Leda and Tyndarecus, Queen and King of Sparta sat in their finely carved respective thrones. Their four children: Clytemnestra and Castor, the eldest twins, and Helen and Pollux, were seated upon four smaller thrones.
"I bring greetings from Troy," Said a short, wiry man with wispy white-blonde. He wore a plain white tunic, with only a crimson stripe to remind all those who saw him of his importance: Ambassador of Troy.
"We welcome you, Flauvian of Troy," Tyndarecus returned. New creases had developed around his eyes, and streaks of gray could be found in his once rich hair. "We hope your stay here is an enjoyable one."
"I can only hope, your majesty."
"Where's Troy?" Helen asked Castor in a high whisper.
"Across the Aegean," Castor replied. He was fourteen, and his voice was beginning to deepen.
"What is Troy? Why does everybody talk about it?"
Castor glared at her, and then resolutely resumed his statuary pose.
"Tell me!" Hissed Helen.
"Not now!" Castor snapped. "Pay attention!"
Helen gave him a glare in return, and then was quiet.
"And are these the royal children?" Flauvian was now saying.
"Yes," Tyndarecus replied, "May I present to you my eldest son: Castor-"
Castor strode forward, chest puffed out and with what he hope was a regal expression on his face.
"Prince of Sparta," Flauvian addressed him, bowing his head.
"My eldest daughter, Clytemnestra."
"A beauty she is," The ambassador said with a smile.
"Yes. Pollux..."
"Fine young man. Has the look of Apollo about him."
"And my last, Helen."
Flauvian did not say anything. He stared at the twelve-year-old girl, speechless. "Amazing," he whispered.
Helen smiled, not abject to flattery, and grinned at her parents, basking in the attention.
"Aphrodite's child," the ambassador was saying.
Helen beamed at the man.

That night the royal family of Sparta dined in one of the many great halls, alone with the exception of the two servitors who stood by the low table and couches with bottles of watered down wine.
"Father- what is Troy?"
Tyndarecus set down his goblet, and turned to stare at his daughter. "Troy is the King of cities," he said quietly. "It is the center of all that mankind finds worthwhile. It rules the Aegean with it's mighty fleet, and possesses such walls that no army has ever breached them."
"Like us?"
"No, my dear, we are not like Troy. No city on earth can begin to compare with it." Tyndarecus did not seem resentful of this fact, he merely spoke like a man in awe, like the many others who had beheld and seen the city.
"I'd like to see Troy someday," Helen said, her eyes wide.
"Perhaps you will," Said her father with a smile. "Maybe I shall take you next time I go-"
"She's too young, yet," Leda interrupted.
"I'm twelve," Helen retorted, as if her mother needed reminding.
"When you're older," Leda repeated.
"I've seen it," Said Castor.
"As I have," Clytemnestra replied.
Helen gave her father a look of despair, before returning to her dinner.
"You shall see mighty Troy," Tyndarecus said with a laugh. "You are a part of the ruling house of Sparta- a mighty city within itself."
Leda frowned slightly, noticing the look in her daughter's eyes. But it was nothing, she told herself. Helen was too young.

"Father wants me married," Clytemnestra informed her sister proudly. The two girls sat in their large chamber, decorated with large mosaics, depicting the Gods and their revelry.
Helen immediately set down her brush, "Married!" She exclaimed. "You?"
Clytemnestra nodded, honey colored eyes shining with excitement.
"But to whom?" Helen demanded.
"Father's gotten several offers... Oh- I can't wait until they come!"
"Who's 'they'?"
"My suitors! Oh they'll come from all over... They say Achilles will come to beg my hand!"
Helen smirked at this, "Ah, the man-woman." Everybody had heard of Achilles, and how his mother had disguised him as a woman in Sycros, but nobody knew the reason why.
"I'm sure if you knew the whole story, you wouldn't be so quick to mock him! Besides... He is supposedly the most powerful warrior alive today! And a handsome one at that, if the reports are true." Clytemnestra's eyes were glazed over, and a faint smile toyed about her lips.
"I heard he had an affair," Helen said, picking up her silver comb again and gently pulling it through her hair.
"All men do," Clytemnestra snapped. "Why, you heard father talk of Priam tonight, didn't you?"
"Yes..." Replied Helen slowly.
"They say he has fifty sons and fifty daughters!"
"Fifty?" Helen exclaimed. "That is not possible. His wife..."
"Hecuba," Clytemnestra said, "Is his wife, but she did not bear all his children..."
"But..."
"He's a man, Helen," Said Clytemnestra, toying with one of her brown curls that had escaped her braid that she always wore to bed, "He does not spend all his nights with Hecuba."
"Poor lady," Helen murmured, "I would never marry so inconstant a man."
"No, you wouldn't..." Clytemnestra said softly. With a critical eye she examined her sister. Even she had to admit her sister had something special about her. She was extraordinarily beautiful, with her famed eyes, long, wavy blonde hair, pale skin, delicate nose, and a slight rose tint on her alabaster cheeks. While her body had not yet become a woman's it was long, and slim, though not unhealthily so. And there was a less describable thing about her too, like, she couldn't put it into words... an indescribable majesty and elegance... Ah! In two years the men would flock. Already they stared at her as she passed. She did not notice, yet. But when she was older...
"What are you thinking about?" Helen demanded. She had moved over to her sister's bed, and plopped down on the blue velvet cushions next to Clytemnestra's head.
"Nothing," Clytemnestra said dismissively, "Now go to bed."
Helen sighed, but nevertheless returned to her own bed, blowing at the candles that lit the room as she passed.

