A/N: Just a few things to get out of the way…sorry it'll be a semi-long author's note, but I've been gone forever. First off, sorry this took so long to post. I left you hanging, and there's no excuse for that. I'm sorry. However, I have tried to improve the story. If you go back through the chapters, some things have changed, the most important being that Paris now has not yet entered the story. That was the only way I could think of to continue this.

Second, this story was a finalist in the Tragic Bliss Awards…and well, it won. Haunted By Bliss won Best Ongoing and Best Overall, which completely shocked me. Thanks to everyone who supported it!

Third, as dorky as this sounds, I found a theme song for chapters 1-20. I know that sounds pathetic, and I wasn't looking for one, but once I heard the song it really clicked. If you'd like to hear it, email me or message me and I'll try to send the file.

Also, the dedications. This one's dedicated to every reader who encouraged me to continue, and there were many of you. Thank you.

That's all for now. I hope you enjoy the chapter, and I hope I can update quicker!

Spider

Chapter Twenty-One: The Lost Son

Immediately after Hector and I confessed our love, there followed a period of beautiful simplicity. Looking back on it now, I see it was probably the most uncomplicated time of my life. There was no war or grief to cut into my happiness; no blood, anger, or jealousy. For a while, the world was crisp and fresh, as if I were gazing at it from a new viewpoint. Even dull tasks could leave me grinning, as thoughts of my husband lingered in my mind. Every problem, no matter how demanding, was easily solved with a mere smile from Hector.

I loved being in love. It sounds naïve to say it, but I did. I learned quickly that love is a powerful force, and I was blessed to experience it. I made several offerings at the temple of Aphrodite, both to thank her for her gift and to apologize for being so stubborn. I never heard another word from her after she visited me in a dream, months before, but I felt somehow that she forgave me. After all, I was only a mortal, prone to mistakes, and I had succumbed to her wishes in the end.

This period of bliss was interrupted by a man I have come to blame a number of misfortunes on. Yet at the time, I welcomed him into my life.

As winter slowly relinquished its hold on Troy, Priam announced the city's annual funeral games would be held within the month. I was puzzled by this—who held funeral games every year? I asked Hector about this when I got the chance, and as with all other aspects of the city that were strange to me, he was eager to explain.

"When I was scarcely three years old, my mother was expecting another child," he began. We were lounging in one of Priam's larger courtyards, picking at a platter of fruit. I loved lazy afternoons like that one. "The night before she gave birth, she had a dream that instead of a child, she would bring a flaming torch into the world, and in turn, that torch would burn the city of Troy. My father asked the priest Aesacus to interpret the dream, and he took it as an ill omen. He advised my father to kill the child as soon as it was born, as it would surely bring destruction to Troy."

I found myself hoping that Priam had refused the omen, but of course I already knew how the story ended.

"I was much too young to remember much of this, of course, and I do not remember seeing my brother. My mother protested fiercely, but my father would never risk his kingdom for a single child. It was difficult for him, but he gave the boy to a servant to kill," Hector finished. I was torn. Priam had done what was best for his country, it was true. But I could not fathom ordering the death of one's own child, no matter the consequences.

"I've always wondered if Aesacus read the dream wrong," Hector admitted softly, slowly running his hand back and forth along the length of my arm. "It seems clear enough, and I should not doubt a priest, but still I wonder. He was only a baby."

"Hector!" a voice called, interrupting his thoughts. Deiphobus had entered the courtyard, striding purposefully to where Hector and I rested. "Would you care to practice for the games?" he asked, smiling in a way that struck me as sly. "We can wrestle, spar, or try a footrace. I'm eager for you to see how my skills have improved, brother!"

Hector rose to accept his challenge, but I could sense the competition wasn't nearly as important to him as it was to his younger brother. It always made me uncomfortable to be around Deiphobus when he was with Hector. He strove to win his attention and emulate him, yet he only wanted to be better and more powerful.

Hector beat him soundly at wrestling and sparring, but Deiphobus won the footrace by a hair. Refusing Hector's praise, he swore to do better at the games themselves, and panting, he stalked out of the courtyard.

"Will you let him win at the games?" I asked when he was gone. I knew Deiphobus had no chance at defeating my husband. His tall, muscled body was perfect for most athletic games. His strength and power could easily defeat a lesser opponent.

"No. I simply won't enter the games Deiphobus desperately wants to win," he answered. "Competition is more important to him."

Hector was true to his word. The day of the funeral games, he entered only one competition, choosing instead to stay at my side during the elaborate festival. The day started with the sacrifice of a majestic bull. The servants of the king had selected it from a herd in the mountains, painted his hooves gold, and decorated it with garlands. A priest of Zeus slit its throat and said a prayer for the dead prince. Priam and Hecuba looked on solemnly, and then Priam cleared his throat and lifted the descending veil of gloom.

