Author's note: I just want to express my deep gratitude to all of you who have reviewed. Please continue; you guys are what keeps me going!

Anyway, here is the latest instalment. We have reached the great fight scene...

Chapter 6

Dawn had come when Achilles left Patroclus' funeral stake. The whole night he had been standing motionless, watching as the flames incinerated his cousin's flesh and his soul was left in the hands of the gods. He watched how the fire reduced him to ashes and the flames were turned into glowing, red ember.

The night had been spent in mourning. He mourned his cousin, his friend and student. It was all such a waste. Not only Patroclus had died this day, but also so many hopes, dreams and wishes for the future. Ever since Achilles had started teaching the young man, he had instinctively known that the boy would become something great.

In his mind, he kept seeing images of Patroclus, dressed as a myrmidon. He fought like he had never seen anyone fight before; like a lion or a god. He was standing at the front of a ship, raising his arm and commanding the men to attack. Somehow, Achilles had always imagined that Patroclus would achieve everything that he had not done himself. He would be an even greater warrior and his actions would give eco into eternity, just like his own.

Now, these visions would never become true. Patroclus would never be a great warrior or the leader of the myrmidons. He was gone; his young life had been forever ended. Achilles still couldn't accept it. The boy had been like a younger brother to him and knowing that he was dead was too much to grasp. He spent the whole night with the feeling that his heart had been wrenched out of his body and that he only had a cold, dark hole in its' place.

Achilles stood before the dying smoke as the first hints of light fell across the Trojan beach. When it did, he suddenly knew what he had to do.

All of his thoughts about returning to Laryssa had vanished after Eudrorus told him what had happened. This night, his grief had temporarily shielded his hatred, but when the smoke died and he was forced to realize that his cousin was truly gone, it returned like a powerful time wave. He only had one name on his mind.

Hector.

Achilles' hatred towards the man didn't simply return; it was intensified and its strength made his previous feelings seem like a choking flame next to a raging fire. He felt nothing but hate in his soul right now and his hatred was focused on one single man: Prince Hector of Troy. The man who had slain his cousin.

If there was room for anything else in Achilles' mind except for hate, it was guilt. He knew very well that the prince wouldn't have killed Patroclus unless he had given him the opportunity to. He had spared the prince's life in that temple; he had spared him because of his own, foolish pride and desire for glory. He would have to live with that for the rest of his life.

On the other hand, Achilles wasn't so sure that he wanted to keep living. He felt like everything had died inside him the previous day. But to avenge his cousin and to redeem his own honour, he knew that there was something he needed to do, above everything else.

Silently, he climbed down from the funeral stake. He went to his tent. Eudorus sat outside, half-sleeping, but he quickly woke to life when his master approached.

"I need my armour," Achilles said shortly as he entered the tent.

----

As the sun slowly appeared by the horizon to greet the new day, two men prepared themselves for battle.

Achilles, son of Peleus was standing in his tent as he pulled on the black armour of a myrmidon. His face was hard and grim; his movements firm and determined.

In his chamber in the royal castle, prince Hector of Troy pulled on the characteristic armour of a Trojan warrior. The prince's face was pained and resolute; his movements unhurried and reluctant.

Before Hector left, he glanced at his sleeping wife and son one last time. When he closed the door behind him, Andromache woke up. She looked after him as he left. She knew, like he did, that the time had come.

Carrying his spear and shield Achilles left his tent. One of his men brought him his carriage and horses. Achilles stepped onto the carriage and took the reins. Eudorus got up next to him.

"No," Achilles said shortly and his tone of voice left no room for arguments.

For a hint of a moment, Eudorus hesitated. Then he sighed and stepped down.

"Don't go!" a voice suddenly cried. It was Briseis. Her face was ghostly pale when she ran up to the carriage. "Hector is my cousin; he is a good man! Don't fight him. Please don't fight him!" she beseeched.

Her words confirmed once and for all that she was royalty, but at the moment, Achilles couldn't care less. He paid no attention to her pleadings and drove the horses forward.

----

Andromache sat completely still in the chair as the servant girl arranged her hair. She pulled the comb through the long auburn curls until it was pulled back behind her mistress' ears and hung loosely against her back.

