the dancers to entertain themselves for the evening.
Walking from his seat, Menelaus rounds the table before grabbing Hector in a bear hug. Hector sportingly accepts the embrace. "For the gods," Menelaus speaks, of which Hector says in return as they cling their cups together, wine falling onto the floor. Menelaus then pats Hector's upper arm, the muscles clearly seen under the armor of the Prince of Troy. "A strong the gods we made peace. I've seen too many of my men struck down with this arm," Menalus says solemnly.
"Never again, I hope," Hector says sincerely, a serious expression gracing his features.
"Only one man works a sword better than you. The son of Peleus the Argonaut."
"Achilles."
While the men are talking, Helen looks annoyed that she must sit in the hall on display. Panthea is oblivious to her mother's discomfort, her eyes lighting up in delight as she watched the dancers. She giggles at the men flirting with them.
"That madman would throw a spear at Zeus himself if the god insulted him." Menelaus lets out a drunken laugh at his joke, Hector joining in. Menelaus then pats Hector as he continues laughing at his jest and points towards one of the dancers who stares at Hector openly. "You see that one over there? I picked her just for you. She's a little lioness." Menelaus grins at the girl, who lowers her eyes and smiles. He strokes the skin of her shoulder before she dances past them alluringly. Helen notices the silent exchange but ignores it, and rises from her seat.
"Thank you. My wife waits for me in Troy." Hector had no desire to lay with another woman, although the thought of Panthea did appear in his head. He dismissed the image before he could dwell on it more.
"My wife waits for me right there." Menelaus points towards Helen before leaning forward to whisper in Hector's ear. "Wives are for breeding. You understand? For making little princes. Come, enjoy yourself tonight." Helen then walks out of the reception hall before Menelaus notices, Panthea following her with her eyes, a frown on her face.
Hector raises his cup to Menelaus, changing the subject. "You make excellent wine in Sparta." Menelaus laughs and pats Hector again. He leaves the prince to himself, Hector drinking from his cup deeply. Paris excuses himself from the Spartan generals he's been speaking with and heads in the same direction as Helen, up a staircase and towards the private chambers of the royals. Hector watches him, an agitated as well as angered expression appearing on his face.
Helen sits in her chambers, a fire burning brightly in the middle of the room, as she combs her golden hair. She looks up as she hears a sound from the door. Paris enters before barring the door behind him. "You shouldn't be here," Helen speaks meekly.
"That's what you said last night," Paris mutters.
"Last night was a mistake."
"And the night before?"
Helen continues to comb her hair, frustrated at Paris's words. "I've made many mistakes this week." Paris makes his way towards her before stroking the skin of her neck and shoulders. Helen leans into his embrace, enjoying the feel of his fingers against her skin.
"Do you want me to go?" Paris questions. Helen rises from her chair, staring at Paris for a moment before releasing the pins from her peplos. The fabric falls to the floor and Paris stares in hunger. Helen reaches foreword, her lips meeting his urgently. The couple descends onto the bed where they proceed to make love.
Meanwhile, downstairs in the reception hall, the rowdy soldiers are conversing loudly in the hall. Hector nods his head as he passes the partygoers, stopping a he sets his sight on the stairs where he saw Paris disappear. He turns, a look of rage on his face. Panthea is not far from his own feeling, her eyes also watching the stairs. Menelaus is sitting not far from her, one of the dancers on his laps whom he kisses lustfully. She rolls her eyes at the scene, clearly not content with her father's behavior.
"Pearls from the Sea of Propontis" Paris says as he pulls out a string of pearls from his belongings laying on the ground. Helen raises herself up from the bed, her naked body bathing in the firelight. She reaches out to take the beautiful gift, but Paris places it on her neck.
"They're beautiful." Helen strokes the smooth texture of the pearls before a downcast look appears on her face. "But I can't wear them. Menelaus would kill us both." Paris strokes her face and runs his hands down the length of her neck to her shoulder and then her arm.
