An Unlikely Union

Quick comment: Thanks again for all the positive reviews guys, you are really inspiring me to push on with this fic, as you can tell! Fallenangel26: Thanks for the tip re: italicised dialogue, I will remove it - I am not used to writing speech without indentation! Lady Hades: I promise I will write a Hector/Andromache fic next ... but as I said before, you will have to keep reading this one to find out about her whereabouts.

3. Sofia

Hector watched the girl as she stood tiptoe on the bench, every sinew stretched, trying to see out of the window. He could see the bundle of muscles in her bare calves protrude as she reached. Her feet were a filthy grey-brown colour right up past her ankles, like a beggar who had spent her life living on dusty track roads. The sun shone through her shabby robe, illuminating it like gossamer. With her limbs stretched like that he could make out the dark outline of her curves, the sight almost beautifully indecent. It was obvious from her slim figure that she had never bore children; perhaps her purity made her a valuable commodity to the Greeks. That and her face – it was striking. Blue eyes were rare on Trojan shores but blue eyes and milky skin were even rarer than snow-capped mountains in summer. Her earnest facial features, dirty and a little bruised in places, were small and symmetrical. Perhaps she could be a beauty – if she was not so ragged around the edges.

She was a little more pale and drawn than she usually might be, probably due to the fact that since her imprisonment, she had eaten nothing but scraps Hector would not even see fit to throw to his hounds. Her dark wavy hair, so long it almost reached the small of her back, was matted in places. She pulled the length of it over her shoulder as she stood there, combing her small fingers through the knotted ends absent-mindedly. The short curly layers framing her face occasionally intruded into her eyes. She brushed them away with the back of her hand, very much like the way one would brush away an irritating fly.

Hector begrudged her; he found her disrespectful and overconfident. She had obviously been pandered to and mollycoddled all her life by this man she called her Papa. As a result the girl seemed to have ideas above her station – why else would she have addressed Hector in that impudent way?

It was her fault he had lashed out ...Yes. It was her fault. She had provoked him; she had made him do it.

However, no matter how much he begrudged her, he was equally fascinated. She looked as delicate as an orchid but seemed as resilient as a bumble bee. Women were complex at the best of times - and she was certainly full of contradictions.

He rubbed both of his hands wearily over his face, wrinkling his forehead and closing his eyes - another duty he could do without was having to act as protector of the girl. But his chivalry seemed redundant as right at that moment it appeared that she did not need protecting at all.

A small platter of food was pushed through the gap between metal door and stone jamb by an unseen hand. Food was not delivered every day but rather sporadically. Hector had guessed it was whenever there were leftovers from the barracks. He had spent the last couple of days calculating where he was exactly but in truth this had been a fruitless exercise - he had no idea - but he guessed that there must have be barracks nearby; the Greeks would not have been stupid enough to imprison him, of all people, on a low-security site. He was certain however that he was not on Trojan soil any longer because if he was, his men would have discovered him by now, he would have been liberated and all his captors vengefully slain and burnt.

Sofia jumped down from the bench and padded towards the platter, trying to hide her hungry enthusiasm. A rogue rat, brown and oily, appeared from the shadows and also made for the platter. Unfazed, Sofia simply kicked it away with her bare foot as if it were an ordinary chore for a young maiden. The rat squeaked in protest and scampered away, instantly dissuaded. Sofia picked up the platter and inspected its contents: A few chunks of mouldy bread, a bone with strings of old meat still somehow clinging to it and some sort of putrid-smelling curd. Was it meant to be cheese or did it used to be milk? She studied it then poked it gingerly with her finger but still couldn't quite work it out.

"Will you not eat Lord Hector? Surely residing on that cold floor is not aiding you recovery?"

On her journey back to the bench, Sofia had paused and stood imploringly Hector. Now wearing the robe the guard had tossed in, he had only managed a few steps around the cell in the last two days. But he seemed to be getting better. He looked up at her, raising one dark eyebrow. She had been sulking like a child for the last day and had not attempted to utter a word to him since their little altercation. This suited him fine. He had nothing to say to her anyway.