Andromache's face was flat and revealed nothing, but her entire body was tense and her mind was in turmoil. All of her senses were on alert. She was waiting for something that she knew was bound to happen.

"Do you need anything else, my lady?" the girl asked when she was finished.

Andromache was pulled out of her thoughts and managed to give the young woman a gentle smile. "No, thank you," she said, and added: "You may leave."

The girl bowed and left the chamber. Andromache pulled a deep breath and got up from the chair. When she turned, her eyes fell upon her son who was just receiving his morning meal from his nurse.

She smiled slowly to herself as she saw him, and still she felt such a terrible sadness in her heart that she thought she would start crying. But she bit her lip and turned away again. Slowly, she walked to the other side of the room to look into the mirror on the wall.

She saw the reflection of a pale and wan creature with large, worried eyes. Her heart was filled with fear. She still had to close her eyes when the thought about the previous night.

Unexpectedly, Hector had taken her for a walk through the palace. He had taken her down to the cellar and showed her a secret passageway. The tunnel led to Mount Ida and it was impossible to get lost in it. It was a way of getting out of the palace and out of the city without being discovered.

Immediately, Andromache had realized why he told her this, but she still didn't want to admit it. Hector had reasoned with her, gently and sensibly. He had to show her this to make sure that she was ready. If he died...

"No!" she had whispered, her voice choked.

"If the Greeks get inside the walls, it's over. They will kill all the men, they will throw the babies from the city walls and the women will be taken as their slaves. That would be worse for you than dying."

Andromache shuddered. Somewhere deep inside, she felt panic, fear and horror, but she forced it back. She knew Hector was right. She had to be strong; she had to be brave.

She pulled a deep breath and tried to keep her hands from shaking when she started to fasten her bejewelled earrings in her earlobes.

That was when a sound suddenly reached her ears. It came from somewhere outside the walls but it was still loud enough to be heard all over the city. A name was called out from another human being. It was a call filled with hate and desire for revenge.

"HECTOR!"

Andromache dropped the earring and it fell to the floor. For a moment, her heart stopped beating and her entire body trembled. She immediately recognized the voice. A thousand feelings struggled for control inside her.

"My lady?" It was Astyanax's nursemaid. She had hard the call and was worried about her mistress. Naturally, the princess was worried about her husband, the woman thought and put her hand on Andromache's cold shoulder.

Andromache flinched violently by the touch and turned towards the nurse like she had been an adversary. Her eyes looked almost black and her breathing was fierce and irregular.

The call was heard again, this time even louder. "HECTOR!"

Somehow, Andromache managed to pull herself together. She quickly picked up the earring and put it back in place. Then she held her arms out to the wet-nurse. "I have to go," she quickly explained.

The woman still looked quite concerned, but she handed Astyanax over to his mother without objections.

----

Andromache ascended the stairs towards the tower above the city gate, carrying her son in her arms, when she met her husband. She had not seen him since he had wordlessly left her that morning.

He wore his armour, although he had not yet put the helmet over his head and Astyanax looked strangely at the terrifying stranger that was his father. Hector's face was grim and cheerless and his eyes showed that he had not gotten much sleep. Once again, he was going out to take part in something he didn't truly wish to.

He had just said goodbye to his father, the faithful general Glaucus and his brother Paris. He had tried his best to show them how much they meant to him and how deeply he respected them.

But he had the most difficult part left; saying goodbye to his wife and son. He stood in front of his wife and saw the angst in her eyes. He wanted to tell her that nothing of what might have happened in her past mattered anymore, but he knew that she wouldn't be able to take his words to heart.

Instead, he bent over and whispered in her ear: "Do you remember what I told you?"

But she didn't seem to listen. "You don't have to go. You don't!" she whispered fiercely.

Hector felt a twinge of frustration. "Do you remember what I said?" he asked again, this time more firmly.

It was plain that she didn't want to hear his words, but she managed to keep herself under control and nodded slowly. Then she held Astyanax up to let him say goodbye to the boy. Astyanax still stared in fascination at the stranger with his large, blue eyes. With immense tenderness, Hector kissed the baby's rosy cheek.

