All right, here's chapter 8, very, very early, as penance for my huge delay in getting chapter 7 up.
Notes: In this chapter is the second of the three stable scenes. Enjoy!
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When I arrived at Hector's quarters, Andromache was there alone and I knew Hector had already left.
"Stables?" I asked, settling myself into a chair on the balcony, Andromache cradling Astyanax to the right of me.
"Yes, but don't go there." She murmured, keeping her eyes on the baby. "He's quite angry with Priam, something about an attack at dawn that he doesn't approve of."
I nodded, reaching for a glass of wine and looking out on the night sky. "Probably worried about the morale of the Greeks. A direct attack to the camp might call Achilles back into battle, though I don't know the reason he didn't fight today. It was rather obvious the morale was quite low this morning, and since I didn't see a 'golden-haired Greek warrior with eyes like ice and the gift of death' I figured he must have refused to fight for some reason."
Andromache looked at me, her face a cross between amusement and shock. "You know, I think Hector said almost the exact same thing."
I smiled. "Priam used to call me 'Hector's shadow', and trust me, if you follow Hector around the palace long enough, you will learn to pick up on things like that, whether you like it or not."
She turned her attention back to the baby, grinning broadly. "Sometimes, I swear, it's like you were born right here in the palace."
I closed my eyes, savoring the night air. "Paris refused to see me." I whispered.
"Did he really?" Andromache said. "You'd think he'd learn his lesson about appreciating things, especially after what happened today."
I shook my head, laughing slightly. "No, it'll take more than a near-death situation for Paris to appreciate something. He needs something really big."
Andromache laughed, too, and we spent the rest of the night in a comfortable silence, the beautiful feeling of victory hanging like a sweet perfume over all of Troy.
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Though I had spent all of the previous night in a happy celebration with Andromache, I didn't sleep well at all. I kept having a dream in which a boy with blonde hair was running from Hector, and I was trying to tell him to leave him alone. Then, Hector would turn, raise his sword, and come after me. At this point in the dream I would wake up, thrashing and gasping for air, and covered in a cold sweat.
The next morning was so foggy I could barely see in front of me at all. I went down to the wall, hoping to see a glimpse of the battle, but nothing was visible.
I decided to wander the streets of Troy, looking through all the villages and markets. I went unescorted, since any able bodied man would be on the beach, serving Hector, and I had been taught enough self defense by him to be able to defend myself from any man who was not fit enough to serve.
I wandered so far into Troy that it was almost sunset before I returned, and all the men had begun to filter back into the villages. I passed a group of soldiers, bloody and worn from battle, who were talking about what had occurred on the beach. I wasn't far from the palace and decided to stop and listen, too anxious to wait and speak to Hector about it.
"It's a shame." One man said, shaking his head. "Couldn't have been older than my own son, much too young to fight."
The other two nodded in agreement, matching solemn looks on their faces. "But the Lord Hector didn't know it." Said another, quietly. "The boy- Patroclus, was it? – was wearing Achilles' armor. Hector didn't know any better. Hell, I would've tried to kill him, too, if he was wearing that armor in front of me."
My heart froze. It couldn't be true. I had heard the stories about Achilles- he was cold, heartless, but he did love- only one though. Patroclus, his cousin. If Hector had killed Patroclus…
I turned and ran to the stables, praying to every god I knew that the soldiers had been wrong.
- - - - - -
Hector was in the stables, as I had suspected, calmly brushing Kyros. He looked up when I came in, and his eyes were full of sorrow. His eyes said everything, told everything. He had killed Patroclus. Achilles would be coming for him in the morning.
"No…" I whimpered, collapsing on to the floor. I felt like all the strength had been drained from my body. I could hear him walk over to me, but I didn't lift my head.
"Charis…" He crouched down and put one hand under my chin, lifting my eyes to meet his. "Charis, listen to me. If anything happens to me, Troy won't stand. You know it as well as I do." My eyes started to swim with tears. "If Troy falls, go find Andromache. She knows a way out. You have to find her. Do you hear me, Charis?"
"No…Hector…" I whispered. "Hector you don't have to fight him." I stared at him, begging him. "Get the archers to shoot him down!"
He shook his head. "I can't do that, Charis. You know that. If…" He shook his head. "If someone killed Paris, then I would want to avenge him. Achilles wants that privilege. I can't deny him that. It wouldn't be honorable."
There it was again- honor. Less than 24 hours ago, honor had almost cost Paris his life. Now it would cost Hector his.
"No…" I sobbed, the tears coming. "He'll kill you!"
Hector stood, turning away from me. "I'll have to take that chance."
"Don't you want to live, Hector?" I said, trying to stem my crying. I could barely see him through the blur of my tears.
"Of course I want to live! I want to see Paris have children of his own, I want to see you get married, I want to see Astyanax grow into a man. But I have to defend my honor." He said, his voice escalating and beginning to sound angry.
I don't love your honor, I love you, Hector! I thought desperately, but the words wouldn't come out of my mouth. I tried to think of something else to say, something to keep him from fighting Achilles. I stood.
"I won't ever forgive you if you fight him, Hector." I whispered.
"Then don't forgive me!" He roared, spinning to face me again. He was angrier than I had ever seen him. "Don't forgive me! See how much it matters- you're not even a real part of my family, anyway! I don't need you!"
I didn't answer, just stood there in a shocked silence, my mouth hanging partially open. This was something that Paris would say, Paris the passionate one, the one who didn't think. Hector always thought out exactly what he wanted to say, never said something without thought.
Hector paled instantly, realizing what he had just said. Neither of us said anything for a moment.
"Charis, I…" He said quietly, his tone pleading. "I didn't mean it… I swear… It wasn't true…"
But the damage was done. Words are like a special kind of virus, that once they are released into the air, they hang their suspended, and can never be retrieved again. You can say more and more to try to erase the damage of previous words, but you never can, really, because they'll always be there, hanging there, and you can choose to forget them or they can continue stinging you forever. That was the lesson I learned that night.
"Oh, But Prince Hector of Troy never lies." I said quietly, and ran out of the stables.
"Charis, wait!" he called, but for once, I didn't obey his commands.
And for once, he didn't chase after me.