"Let the games begin!" he called, and the crowd rejoiced. Many men stripped to their loincloths and formed a ring in the soft dirt arena normally used for training. Deiphobus leapt to the center, forming fists as he did. "Who will challenge me?" he asked, an arrogant smile fixed on his lips. He pointed at Aeneas, who laughed and shook his head. "I will call the match for you, cousin," he offered. "But today I have no wish for a broken nose and a black eye!"

Others did, though. Deiphobus sparred with a burly shipwright, then a tall soldier and a muscular manservant. I was surprised to see that he actually was very talented. Although he did not have immense strength in his arms or legs, he was large, and he used that to his advantage. His strikes had his weight behind them, and he was swift on his feet. He used feints often and effectively. One by one, each opponent left the ring, moaning about their various injuries.

"Anyone else?" Deiphobus called, grinning madly. From three sparring matches, he had only received a split lip and a bloody nose. He gestured to Hector, Helenus, and even young Cebriones, but they all refused. His smile widened in anticipation of the laurel crown given to winners, but suddenly one more challenger stepped out of the crowd.

Immediately, I pitied the man. He was one of Priam's servants in the hills, one who had raised the sacrificial bull. He looked to be slightly older than Deiphobus, but not nearly as strong. His tall, lean frame contrasted sharply with Deiphobus' burliness. He wore a simple herdsman's tunic and an expression of nervousness. When he turned to face Aeneas, I was startled to see that he was incredibly handsome. He had none of Hector's rugged charm, but his clean-shaven face had a quality of innocence. His dark locks were dulled by dust, and his soft blue eyes shone out from over his high cheekbones. They held a determined gleam.

"I will try," he said bravely, and Aeneas nodded. Deiphobus, chuckling, took his stance.

It was then that a chilling wail sliced through the air. "No!" Cassandra screamed. There was no need for her to push through the crowd. The people recoiled from her. Her eyes were wild as she pointed a shaking finger at the newcomer. "Not you! Leave us! Leave us to our peace!"

"Sister, don't be upset. Let me escort you to your chambers," Helenus said, taking her firmly by the hand. Cassandra still stared at the newcomer, her gaze unsettling. Then her beautiful face crumpled and she broke into heartbreaking sobs.

"Was our sacrifice not enough?" she cried as Helenus pulled her away. "Are two lives worth thousands?"

I was shaken by her appearance. Hector squeezed my hand, and the people carried on as though nothing had happened. Deiphobus took a fighting stance once again, and the newcomer did the same.

"A shame that pretty face will be marred," an observing maidservant sighed. Deiphobus eased into a routine, circling and feinting in an effort to scare the man. The herdsman circled warily, his body tense, waiting. When Deiphobus finally took a swing, the newcomer ducked the blow.

A murmur of approval coursed through the crowd. Clearly the man had become the crowd's favorite. Deiphobus must have realized this too, for his arrogant expression faded to one of annoyance. He stepped closer and jabbed at his opponent's ribs, but the man twirled out of the way, avoiding the main force of the blow.

"Impressive," Hector whispered, his piercing stare focused on the match. The stranger had even won the approval of the eldest prince!

Deiphobus moved quickly now, feinting left and right. He swung at his opponent's jaw, but the man was too swift for him. He parried the blow, knocking Deiphobus off-balance, and hit him hard in the stomach, doubling him over. He punched him once more, catching him in the temples. Deiphobus straightened, absolutely furious. His next attacks were forceful blows that would have sent larger men sprawling, but the herdsman danced away from them all. Finally he ducked under the prince's arm and caught him on the ear with a blow that knocked him flat. Aeneas had to shout over the cheering crowd.

"The victory belongs to the herdsman!" he announced, and the man offered his hand to Deiphobus. Instead of accepting it to pull himself up, he spat upon it and stalked off.

The chariot race was next, and the herdsman did not compete, presumably because he had no chariot. He looked on with the rest of the Trojans crowded around the wall instead. Hector was competing, as well as Aeneas. The two jested as they tethered their horses to the chariots, and it warmed my heart to see that their friendship had not been damaged by their previous misunderstanding. Hector had chosen Lampos to pull his chariot, as well as a feisty mare. Before the race began, he scanned the walls until he caught my eye. He smiled and waved at me, and I blushed as people chuckled. Then they were off, stirring up a storm of dust that trailed them as they circled the walls, the wheels creaking and the horses' hooves pounding erratically.