Her dreams were haunted that night. She was running, screaming through a city engulfed in flames. People were screaming; screaming at her but she could not make out their words. She felt rough hands yank at her clothing, and she was thrown to the ground. And above her, flamed by flames was a face, blackened by soot, and marked by two, deathly cold eyes.

She awoke the next morning bathed in sweat, and for the first time in her life she felt true fear.
"Do you feel all right, my lady," asked Helen's nurse, Alisa.
"Yes," Helen replied quietly. She did not want to share her dream with Alisa. She felt, somehow, that that would make the dream come true. She could not get the fear of the flames out of her hair, the terrified, angry voices, and above all the fearsome man out of her head.
"Well you sure don't look it, sweetie. Rest today, for tonight we have some visitors. Important guests of your father. Wear this for now." She handed Helen a dark Green tunic, embroidered with bronze thread, but did not bother to tie back her flowing hair.
With a quick hug, Helen ran off to find Clytemnestra.

She found her next to a small pound, located on the cliffs that stood over the harbor. About a hundred ships were docked there; warships. Smaller fishing ships could be seen further out to seen, their brightly colored sails straining against their ropes in the slight breeze. And there were two, less recognizable ships anchored near the royal dock, where Tyndarecus's barges were usually moored.
"The suitors," Clytemnestra said softly from behind the younger girl, as though she could read Helen's thoughts.
"Did Achilles come?" Helen asked, sea-blue eyes now straining to get a better look.
Clytemnestra smiled softly, yet sadly. "Yes, he came," She finally said.
"What's wrong then? Something troubles you."
Clytemnestra sighed, and pulled her fingers though her curly brown hair. "I don't know. Some things, you'll find, are exciting to think of; to imagine. Yet in reality they aren't so wonderful. I have heard stories... of child bearing. Women die."
Helen plopped down next to her sister, and, upon removing her sandals slipped her small white feet into the pond. "You're not married yet you know. You worry too much."
"I don't know... it's all so frightening. What if I hate my husband?"
"I'm sure you won't," Helen said automatically.
"What if my husband tires of me, and goes in search of other women?" Clytemnestra asked.
"You're not married yet," Helen repeated. "Savor the time you have now!"
"That's the problem," Said Clytemnestra as though she had just figured a particularly hard problem out. "You live in the moment, Helen. Maybe it's good that I worry, so I can anticipate the consequences of my actions and life before they come back to haunt me."
"Well," Said Helen indignantly, "I'd rather have fun while I can instead of always worrying about the future."
"Sometimes you really do seem young," Clytemnestra said sorrowfully.
"I am young," Helen snorted defiantly, "So I act young. You are young also, and you should act accordingly!"
Clytemnestra laid back against a mossy boulder, and folder her arms over her stomach. "Helen...to act one's age is to be ignorant."
"The God's made us this way! Why should we not be natural and act the way we're made to? Look at Zeus, whenever he feels a desire for a woman he lies with her! He does not feel ashamed."
"But look at the consequences to his actions! If Zeus had thought ahead instead of following his feelings, Io wouldn't have been stuck a cow, and Semele would not have been vaporized!" Clytemnestra returned.
"But," Returned Helen with a smile, "We wouldn't have Artemis and Apollo if Zeus had been more controlled, and Medusa would still plague us."
"Well, the children of Zeus do seem to go on and do dramatic things," The older girl conceded.
Helen nodded absentmindedly, and drifted off to sleep next to her sister.