Then Hector embraced his wife and she buried her face by his neck. She felt like her soul was being jerked away from her. For a moment she felt like it was impossible; she just wouldn't let him go. She would keep him there, no matter what he said.

The call came again. "HECTOR!" Andromache pressed herself tightly against her husband, wishing that she could somehow shut the world out.

But then Astyanax started sobbing. He had been squeezed between his parents as they embraced and cried out with pain and fear. Andromache and Hector quickly split. They looked at each other one last time before Hector descended the stairs.

Andromache did her best to comfort her son and to keep her own feelings in check. She couldn't display herself looking like a complete wreck in front of her father-in-law. She just had to be strong.

When Andromache had reached the tower, everyone was starting to move forward, towards the rail, where they could see what was going on downside the gate. There were archers standing on their positions along the walls. They could shoot any intruder at any time, but Andromache knew that they wouldn't. To her husband, this was a matter of honour.

Reluctantly, she handed Astyanax over to his nursemaid again and told the woman to take the boy inside. She didn't want him to see this.

When she was free, Andromache slowly went to the rail and stood next to Helen and Paris.

She looked out over the dusty ground downside the gate, just like she had done a few days ago. But this time, there were not thousands and thousands of armed men down there. Only two.

She could see her husband; now with his helmet, shield and spear. He walked with slow, cautious steps towards his adversary, the Greek enemy who had come to claim his revenge.

Slowly, Andromache's eyes turned towards him. She watched him; his tall and powerful form and his defiant carriage, the muscular arms that held his spear and shield; the black armour that fit him like it had been castled to his body and the long, fair hair that fell from under his helmet. Despite the fact that his face was hidden, he was eerily familiar in every way.

Andromache felt a dread she had never experienced before. She had known that this battle would come and suddenly she realized what she had known in her heart ever since the war started; that she would have a greater reason to fear this than anyone else who was watching.

Because no matter who won this fight, she would lose a man she loved.

----

As the gates closed behind the prince and he headed forward, Achilles stood unmoving and waited. He was positioned and ready with his shield and his spear at hand.

Achilles glanced up towards the tower. He casually asked himself whether or not she was there? He could tell that there were a lot of people standing by the rail, but he couldn't make out any faces. But she probably was. Good. He wanted her to be there. His hatred was so great that it even included her and everyone else inside the Trojan walls.

His eyes were small and narrow as he watched prince Hector approaching. He had been forced to wait for him for a long time. He didn't know how many times he had called out the prince's name and waited, trying to contain his frustration. More than anything, he had wanted the prince before him. In his mind, he felt only the desire for revenge. He felt it in his tightly closed fists, his swelling muscles and his fierce respiration. Every sense in his body was ready for the battle.

He didn't even consider the opportunity that he might loose. He knew that today, he would finish this forever. He would finish what had started such a long time ago.

Hector stopped a few feet away from him. His eyes were hard and grim. "I have seen this moment in my dreams," he said and made a brief stop to appraise his adversary a little bit closer. "I'll make a pact with you," he continued. "With the gods as our witnesses; let us pledge that the winner will allow the loser all the proper funeral rituals."

Achilles didn't move a muscle and his face was completely flat. "There are no pacts between lions and men," he answered harshly. Then he pulled off his helmet, revealing his blonde hair and his god-like features. "Now you'll know who you are fighting," he spat and tossed the helmet aside.

Hector did as his enemy; he pulled off his helmet. His face was contemptuous. "I thought it was you I was fighting yesterday and I wish it had been you," he said resolutely. "But I gave the dead boy the honour he deserved."

"You gave him the honour of his sword!" Achilles snarled back with cold fury. His eyes were so filled with hate that a man of less strength than prince Hector could have been destroyed by it. "You won't have eyes tonight," he continued in a growling tone of voice. "You won't have ears or a tongue. You'll wander the underworld blind, deaf and dumb and all of the dead will know; this is Hector, the fool who thought he had killed Achilles."