To nobody's surprise, Hector was the victor of the race. I cheered loudly with the rest of the Trojans. Aeneas jumped off his chariot to embrace his friend, and Hector's bashful smile made me want to push Aeneas aside and embrace him myself. I raced from the walls to the gate to meet him, and I did just that.

"If your lovely wife reacts like that every time you win, perhaps you should enter the footrace as well," Aeneas joked as I threw my arms around Hector's neck. Laughing, Hector kissed my cheek.

"Another competition is well worth it," he agreed, setting me down lightly. "Will you race as well, Aeneas?"

"Not this time, friend. I must repair my wounded pride," he said happily. Already, two maidens were flattering and consoling him. It was times like that when I was convinced he truly was the son of Aphrodite, for the idea of love seemed to radiate from him.

Fourteen men lined up to participate in the footrace, and among them were Hector, the herdsman, and fleet-footed Helenus. Most of the men chatted and joked with each other, but not the herdsman. He stretched his limbs and breathed deeply, utterly focused on the task ahead. To all the Trojan competitors, save for Deiphobus, the games were all in fun. But for his man, they were something more. He seemed desperate to prove himself.

Perhaps he seeks the attention of a noble maiden, I mused. I had no more time to wonder. A horn was blown, signaling the start of the race.

Within seconds, Hector, Helenus, and the stranger had pushed ahead of the other men. Helenus was in the lead first, but his older brother quickly overtook him. Hector's lead was met with loud applause from the audience—even before his brave acts in the war, he was the people's favorite. The stranger, though still ahead of the majority of runners, lagged behind. Desperation was etched onto his features, and with obvious effort, he increased his speed. Panting heavily, he overtook Helenus. As they neared the finish, he increased his effort yet again. Steps before the finish line, he raced ahead of Hector.

Certainly no one had expected that. The applause faded to incredulous mutterings as the runners stopped, placing their hands on their knees and leaning over, trying to regain their breath. I wove through the crowd, trying to reach my husband. Still panting, Hector reached over to clap the stranger's back.

"Well done, friend," he congratulated him, and his smile was genuine. "A well-deserved victory!"

With that, the applause resumed, and the man allowed himself an amazed smile. He looked at Hector with a respectful adoration in his eyes, thanking him profusely for his praise.

I do not think it was the fact that the young man had won yet another race, so much as the sudden friendliness between he and Hector that angered Deiphobus. He stepped between the two, glaring at the stranger. "Perhaps you would like to try your luck at the archery competition," he growled. The man backed up a step, but kept his clear blue eyes on the angry prince.

"I will try," he said again. Deiphobus sneered as the man started toward the targets.

"Do not begrudge him his victory because you are sore over your loss, brother," Hector chastised. "You cannot be best at everything."

Deiphobus continued to scowl, but his brother's disappointment had obviously hurt him. "Will you compete?" he asked finally, and Hector shook his head.

"No. Best of luck to you, though," he answered. As Deiphobus walked away, he came to where I stood. "Hopefully my dear brother will win this game," he stated wryly. "Otherwise, we'll have to deal with his childish temper until the next festival."

There were surprisingly few men in the competition. Out of all the kingdom's archers, only five had decided to compete, including the herdsman and Deiphobus. When I questioned Hector about this, he tilted his head toward a large table, containing half a dozen large amphorae of wine. Pretty serving maidens filled goblets, and many men were already calling for more. Evidently the men had tired of competition and had turned to the pursuit of women and wine instead.

Deiphobus, however, was still intent on victory. He eyed his target intensely, and when the start of the game was announced, he took his time knocking an arrow and aiming it. His care paid off, for his arrow his very near to the center. His smile faded, however, as he looked at the herdsman's target.

His arrow had struck the target exactly in the center.

One man's arrow had not made it into the inner circle, so he was eliminated. Deiphobus and the herdsman both took deep breaths and aimed their second arrows.

Both hit the centers of the targets. The herdsman's had hit next to his first arrow, leaving no space between the two. The two other men were eliminated, leaving only Deiphobus and his foe. The only way he could win was if the herdsman's next shot went wild.

But the gods did not smile on sullen Deiphobus that day. The herdsman's final arrow hit as closely as the other two. The crowd screamed their approval as the man dropped to his knees, clearly thanking the gods. But Deiphobus roared in anger, drawing his dagger and advancing toward the unsuspecting stranger.

Instantly Hector left my side and planted himself in front of Deiphobus. When his brother tried to get around him, he pushed him back.

"Let me kill the insolent bastard!" Deiphobus snarled. But his fury was no match for Hector's cold gaze.