"Don't be afraid of him," speaks Paris. His eyes speak volumes as he looks at her encouragingly.
"I'm not afraid of dying. I'm afraid of tomorrow." Helen reaches up, her hand covering her mouth and touching her face as she tries not to cry. "I'm afraid of watching you sail away and knowing you'll never come back." She strokes her lovers face gently, tracing the contours of his face so she can imprint them in her mind. "Before you came to Sparta, I was a ghost. I walked, and I ate, and I swam in the sea, but I was just a ghost." A mournful look mars her pretty facial features.
"You don't have to fear tomorrow. Come with me." Paris speaks urgently and Helen looks up at him, her eyes widening at his words.
"Don't play with me. Don't play."
"If you come, we'll never be safe. Men will hunt us, the gods will curse us. But I'll love you." Helen gasps at his words. "Until the day, they burn my body, I will love you." Helen smiles at him lovingly, tears falling down his face before she speaks.
"I will go with you," Helen speaks happily, a smile forming on Paris's face, "But, Panthea must come with us. I can't leave her here, with him. Please say she can come too. She is my whole world Paris. I cannot leave her to the same fate as me. She may be her father's daughter, but she is my daughter too." Paris considers the idea, before nodding. Helen embraces him, crying as she dreams about their life together. Paris strokes her hair, thoughts churning in his brain. He didn't know how he was to get them both out of Sparta, but he would do, for Helen, for the woman he would love for the rest of his life.
A group of Trojan and Spartan soldiers are lying on various skins and furs that cover the marble floor of the palace reception hall. A few are lounging lazily with women, others sleep, and a few continue to drink and sing old war songs. Hector comes to stand in front of Tecton, the largely built captain of the elite Apollonian Guard, whom rises to his feet when he sees Hector.
"Make the proper offerings to Poseidon before we sail. We don't need any more widows in Troy," Hector speaks with authority.
"Goat or pig?" Tecton questions, a small grin forming on his features.
"Which does the Sea God prefer?" Hector chuckles.
"I'll wake the priest and ask him." Tecton bows and exits the reception hall.
Looking up, Hector sees Paris coming the down the stairs that led to the Spartan royals' private chambers. His brother looks up for a moment, seeing Hector, and tries to head towards his quarters.
"Paris!" Hector speaks sternly, an annoyed expression his face that he was just ignored. Paris turns and smiles, acting as if he hadn't seen Hector before. Paris saunters over to join his brother. "You should get to bed. We won't sleep on land again for weeks."
"I have no trouble sleeping on the seas. The sea nymphs sing lullabies to me," Paris replies cheekily.
"And who sang lullabies to you tonight?" Hector questions, scanning Paris's face for any change in its countenance. Paris freezes for a moment but quickly regains his poise.
"Tonight?" Paris stumbles over his words for a moment. "Tonight, was the fisherman's wife. A lovely creature." He smiles half-heartily at his brother.
"I hope you didn't let the fisherman catch you," said Hector as he played along with his brother's lie.
"He's more concerned with the fish." Paris smiles and starts to walk away but Hector grasps his arm tightly and holds him in place.
"You do understand why we're in Sparta?" Hector asks with a serious look, his eyes darkening.
"For peace," Paris replies.
"And you do understand that Menelaus, King of Sparta, is a powerful man? And that his brother, Agamemnon, King of Mycenae, commands all the Greek forces?" Hector tries to get Paris to understand the consequences of his actions if he were discovered.
"What does this have to do with the fisherman's wife?" Paris questions, rolling his eyes disrespectfully at his elder brother.
Hector seizes Paris's face between his fingers, gripping the skin tightly, but not enough to cause any pain. "Paris. You're my brother, and I love you. But if you do anything to endanger Troy I'll rip your pretty face from your pretty skull." Hector voice is firm, his teeth gritting as he speaks to Paris. He releases his grip, stroking his brother's face gently. He kisses Paris on the forehead. "Get some sleep. We sail in the morning." Paris, a bit shocked by the encounter, briefly leaves.