"Talking to me now? You do surprise me - I didn't think you of all people would be so concerned over my welfare"

Sofia rolled her eyes and sighed loudly, not surprised that the olive branch she had offered was being refused. She thought him to be a like a sulking child too. And a very stubborn one at that.

"We are not enemies, Lord Hector. Suit yourself; the only thing that concerns me is not being stuck in a cell with a corpse".

"I am not hungry." He eyed the 'food' warily

"Come. You must keep up your strength for the days ahead. Not one morsel has passed your lips since you have been here."

"Why do you care so much what happens to me, girl?" He laughed a little arrogantly, making her feel insignificant. He had a habit of doing that. Sofia's patience began to evaporate faster than the damp on the cell wall. He had not even bothered to learn her name.

"I don't care about you. But I realise that if you fail, so will Troy. And, unlike you, I don't want the deaths of thousands of innocent Trojans on my conscience just because the Prince is feeling sorry for himself."

His superior smirk dropped at her brutal honesty. The truth hurt. His mind raced for a moment as he tried to think of a clever retort to topple her in her tracks, just like the precise long-spear he would use in battle could - but he was beaten. She was sharper than he gave her credit for.

"You don't give up, do you?" he dismissed.

"No. Not as easily as you, evidently" She sighed again, finding it difficult to be humble in the face of such adversity. But she persisted "Look, the invitation still stands, I do not have the energy or inclination to argue with you any longer. Come and join me on the bench ..."

She was a little surprised that he had not reacted – verbally or physically - to her austere words. Perhaps his energy was also wearing thin.

"Are you not scared to be near me?"

"Yes – but I do not think that you would kill me; the way I see it you probably do not want to be trapped in a cell with a corpse either" Sofia replied without hesitation, almost as if she was thinking aloud.

Her reasoning made a little involuntary smile upturn the very corners of his mouth - he hadn't thought of it like that. Encouraged by his tiny display of warmth, she insistently offered out her hand to help him up. But he scowled at it, refusing to take it. Stripped of prince-ship all but by title, his pompous attitude was the only thing that he had managed to hang on to. And he seemed to embrace it with all his might.

Sofia had never, in all her life come across such an obstinate character, even compared to some of the children who had attended the school, children who knew no better. She crossed her arms and watched in amusement as he attempted to rise. He could not yet do this in one clean movement – he crouched, steadying himself with the wall, and then summoned all the strength he had left in his bones to actually stand. He performed it like a military operation, stony-faced in concentration. He lurched forward for a moment, and wobbled a little, resembling a foal taking its first steps. But even too weak to pull himself up to his full height he appeared to dwarf Sofia. Walking took more sheer effort than standing; he shuffled and limped a little, lack of vigour and injury meant that he couldn't yet stay upright for long. He was stubborn and proud, trying hard not to display his handicap, his weakness. Sofia noticed that the rips in his robe corresponded with the wounds he had suffered, torn skin and material. A section of the damaged neckline hung low, threatening to slip completely from his muscular shoulder, displaying the nape of his neck and the blade which protruded rebelliously. He lowered his backside slowly next to her on bench like an old man, one hand supporting his lumbar region, exhaling noisily in relief that his endeavour was over.

"Do you have any broken bones?" Sofia asked, noticing his difficulty.

"I don't think so – yet anyway." He was all too aware of his impending fate. He knew that one night soon the guards would return for him. He was loathed to admit it but Sofia was right about keeping his strength up. He needed to be ready for them.

Once Hector had started to eat he realised how hungry he really was. He devoured a stale lump of bread almost in one gulp before he realised Sofia was waiting politely for him to have his fill before she herself ate. He looked at her sheepishly, it was a strange situation, reluctant allies, social boundaries blurring like wispy clouds surrounding Mount Ida on a windy day. One moment the girl would treat him like a man-child, the next like a prince. He pulled a second lump apart with his big fingers, offering one half to her which she accepted courteously. She bit into it, tasting it with the tip of her tongue and then screwing up her face as if she was eating a whole raw garlic bulb.