"No," he said firmly. "The man won the games, fairly and honorably. Surely the people expect to see the loser, their prince, act graciously." He waited until his fuming brother shoved his dagger back into his sheath, and then he turned to the wide-eyed winner.

"Congratulations, friend," he said warmly. Helping the man to his feet, he led him to the outdoor thrones where Priam and Hecuba waited, laurel crowns in hand.

Priam placed a wreath on Hector's head first, kissing his son's brow. Hector bowed indulgently as the crowd shouted his praise. Then he made his way back to where Aeneas and I stood, draping an arm around my waist. "I think Lampos deserves this instead," he told me, pointing to the crown, which sat crookedly on his unruly curls.

"He might enjoy it more," I agreed. "He would eat it."

We watched as the young herdsman knelt nervously in front of Priam, who seemed greatly impressed by his talents. "It is rare that a man wins three games in a single day," he complimented, setting all three wreaths atop his head. "Your father will be proud."

"I hope he will, my lord," the man agreed quietly. "But it is not merely the prize of these crowns I wish to claim today."

"Oh? And what is this prize you desire?" Priam asked amusedly. The man rose to his feet, staring at the king and queen before speaking again.

"I wish to be acknowledged and reclaimed by my family," he said bravely. His words confused me, and I saw that puzzlement reflected on everyone's faces, save Hecuba's. Her face was frozen in shock.

"I understand these funeral games are for the son you lost, nineteen years ago," he continued. "I am that son."

A wave of shock and disbelief coursed through us all. The stranger seemed uncomfortable, but he stood his ground. "By the gods," Hector swore. Aeneas shook his head a few times, unable to keep his eyes off the man.

"You cannot be my son," Priam said shakily, rising to his feet. "He is dead. I gave him to a guard to kill on the night of his birth."

"And that guard gave him to my surrogate father, the herdsman Agelaus," the man stated. "Agelaus left me on the hills of Mount Ida, exposing me to the elements. When he came back to find my body, he saw the tracks of a bear and assumed it had carried me off. But the bear did not kill me. She suckled me, and Agelaus took it as a sign from the gods that I should live. His wife named me Paris, after the wallet he carried me home in, and gave me the surname Alexandros." Paris took a deep breath, looking at Priam's pale face. "I only discovered this recently, or I would have returned to you sooner. Agelaus can verify the tale if need be, though he fears your anger at his disobedience."

When his tale was over, he simply stood there, hope in his eyes. Priam lowered himself slowly to the throne, and I found myself holding my breath. I looked between Paris, Hector, Deiphobus, and Helenus, trying to see if Paris resembled the men he claimed were his brothers. There was no denying the resemblance. He had Hector's strong cheekbones, Deiphobus' commanding nose, and Helenus' soft chin. I looked back to Priam and I was convinced that the man did not lie. He even had his father's eyes.

Hecuba rose suddenly, standing directly in front of Paris. She reached both hands up to cup his face. Tears rose to her dark eyes as she peered into his face. "Do you speak the truth?" she asked, her voice shrill. Her withered hands trembled on his flawless skin. "Are you my son?"

To which Paris softly responded, "I am."

Tears streaked down the queen's face, and Paris gently wiped them away. Priam rose again, unsteadily. "The gods have seen it fit to send me back the son they took from me," he said, gazing at Paris. "We are blessed to receive such a gift."

Still the crowd was not sure. There was uncertainty among the Trojans, even as Priam and Hecuba embraced their long-lost son. I could understand their hesitation. A simple herdsman had come to Troy, bested the people's revered princes, and now was numbered among them. I stole a glance at Deiphobus. He was fuming.

A light tug on my hand brought my attention back to Hector. "We must greet him," he whispered, pulling me forward. Though all his other siblings were awkwardly staying away, I knew he was right. He was their brother, and he deserved to be part of the family.

Paris looked bewildered as Hector strode up to him, with me in tow. He smiled dazedly as he laid a hand on his shoulder. "Welcome home, my brother," Hector said affectionately, and embraced him as if they had known each other all their lives. I heard a furious muttering and looked back at Deiphobus. Never had I seen him so furious. Rage had twisted his features into a mask of pure hatred, directed at his new brother.

"And this is my wife, Princess Andromache," Hector announced, and I turned back to embrace Paris myself. There were tears of gratitude in his beautiful eyes as his other siblings gathered around to welcome him, following Hector's example. His face held that same joyous expression all through the greetings, and I was moved by his happiness. No one seemed to care about the prophecies concerning him anymore. We were fools.

And so Paris came home, carrying with him a spark of the fire that destroyed glorious Troy.

There we go. This story is officially in motion again. Thanks for reading, and there WILL be more soon! Reviews, as always, are greatly appreciated.