"Not if I do it first my lord." Prince Hector turns around, seeing Panthea leaning up against the archway in the reception hall. Her eyes are deadly, her threat serious, and her body language tense. Their eyes connect for a moment, before she goes to brush past him quickly.
Hector reaches out, his hand grasping the hip farthest from him as he pulls her towards him. Their noses touch for a second as Hector looks in her eyes pleadingly. "You will not tell Menelaus, will you?" he questions. He rubs the fabric at her hip gently as he breathes in her sweet scent. It lingers in his nostrils, overtaking his senses. He stands there, trying to reign in his control. His hand tightens for a moment, not going unnoticed by Panthea.
Panthea nods timidly before speaking. "I'm not stupid my lord. Peace is what you want so peace is what we shall have." She was too close to Hector she thought, more than was appropriate, and she could feel his tightening grip at her hip, the heat of his hand seeping through her peplos. She pushes his hand off her before departing towards her chambers, her forehead creased. Hector watches her with a pain-filled look in his eyes as she dismisses the contact. He too leaves for his quarters, preparing himself for the long journey ahead.
As Panthea enters her room, she begins preparing for bed, going through her nighttime routine. Sitting down at her vanity, she brushes her white-blond hair until it shines in the light of the fire and then changes into her nightgown and washes her face before settling into bed. Her mother had not been to her rooms to say goodnight yet, which was odd. Helen always came and sat beside Panthea, waiting for her to fall asleep before she left. It was then Panthea realized there weren't any guards posted at the entrance of her chambers when she had entered. She stopped for a moment to look across her room, trying to spot any movement without it being noticeable. Little did she realize there was a figure approaching from behind. Panthea had just calmed down for a moment before a hand covered her mouth and cool liquid was shoved down her throat. She tried to spit the substance out, but her assailant plugged her nose so she could not breath. She swallowed the disgusting liquid, pushing away from the attacker. Turning around, she realized it was Prince Paris. He had a sorrowful expression on his face at what he had just done.
Helen appeared beside him, tears in her eyes. "Don't struggle sweetheart. You'll only make it worse," She said quietly.
Panthea staggered towards them, her eyes becoming clouded before she fell to the floor unconscious. Helen cried into Paris's chest at the sight, but in her heart, she thought she was doing right. The pair carried her to Paris's temporary rooms, grabbing a few items and shoving them into a bag. Helen held her daughter's sword to her chest, knowing that was the one item she would truly want. She did not say goodbye to Hermione, knowing she would not be able to leave with Paris if she did so. She was too young to understand and she hoped she would forgive her one day. On the other hand, she knew Panthea would not be happy, but this would a new beginning for them, one where they were not plagued by Menelaus.
The Trojan ship had been at sea for a few hours now, the wind blowing them in the direction of Troy. The sun beat down on the sailors, though they are not rowing because of the strong wind and current. The sails are being attended to while others play card games or dice. Hector is standing at the bow of the ship, wearing his more casual garments. The clothing bared the skin of his chest and his arms, his rippling muscles seen by all. He leans against the rail, whittling a wooden lion. Paris approaches him cautiously.
"A beautiful morning. Poseidon has blessed our voyage." Paris and Hector both look up to the sky. Hector continues working on his whittling.
"Sometimes the gods bless you in the morning and curse you in the afternoon." Hector has a thoughtful tone in his voice.
"Drop sail!" yells one of the sailors.
"Do you love me, brother? Would you protect me against any enemy?" Paris has a solemn intonation now.
Hector looks at his brother, and smiles at the memory. "The last time you spoke to me like this you were 10 years old, and you'd just stolen Father's horse. What have you done now?" He now appears to consider what Paris might have done, a serious look appearing on his face.