"The trick is ... to close your eyes and pretend you are at a sumptuous banquet, with the tastiest food that melts in your mouth as if it were made for the gods themselves"

He demonstrated by closing his eyes and rapturously eating his half of the almost green bread. Sofia giggled, a little taken a back by this hint of wit.

"I have never been to a banquet before ... what are they like?"

"Well, the food and wine is so plentiful it is hard to believe it all gets consumed. However, good conversation does not flow as freely as the wine." He raised an eyebrow dryly.

He hated the pomp of the royal court. He preferred to spend time with his family without the inevitable luxury of servants or boorish drunken dignitaries. Famed as a horse-master as much as a sword-master, he often escaped from the Court like a phantom unnoticed, to go riding alone by the river Scamander which wound around the side of Troy's walls and beyond like a serpent. He always took his favourite horse, Whitefoot – a faithful mare although she wasn't always so. She had once been wild, not allowing anyone to mount her without kicking her hooves and tossing her blonde mane. Indeed, Hector had suffered a few bruises to his body – and pride – before she had been broken in. Once, he had made the mistake of approaching her from behind as she was tethered in the stables ... her long ears swivelled backwards as she heard his footsteps approach then she kicked him square in the ribs with her back legs, knocking him for six. He had never made that mistake again. She had also thrown him into the clay-mud of the river bank more time than Hector could count ... but he had gained her trust since. Now when he approached her in the stables, she would whinny and bow her head, especially if he bore the gift of a rosy red apple and she always led his chariot into battle, almost as fearless as her master. Riding on Whitefoot, at speed with the wind ruffling his hair was when he really felt free. Free of all the duty he had inherited as soon as he ever drew breath on this earth.

A low wail could suddenly be heard from a neighbouring cell, waking Hector from his homesick reverie. He watched Sofia pause her chewing, fear momentarily flashing across her normally muted eyes. That noise would certainly dampen anyone's appetite, even those who were starving. Both knew what had transpired in that cell the night previous, they had heard everything in the pitch black. Their fellow prisoner, possibly a Trojan soldier, had obviously tried to rush the guards in sudden panic, a desperate attempt to escape. In punishment at his ill-chosen revolt, the merciless guards had decided to remove both of his hands. The hacking noises had echoed around the cell, the sword they had used was probably too blunt to slice through bone in one clean sweep. Jumbled with the hacking noises were the cries of the prisoner, pitifully pleading to be killed instead. How he had survived such maiming was anyone's guess but he had been wailing on and off for a few hours now, probably slipping in and out of consciousness. Both Hector and Sofia had not mentioned the incident but were all too aware of it.

Sofia attempted conversation in attempt to block out the wails. Denial seemed to be her only option although Hector was obviously hardened to such horrific situations and no longer felt the sensation of fear. Her heart lurched as her ears registered the cry "...Let me die with dignity ...!" She closed her eyes momentarily, trying not to think about what fate awaited her. Dignity was meagre in these dark days. A mere luxury.

"Tell me more of the palace, Lord Hector ..."

"No ... why don't you tell me about where you are from? All you have talked about so far is the school. I see or know little about Troy's provinces." His voice seemed strained, not yet comfortable with conversing and making Sofia think that he wasn't really that interested anyway.

"There is nothing much to tell ... it is primarily a farming community I suppose, each day goes by uneventfully very much like the last"

"A bright girl like you must become tired of such sleepy life ..."

Sophia blushed, she felt flattered. "I busy myself at the school or take walks in the countryside or in the hills."

"Is that is how you saw my brother and I hunting? On one of your walks? We never see a soul in those hills."

