Okay, this will be one of the last chapters. I don't know if I'm gonna add one more chapter or two, but I will tell you there will only be one more NEW person added to the chapters. and if you don't know who THAT person is, what the heck are you doing reading Troy Fanfiction? heh. Anyway, thanks to my lovely reviewers, I always enjoy a nice review. and to those of you who said you hated Achilles, Yeah, I do too. :D

Author's Notes: Though I HATE Achilles and Paris, I think I loathe Helen most of all. SHe was all nice in the movie, though, so I've tried to keep my opinions at bay. If you don't think I did I good job, I apologize. I'm only human. I think it's pretty good any way.

(and to whoever said it, Priam's was my fav chapter too.)
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I have never felt like this before.

Love. Guilt. Happiness. Sadness. Anger. Caring. In my life, I have felt all of these, sometimes frequently, sometimes too little.

But Amazement. I have never felt this before.

I could be feeling anger or sadness. I should be feeling guilt. And for a few moments, I was. I felt so guilty I could have died of it. I felt like Paris does.

And then I watched. I watched the way that Hector fought, the way he died. More importantly, I saw why he fought, why he died.

He did not fight like Paris, for the most beautiful woman in the world.

He did not fight like Achilles, for vengeance.

He did not fight like Agamemnon, for wealth and land.

Hector gave his life for a plain, average woman, a small child, and the love of a country about to fall.

This perplexed me, starved of true, meaningful love as I had been for so long. I did not understand. His woman is no beauty, his child no great gift. And his country? It is like any other, with crime and criminals and all the other pitfalls any city has. What, then, was worth the life of a great warrior such as he?

But for a brief second before his eyes closed forever and his soul went spiraling down to Hades, Hector, first Prince of Troy, Tamer of Horses, Leader of Men, looked up at the stands where his family sat, in the city he called his own. And I saw then, in his eyes. To his wife, he was a husband. To his son, he was a father. To his brother, he was a hero. He was able to die for the simple fact of knowing that he was loved for who he was as a man, not the title he held. And with his city, it was the same.

And I wept at the knowing, at the understanding of the man Hector was. I wept realizing how rare he was, what a gift. And I was amazed at him, Hector of Troy.

And for the smallest of moments, though I shall never admit it as long as I live, I wondered if I had followed the right brother.