Disclaimer: Same as before.
Chapter Subjects: Andromache and Hector.
Language Note/Summary: I am especially fond of the relationship between Andromache and Hector. The quote is from Ira Frederick Aldridge (duh!), and I'm going to try to have a quote the beginning of ea. story, and they might repeat. Mind you, I say TRY. The poem is my own. I guess it could be Briseis, Achilles, or some other character speaking. Also, I brought up Briseis in this story because I was kinda confuzzled in the movie how it seemed as if Hector, Paris, Andromache, ect., did not seem to remember Briseis was at the Temple during the beginning of the war. So, here it is, guys! I hope you like it! Hector&Andromache, as promised in the summary. I see no one has written on them yet. R&R, I can't say it enough!!!
Announcements: Thank you to all of my reviewers, I really appreciate your thoughts!!! Please, keep sending in your comments, and special thanks to Leap of Fate for her critism.
----
"This kind of passion never once happened before,
and is only for the fools who trusted the unsure.
Forbidden it may be, with its fire you might burn;
it will drench you as you thrist,
and with it's thrist the tides will
turn.
Now I warn you, fool!
This love was destined but not meant to be.
Eternal, yet ended each eve.
Forever that started at dusk,
forever that ended at dawn;
forever that lasted for lifetimes,
forever that ended too soon.
This is a story of love,
this is a story of passion,
This is the story of my future years,
of midnight sorrows and crimson tears..."
----
On the Horizon
----
"The bow is bent, the arrow flies, the winged shaft of fate."- Ira Frederick Aldridge
----
Her stomach had flopped inside her, her eyes blinded for the slightest second. Hector, her husband, Prince of Troy, father to her son, was going to war. She had tried not to think about it, refusing that war would come to Troy, Citadel by the Ocean.
He would not die. He couldn't. The Gods would not be that cruel to her. If Zeus would unleash his fury, surely his would cast his thunderbolts on Agamemnon, called the cuckold king by even his own kinsmen.
Yet when she saw that single black-sailed ship on the horizon, and the thousand following, emerging from the edge of the world, she felt that, yes, war had come to Troy. To her husband. And she was not an ignorant woman, for all of her refusing to face the truth.
It is Achilles. She had been hoping that the great hero would refuse Agamemnon's request
When Achilles' men had began to fall under the Trojan arrows, hope had soared like the Eagle, Lord of the Sky. In a changing of the wind, it was Trojans who were being cut down. And her Hector rode into the midst of it, with many sons of Troy.
"Troy is mother to us all! Fight for her!"
And so they had. And so they died. For Troy? she thought. Or for Paris and Helen? But she knew those thoughts were wrong. You could not blame them for falling in love.
Love is a wonderful thing. Love is a terrible thing. Life revolves around love. Love is the sun. Love is the shadow. She, Andromache, wife to Hector, Mother to Astyanax, loved her husband. She knew Hector loved her. She knew Paris loved Helen. She knew Helen loved Paris back.
When she saw Hector riding, alone, to the walls of Troy, the Eagle soared inside her again. When she saw Hector, she could see the funeral pyres burning. When she saw Hector, she could see the mourning, the rejoicing, the wedding which Astyanax would have one day. She scanned the horizon to see if there were Greek archers. Only when Hector was inside the walls of Troy did she feel reassured.
----
He heard the Gates of Troy close with a CRASH! behind him. Hector tore off his helmet, beautifully crafted from bronze, with the nose-piece and cheek-guards which was meant to strike fear in his enemies. His muscles felt weary, his bones ached, and he swayed on his feet before leaning against his spear to stable himself. The horsehair crest which Astyanax would play with on steaming summer afternoons no longer flowed like the rivers.
Weeping women met him like a tidal wave, but this wave wailed like the Furies themselves. They will want to know what happened to their husbands. Sons. Brothers. Cousins. Nephews. What will I say? What should I say? What can I say? That they died for their country? That they died for Troy?
He felt relief wash over him when some of the palace guard surrounded their Prince and crossed their spears, securing his retreat, while he sped up the steps leading to the Royal Palace, two at a time.
If only I could kill Greeks two at a time. But he cast his mind away from these thoughts, and tried to focus on Andromache and Astyanax.
Yet he could still not stop thinking about tomorrow. The Greeks would be waiting for him. Achilles would be waiting for him. Even now, he could not understand why Achilles did not kill him when he had the chance.
But Andromache would be waiting for him; she would have been watching on the walls with all of the other women. He would have to say that he, Hector, Prince of Troy, Tamer of Horses, was the only survivor of the slaughter on the shore; which was still their shore as of yesterday. Now the Greek tents dotted the coastline.
He would have to say to those wailing women, still wailing now, that their husbands were dead. The priests of Apollo were dead. The priestesses were dead… Briseis! It hit him like a spear throw, piercing his breastplate, tearing through his heart, traveling through him, and exiting through his back. It felt as if Achilles had delivered to him a death-stroke.
The Greeks have her.
----
What do you think? I know it was short. I'm working on it!!! :-) Keep those reviews comin'.
NOTICE: Do you think that I should continue with the Achilles/Briseis story, this Hector/Andromache story, or begin the Helen/Paris story? Also, if you do not choose Helen/Paris, tell me when I should begin the Helen/Paris story, and when to continue with the others.