Smiling to herself, she felt a little embarrassed. She remembered that day well. One bright autumn morning, she had decided to go mushroom-picking. Her quest took her far in to the woody hills, even a spell of driving rain could not halt her. She had spotted a particularly fleshy group of mushroom caps by the gnarled roots of an old tree. She had stooped to place her prize in the front pocket of her apron, her simple robe slowly soaking the rainwater from the long blades of grass and crunchy fallen leaves. But then a strange noise startled her which made her drop the fungi, some caps breaking into pieces as they impacted on the ground. It was the thud of hooves and the light, almost bell-like chinking of metal against metal. She hid behind the thick trunk of the old tree which easily obscured her small frame and watched as the riders came into view. They halted in a clearing for a moment, listening to the noises of the wood then resumed their lazy trot. Sofia heart thumped in her chest, pulsing up to her throat, a little scared but in awe of their handsome horses and grand armour. Their tall, menacing helmets glinted in the dappled sunlight. She remembered that one rider was slightly bigger than the other but their manner and gestures were very much alike. She could not make out their faces, as much as she tried as the nose-guards on their helmets obscured their features. She had watched, absolutely transfixed until they finally disappeared behind the brow of a hill. By the time she had abandoned her position behind the tree, the bottom of her gown was sopping wet, sticking like glue to her shins. She must have only been about fifteen.

"Have you even been to the city?" Hector snapped her out of her lucid recollection.

"Once ... all the villagers visited the city, everyone was needed to transport goats and grain for a grand celebration. A wedding I think ...a royal wedding ..."

Hector shifted uncomfortably, suddenly realising that this must have been his own betrothal. A painfully private man, he attempted to focus the conversation away from himself, where it looked as if it was heading. He bit into another chunk of bread.

"Are you married? Do you have a young man waiting for you ... or fighting for you?" He asked, mouth half full.

Sofia smiled again, amused by his forgetful manners and shook her head.

"A few suitors were introduced but Papa did not like any of them. He said he did not think they were good enough for me ...now I am seen as too old to marry." She shrugged.

"Too old? You must only be in your twentieth year!" Hector scoffed, almost showering her in crumbs.

"Twenty fourth."

"And why where none of these suitors good enough for you?"

"I don't know. I suppose he thought I should marry for love rather than money. Most of the men who were introduced were well-off but far too old and not at all interested in me as a person, just the dowry and my home-making skills."

"For love? What a fanciful idea!" He exclaimed, popping the last of his share of bread in to his mouth.

Sofia bit her bottom lip, deeply offended. Her thoughts momentarily drifted to her Papa. She could still picture him, sitting in his tall chair, smoothing his balding grey head with one hand. Nothing could distract him from reading his manuscripts in the evenings, not even when Sofia fetched him supper, honeyed wine and gave him a loving peck on the cheek goodnight. His domed, shiny forehead made him look as intelligent as he perhaps was. He was her father in every way except blood ... they had a bond stronger than blood.

Hector registered that there was something wrong - her expression had suddenly dropped and her eyes glazed. He stopped chewing and paused thoughtfully, his Adam's apple swallowing hard.

"What happened to your Papa? What happened to you?"

She studied the star-shaped lichen growing on the stone wall next to her head for a moment, touching the ruffled orange points with her fingertip. She sighed, almost incapable of unearthing the terrible memories she had quickly learnt to bury.

"The Greeks ... they stormed the village, torched the school with Papa and the children still inside. I was out collecting water at the time. I returned in time to hear their screams but not in time to save anyone. I was lying sobbing in the warm ash when the Greeks found me. They took me without resistance"

Sofia began to weep soundly as the memories were hastily exhumed. Hector watched her face blankly; he felt pity, and sheer fury at the Greeks. What could he do? The tears ran from her eyes and left clean, gleaming streaks on her dirty face. They dropped onto her robe making tiny parts of it seem transparent. He reached forward and touched her arm, he did not know how to comfort her, did not know if he should. Sofia flinched at his touch; the only human contact her body could remember was of the violent sort. His hand shrank back.

"I am sorry, Sofia" is all he could think to say.

He had remembered her name.

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