Hector's jaw was tightly clenched, but he showed no fear. A small, mocking smile crossed Achilles' lips. "Your wife is up there, isn't she?" he said and indicated the tower above the gate. "I told you that she would need some comfort, didn't I? Well, let me tell you that when I have finished with you, not even your charming brother will be able to comfort her."

Hector's eyes narrowed, but before he could answer, Achilles attacked.

----

What followed was a demonstration of such skill that the two men that were engaged in the battle hardly seemed human. Two such masterly warriors could not be men of flesh and blood. They had to be gods who had been placed in the human world.

The blonde and the dark man; the prince and the soldier. They were both men who had spent their entire life in practise. Every day, they had trained with their weapons; their spears, swords, knives and shields. They had devoted countless hours to improve their skill and strength. Today, it seemed like they had taken all of these lessons in preparation for this day. This was the moment when they would pass the final test.

They moved with such swiftness that the people who were watching from the walls found it difficult to follow them with their eyes. They circled around each other, measured each other's strength and tried to discover weaknesses.

Every swing from their spears would be considered a mortal blow to any other man. Sparks flied whenever a spear touched a shield with immense power.

None of them could afford to make even the slightest mistake. A single error could cost them dear; they both knew that. Their adversary would take advantage of it, before they had any chance of recovering. To avoid mistakes, they had to use all their effort and concentration. The man whose powers drained first would lose.

Achilles managed to break off the prince's sword and he was forced to protect himself against Achilles' blows with the shield. But the prince quickly pulled his sword and managed to disarm Achilles who had no other choice but to pull out his own blade.

Andromache watched them from the tower. Her face was completely without expression but her hands held on to the rail tightly with white knuckles.

The sword clang loudly as they met and the deadly game continued. Suddenly it seemed like Achilles had obtained a small advantage over the prince. His thrusts with the sword seemed more powerful and his movements were far more determined.

Hector swung against the Greek and managed to give him a gash across his cheek. Achilles staggered backward towards the gate. But when Hector attacked again, he was ready. He drove the prince backwards.

Achilles tried to twist the sword out of the prince's hand, but Hector was too strong. With the speed of lightning, he moved to attack the prince's other side instead, but Hector managed to parry his assault with the shield.

Achilles lithely kicked out and hit the prince, who stumbled at a stone and crashed to the ground.

Priam and general Glaucus paled. Andromache's legs folded beneath her and if Helen hadn't been there to catch her, she would have fallen. Helen tried to lead her inside; she wanted to take her away from the grotesque scene, but Andromache just shook her head no.

"Get up, prince of Troy," Achilles said coldly as he picked up his broken spear and circulated around his fallen adversary. "I won't let a stone take my glory."

Hector reached out for his sword and spear and found them. He moved to his legs, but he was unsteady after his fall and Achilles managed to slash his thigh. The prince groaned with pain, but refused to give up.

The two men were panting now; their bodies were getting weary from the enormous physical effort. Achilles pushed Hector away and they walked around each other for a moment, catching their breaths, before they continued.

Hector attacked, but when he did, he made his first real mistake. He moved far too close to Achilles and the Greek managed to snatch the spear from him. In the next moment, Achilles demonstrated his enormous skill and before Hector had managed to retire; his spear was buried in the prince's shoulder.

A collective gasp could be heard from the walls.

Hector sank down to his knees, with the spear protruding from his shoulder. He panted and struggled to breathe. When he lifted his dazed gaze, he was met by Achilles' hard, cold eyes and his ready sword.

Achilles felt a wave of satisfaction throughout his whole body. Finally, the moment had come, the moment he had waited for, for so long. He had let the golden opportunity slip out of his hands in the temple, but once again he had proved that he was the strongest warrior ever born. No one, not even prince Hector of Troy was superior to him.

This man had taken everything from him: the woman he desired and his friend and cousin. He had put him through so much pain and hurt, but now he would have his revenge. The prince would never take anything from him again.

Achilles pulled his sword back and prepared to pierce through the prince's exposed throat with his expert preciseness. He would finish the prince's life, cut his neck off and drag his corpse around the walls of Troy.

But suddenly, something stopped him.

