Disclaimer: Troy, the Iliad, and all characters belong to Homer and Warner Brothers, and not me.
Summary: Andromache reflects on her life in Troy as the city falls.
A/N: This is something I just sat down and wrote pretty quickly, but it turned out okay. It's dedicated to Lady Hades and SectorLutter, because it's nice to talk to you both, even if we haven't talked much, Sector. Thank you both for the nice discussions that helped me get my ideas on order.
This fic is short, a bit angsty, and basically pointless drabble. You have been warned. Please read it anyway.
Andromache knew she was alive. Her limbs, though weighed down by grief, still moved. She still drew breath, though the normally sweet air was now tainted by the sharp smell of smoke. And even though its rhythm was now rapid with terror, her heart still beat.
She clutched Astyanax a bit tighter as she dashed through the chaotic streets of Troy. People were wailing and screaming all around her. Warm, dark blood stained the city's white stone paths. Fires blazed around every corner, their smoke scarring the night sky and spelling out the long-awaited doom of Troy.
The door to the tunnel was shut, and was being ignored by Greeks and Trojans alike. Andromache shifted Astyanax in her arms and hurriedly lifted the bolt on the door. She hurled herself repeatedly against the heavy door until she was bruised, all the time careful to shield her son from the blow. After what seemed to be an eternity, the door reluctantly opened.
Andromache froze. For just an instant, it seemed she could see Hector standing in the entrance, as he had been the night before his death. A scream of agony startled her into movement. But though her body raced through the cold tunnel, her mind had deserted her in favor of a much happier time.
She and Hector had been married for a year, perhaps. The logical part of her dimly reminded her that it had been many years ago. Hector had just returned from a long journey at sea. It had been the first time they had been separated for more than a few weeks.
There had been the usual bustle of servants, the long council meetings, the reparations of armor. As soon as they had a moment's peace, Hector had pulled Andromache close to him, and she had gladly rested her ear against his chest. It had soothed her more than she would have liked to admit to feel the steady song of his heart, the gentle rising of his chest as he drew breath. For years of marriage, through times of absence for his dangerous duties, she had been content to simply listen to him, with her ear against his chest, and know he was alive.
Never had she imagined living while his heart didn't beat. She would consider herself a corpse if not for the warmth where Astyanax lay in her arms.
The tunnel abruptly opened up into the night. Andromache stepped into its cold embrace, knowing she had made her son as safe as possible.
No Greek would follow the trail of tears leading out of Troy.
Well, that's all. Please leave me a review on your way out. Thank you!