"I must show you something." Paris looks frightened for a moment, wondering how Hector would react. Paris walks towards the staircase leading into the depths of the ship. Hector watches him hesitantly before following. They both reach the bottom of the ladder, and Hector notices a figure covered with a cloak. The hood is pulled down to reveal Helen. She looks desperate, her eyes meeting Hector's for a moment before she moves to reveal Panthea. She's lying in a hammock, her pale skin looking whiter then it should be. Sweat clung to her forehead, and she appears to have dried tears on her face. She was sleeping, her hand wrapped around her stomach. Hector looks infuriated and distressed at the same time. Panthea was obviously not well and it had something to do with Paris getting her on the ship.
Menelaus storms into Helen's chambers, a look of rage on his face. He is flanked by armed soldiers who look scared at their master's temper. A handmaiden stands their polishing Helen's jewelry and turns when Menelaus enters. She terrified of the man and backs against the table. "Where is she?" The girl does not speak. Menelaus nears her, grabbing her roughly and baring a knife to her neck. "I swear by the father of the gods, I will gut you here if you don't tell me!"
A royal advisor appears with a with a fisherman before the woman can be injured. "My king! She left, with the Trojans. The fisherman here saw her board their ship."
"The Trojans?" Menelaus says angrily.
The fisherman speaks hesitantly. "With the young prince, Paris. She. . . ."
"Get my ship ready," Menelaus says gruffly.
"My lord," the fisherman says respectfully with a timid look in his eyes, "They took the young princess as well. It appears as if she was drugged. The prince was carrying her with the queen following behind." Menelaus's temper worsens even more. He brushed past his men roughly, yelling out orders as he prepares to see his brother in Mycenae.
"Turn us round. Back to Sparta," yells Hector at the captain of the ship. The man nods before obeying the prince's orders.
"High on the sail!" the captain orders.
"Wait, wait," Paris urges his brother.
"You fool!" Hector says, turning around to face his brother.
"Listen to me," Paris pleads.
"Do you know what you've done? Do you know how many years our father worked for peace?" Hector shoves Paris away as he speaks, his anger overtaking his body.
"I love her." Hector groans at his words.
"It's all a game to you, isn't it? You roam from town to town, bedding merchants' wives and temple maids. You think you know something about love. What about your father's love? You spat on him when you brought her on this ship! What about the love for your country? Why'd you bring her daughter along too? Menelaus will be even more angrier when he discovers his heir has been taken as well. You'd let Troy burn for these women?!" Hector turns, baring himself against the rail of the ship. He jaw clenches in anger. "I won't let you start a war for her, for them." Hector is disgusted at his brother's actions, his words showing his disappointment.
"May I speak?" Paris asks. Hector nods at his words, but his fury still lingers.
"What you're saying is true. I've wronged you. I've wronged our father. If you want to take Helen and Panthea back to Sparta, so be it. But I go with them." Paris is admitting his faults, but his voice turns desperate when he says he will go with Helen.
"To Sparta? They'll kill you," Hector speaks, exasperated by what Paris just said.
"Then I'll die fighting." Hector looks at Paris with an unbelieving look on his face.
"Oh, and that sounds heroic to you, doesn't it? To die fighting. Little brother, have you ever killed a man?" Hector's tone is grim as he speaks to Paris.
"No."
"Ever seen a man die in combat?"
"No." Paris just stands there as he is berated by his brother.
"I've killed men, and I've heard them dying. And I've watched them dying. And there's nothing glorious about it. Nothing poetic. You say you want to die for love. You know nothing about dying. And you know nothing about love!" Hector's face flushes with anger as he yells at Paris, his eyes looking up and down his brother in revulsion.
"All the same, I go with them. I won't ask you to fight my war," Paris says determined.
"You already have," Hector says, defeated. He turns to the captain, "To Troy!" Hector looks out to the sea, his thoughts taken over by what had just been revealed. He didn't know what he supposed to do, but until they returned to Troy, he was responsible for his brother's actions and would watch over the women of Sparta.
A/N: Hope you liked the chapter. It's my longest one yet! Reviews are welcome.