In the tower, the gathered people were standing like they were frozen as they witnessed the Greek warrior preparing to slay their prince. But suddenly, there was a movement. Andromache suddenly jerked herself out of Helen's grip. Suddenly she was running towards the rail.

Suddenly, the iron-hard self control that had held her together ever since the war started vanished from her body. She ran towards the rail and she felt her mouth open and her lips forming the word: "NO!"

When Achilles glanced up at the tower, he suddenly spotted her. He instinctively knew that it was her; the tall, slight form and the dark hair. His ears heard her pleading and he thought he could make out her eyes and their anguish.

All of a sudden, he just couldn't bring himself to give the prince the deadly blow. His mind told him to do it, clearly and sternly: "Go on, you fool, what are you waiting for? Just do it and get it over with!"

He had wanted her to watch. He had wanted her to witness as he cut her precious prince to pieces. He had wanted to look into her eyes and let her know who was the best man. It would have been her punishment; her punishment for having rejected him.

But as he watched her standing there, he just couldn't. He could see her head shaking and he lips forming the word "Please." These gestures and words were aimed directly at him. She was speaking to him, just as well as if they had been alone in a closed room.

With great self persuasion, Achilles lowered his sword. The prince was still panting and he was bleeding profusely from his wound. With an angry grimace, Achilles smacked him across the face with the shaft of his sword. The prince was immediately knocked unconscious.

With grim and determined movements, Achilles went to his carriage, where he fetched the rope he had brought from the camp. He tied one end to the wagon and the other to the prince's feet.

"What is he doing?" Priam whispered. He still couldn't really believe that the Greek warrior hadn't killed his son.

"He is taking Hector with him," Paris mumbled in disbelief. "But why?"

Andromache was still standing by the rail and watched as Achilles drove away with her husband tied to his carriage. She could have answered Paris' question, but she was still unable to talk. Still she was in a complete state of shock after what had happened. Her husband was alive. But for how long?

----

Later that day, Priam, Paris and General Glaucus were discussing strategies for how they were going to get Hector back.

"I still can't understand why he didn't just kill the prince," the General mumbled thoughtfully. "Why would he just take him with him?"

"Do you think it's a ransom he wants?" Paris asked.

Priam sighed. "If that's what he wants, then I'll pay it, no matter how much he will ask for."

"Maybe he just wants to show off his trophy to Agamemnon," Glaucus said grimly. "Maybe he has just kept Hector alive so that he can kill him later and in a more cruel way."

"My gods, why are you doing this to me?" Priam groaned. Then he pulled himself together. "We must send messages to the Greek camp. If we can negotiate with Achilles..."

"I don't really believe that he would listen to a messenger, father," Paris said in frustration. "I think he is more likely to run them through."

"Well, what else can we do?" Priam asked. "We don't have much choice at the moment..."

"What is this, my lord?" the general suddenly interrupted. His eyes were aimed at something behind the king and his son.

Priam and Paris turned to see what Glaucus was staring at. They were very surprised to see Andromache, dressed in a cloak that covered her from top to toe, enter the hall. She carried a leather bag in her hands and her face was calm and determined.

"Andromache?" Priam asked.

Andromache approached the three men and stood before them. "I need a carriage," she said, her voice firm. "And I need you to tell me the safest way to the Grecian camp."

"Why on earth?" Priam asked in absolute bewilderment.

Andromache tossed her head slightly. "Because I am going to get my husband back."

The men were silent for a moment, slightly shocked before Paris spoke up. "Andromache, dearest, are you out of your mind? You can't go there, it's dangerous!"

"Well, I don't have much choice, do I?" she asked him harshly.

"It's absolutely out of the question," Priam said with authority. "I won't let you risk your life out there."

"I must," Andromache answered shortly.

Priam sighed. "You must wait, Andromache," he said. "We'll send messengers and find out what is going on before we..."

"There is no time for that!" Andromache spat in frustration, forgetting that this wasn't exactly a suitable way of addressing her father-in-law, the king of Troy. "Hector will die if no one tends to his wounds soon. I will not let that happen. I am going there!"

The men became quiet again, silenced by her outburst. "And what makes you think that Achilles will listen to you?"

Andromache's face hardened. "I'll make him listen."

----