A/N: Hector's recollection is in italitics, although it's not set apart from the rest of the text.

Priam's face contorted with fury and panic. "Be quiet Hector!" he ordered sharply.

Hector was in no mood to be quiet. He didn't want to play the part of stoic warrior and obedient son in front of the nobles. Apollo forgive him, he didn't want to soften the blow that this news must have been for his beloved wife. In fact, he could barely even register that there was anyone else in the room except him and his treacherous father. Deep down inside of Hector was that fourteen-year-old boy who's soul protested and heart screamed when Priam robbed him of his son. For over sixteen years, he'd tried to silence that part of him that protested against all reason that he should have raised the boy himself. Now that part of him was vindicated and he refused to hold his tongue.

"I will not be silent," Hector growled. "I was silent when you ordered Ianthe into hiding in order to keep her pregnancy a secret. I was silent when you used her death and my mother's absence to claim my child as your own. For all these years, I was silent while you did everything in your power to keep me from having any kind of bond with Paris. What has my silence done? My son is so frightened of your plans for his future that he fled the only life and home he's ever known!"

"Your brother was -"

"My son!" screamed Hector. Everyone jumped back, amazed and terrified the depth of his rage and despair. Years of agony seemed to be flowing out of him. "My son, my son, my son!" he half-sobbed. "Paris is my son. You can't claim him anymore."

The room filled with silence as the noblemen, Andromache, and Odysseus struggled to come to terms with this news. Finally, an older nobleman built up enough courage and cleared his throat. "Prince, Prince Hector," he stammered. Hector's mind slowly registered that someone was speaking and he looked over. "How can any of this be true?"

Hector closed his eyes, allowing the memory of a long time ago to resurface. "Ianthe," he whispered. Then he raised his voice so that all could hear. "For all of my childhood, I was alone. I rarely got to see anyone my age, except for the servants and most of them wouldn't talk to me for fear of breaching decorum. Ianthe would, though. She was a maid in the palace; pretty but not extraordinarily beautiful, but she was kind. She talked to me like I was a friend, a peer, rather than the almighty Prince of Troy."

His smiled sadly at the memories. "It was puppy love, but for a lonely boy and an independent-minded maid it felt like so much more. We wanted to be grown-up, wanted to leave the city and all the politics. We thought we were grown-up; we let this feeling and curiosity take our relationship -" he ignored his father's snort of disapproval - "to a level neither of us was ready for."

"She became pregnant?" another noble asked.

"Yes," nodded Hector, who avoided looking at Andromache. "I thought we should get married, but Father wouldn't hear of his heir marrying a maid."

"Cease this nonsense!" snapped Lord Isidore, Priam's main advisor. "My stomach will not stand for this innocent version of things. She was a whore, a whore who forgot her place. It was in her blood and one cannot fight what's in one's blood."

Hector glared at him murderously, but it was Odysseus who sneered: "And we don't have to wonder just who was going to train Prince Paris in the arts of pleasure, do we?"

Hector took a deep breath, trying to calm himself. Now was not the time for brutal revenge; that would come soon enough. Now the truth had to come out. "She was locked away in one of the palace quarters. Very few knew about her condition and even less knew who the sire was. I loved the baby from the moment she told me about him. We'd decided to name him Alexandros, and I - I dreamed of raising him in the countryside of Mount Ida, away from all of the politics of the court."

"A preposterous wish of a foolish boy," muttered Priam.

"Father, I'm going to tell you something that may sound familiar: be silent!" snapped Hector. "She died in childbirth," he continued. "For a while after, all I did was hold her hand and cry. When I recovered my strength and my wits, I went in search of my son and found him in the arms of my father. I said to him, 'Father, can I see him?'

He moved the blanket so that I could see the baby's face, but he made no move to give him to me. 'Hector,' he told me, 'you cannot claim him as your own.'

'Why not?' I asked him.

'How will you raise him?' It sounded almost like he was taunting me. 'You are still a child, weak in mind and body. This baby is evidence of that. How can you teach him to be strong when you yourself are not?'

My heart wept. 'What will become of Alexandros, then?' I cried.

'There is no Alexandros," he said sharply. 'That is too low a name for a son of mine.'

I didn't understand what he was saying. 'What?' I asked, perplexed.

'Your mother refuses to return from her visit with her family,' he said. 'We will say that she died, but sent the child that she didn't know she was bearing when she departed on her journey to be with his family.'

I couldn't believe my ears. 'But father!' I protested.

'Would you rather, then,' he condescended, 'that he be branded as the bastard child of the prince's fling with a servant? Would you see him tainted with your sin?' His face grew kinder. 'I will protect him from all of that, from you. He will be my son, Prince Paris.'"

Hector shook himself out of the memory. He looked up and saw that all save Priam, Lord Isidore, and a few of their closest confidantes were staring at him with pity in their eyes. He turned to Andromache, who was clutching Astyanax in her arms. "I'm sorry, dear wife," he choked out. "I should have told you everything at the beginning of our life together."

Andromache touched his face lovingly. "This explains so much," she whispered. "Don't be sorry; I'm not angry. Whatever price your lies call for has been paid many times over."

Hector gave her a small smile. "You understand that I have to go, then?" he said more than asked.

She nodded, but Priam shook his head vehemently. "You are not leaving the city!" he shouted.

Hector turned to face his father. "I'm not asking for your permission to go," he said. "I don't care for your opinion anymore and I'm not taking any more orders from you. As far as I'm concerned, you're finished." He gestured at the noblemen. "As far as I'm concerned, almost any one of these men would be a better king than a man who would steal his own grandson from his son and I will lend my name and men to anyone who wants to oppose you. However, I must first find my son. Odysseus?"

Odysseus stepped forward and stood beside him. "I will go with you," he vowed. "Achilles will listen to me. I'll convince him to let you see Prince Paris." He paused and smiled. "No, not Prince Paris; rather Paris Alexandros."

Hector felt a thrill run through him. It was a similar feeling to what he felt when he was about to drive a chariot for the first time by himself: knowing that it could kill him, but at the same time desiring the joy that would be his if he succeeded. The day he'd imagined for years was almost upon him. He looked at Odysseus, determined. "Take me to my son."

To be continued...