I loved my son from the moment he opened his eyes, and I will love him beyond the moment he closed them.

Any good father cares for their son, and I am no exception. To me, my children are the world, and Hector is the center of it. My son, my Hector.

I knew from the second he came into life that he was special. All parents believe their child is special, from the dullest squirrel to the most putrid serpent. But I knew that my son truly was unique, and that I would not be the only one to think so. I knew that he would make a strong warrior, a just prince, and a good man. He would fulfill any and all dreams I had for him, and be twice the man I would ever be, twice the ruler. I could see in my son's eyes from the minute that the tiny infant before me opened them that he was born to be a leader. A King.

But sometimes the gods decree that our destinies are not the way we had planned them.

I have always believed in the Gods. I trust them with my heart and my soul, and until this moment, I have never questioned them. But what good father does not question the decision of even the wisest and most powerful of gods when his son is set to die before his eyes?

My son is a good warrior, leader of my army. My son is a good horseman, trainer of my cavalry. My son is a good husband and father to my daughter-in-law and my grandson. My son is only 35 years old.

I never dreamed I would see this day, day of his ending. I am nearly 60 years of age. Many who have reached this age have already gone to the next stage of life. I am sure many wondered how and why I was meant to stay on this earth, but I have never before this moment. Is this what you have kept me here for, my Gods? To watch my eldest son die? My son, my Hector. Killed before my eyes.

I have served you well, my Gods. Is this how I am repaid? With the death of my legacy?

I know that it is blasphemous to think such thoughts, but I think it unfair. It is said that each ruler is poured two glasses of fate from the gods: Joy and Sorrow. Today I drink deeply from that second cup.

He is going out now, even with my fading eyesight I can see him setting off on to the plain, shield in hand. Achilles will beat him, slaughter him, and desecrate his body. What have I done?

My son, My Hector. I have failed you as a father. I have not protected you well enough, as I swore I would on the day you were born. I should have sent the Spartan Queen back, you told me it was so. And yet I did not listen. I see now that I should have. No person is worth you; no love should bear the price of your life. I see that now, too late.

I am almost too deep in my thoughts to see him fall, to see the sharp edge of a killer's spear fly between the crevices in his thick Trojan armor to the soft, vulnerable flesh beneath. I can his hear his pain, his quickening breath, his rapid heart, beating through my head like a drum. And then-

And then it is over.

My hopes and my dreams, dragged through the Trojan sand like a rag doll, being smothered in pale dirt and bitter wind.

My son. My Hector.