Introduction: This is the story behind the movie Troy, about Hector and Andromache. It is the third in a series of three stories (From Thebe to Troy was the first followed by An Invincible Haven) so I strongly suggest you read the first two before reading this one; it will make more sense.

Rating- PG-13. It will stay to that rating, so don't expect anything to up it.

Notes: I'm writing along with a story about Helen and Paris, Gazing in a Mirror, and since the two stories correspond my updates will be slower. Also the fact that I have school now will cut into my writing time.

Disclaimer: None of this is mine, except those characters that you don't recognize from the movie.

First Chapter, here you are, enjoy!

Hector stood at the front of the ship, watching the cliffs of Sparta slowly loom into view. With the winds they were having, they'd arrive by sunset.

"A quick journey," Paris said, coming over beside him.

Hector nodded, remembering his wife's words.

"I've supplicated the gods, and Briseis has vowed to pray every morning you're gone, so your journey should be safe," she said, pulling him into a hug.

"Fear not, I'll return in three months, well and unharmed," Hector said, kissing the top of her head. Astyanax had been wedged between them, and let out a loud protest.

"I expected it to be," Hector answered his brother.

"It was still long, though," Paris mused, just as quickly changing his opinion.

"One month's sailing isn't so bad, once you've become accustomed to it."

"It was a month and ten days."

"Counting them makes it seem longer."

"I'll remember that for the journey home," Paris said, propping himself against a stack of crates.

"Go put on your robes, we'll be arriving soon," Hector said, glancing at his brother. "And make yourself presentable."

Paris grinned and went below deck to put on a stately robe, and quickly glanced in the crude mirror that hung against the rocking wall of the ship. His dark blue robe set off his complexion well. Hector soon joined him and quickly donned a fancy green robe, interwoven with gold. Just as he was finishing the captain called out for all hands to assist with docking.

The two princes quickly returned to the deck and waited for the ship to be safely secured in the harbor. Hector spotted Menelaus dismounting for a horse and turned to Paris.

"Menelaus is the third one to the left, with the gold band. Make sure your greet him as is proper."

Paris made a face. "This isn't my first journey as an ambassador of Troy, Hector."

"But the stakes have never been this high," Hector answered easily, calmly waiting for the planks to be fastened to the side of the ship for dismounting.

"I know what to do," Paris said, peering around him to glance at Menelaus. "By Apollo, he's huge!"

"Paris!" Hector hissed under his breath, a comfortable look still resting on his face as he faced Menelaus. "Hold your tongue."

"No wonder the kings of Greece wish for peace, I doubt he'd even be able to move on the battlefield. His poor wife," Paris chuckled impishly.

"Considering your own skill with a sword, I'd advise you not to speak. And the kings of Greece are quite formidable warriors, if you'd thought to pay attention to your studies."

The plank was finally laid and Hector strode across it easily as Menelaus came over to greet him.

"Prince Hector! We are honored at your arrival," he said, grasping his hand in a firm shake.

"King Menelaus, it is a pleasure to have been granted a safe voyage," Hector replied smoothly. "I'd like to present my brother, Prince Paris, who had graciously agreed to accompany me."

"Prince Paris, a pleasure," Menelaus said, turning to grasp Paris' hand. "Come, you must be tired after your long journey. My wife will have a hearty meal set out for us."

Horses were handed to them and the party set off, slowing ascending the steep cliffs. Paris was bored in an instant; Hector marveled at the natural fortification Sparta possessed. It was completely isolated between the steep inclines, and the only entranceways had been hewn out of the rock, and hence were very easy to defend. Breaching a city like Sparta would not be easy.

The gods forbid I must ever try, Hector thought wryly.

They finally made their way to the palace and their horses were taken by aids.

"The servants will see that your baggage and men are safely disposed," Menelaus said, leading them into the vast expanses of the royal grounds. Paris frowned distastefully, Sparta's grounds weren't nearly as well-kept or styled as Troy's. They made their way into a small, luxuriously furnished room with tapestries hanging from the wall. A fire heated the warm and fur rugs covered the floor, creating one of the few welcoming rooms in the entire Spartan palace. The stone walls constantly kept it in a state of dreariness and cold, so this room was a special treat. Menelaus gestured to a table in the middle of the room and turned to a nearby servant. "Where is the food for our guests?"

"The queen ordered that it be kept warm in the kitchens, it will arrive in a moment," the servant answered.

"Bring some wine for our guests," Menelaus ordered. He joined the princes at the fairly large, square table, sitting opposite Hector. "We'll be dining shortly, my wife-" He frowned, suddenly noticing that the table was set for three. Turning to a nearby handmaiden he narrowed his eyes. "Where is the queen?"

"In her chamber, my king," the young woman answered. "She was tired from the preparations for the meal."

"Bring her to me," Menelaus ordered carelessly. The girl hesitated but then flinched at the look he gave her. She nodded mutely and quietly fled from the room.

"King Menelaus, I would hate to inconvenience your wife," Hector said, trying to ease the situation. Upon hearing Menelaus' orders, Paris had given him a very speaking look.

"It is no inconvenience, I assure you," Menelaus said smoothly, taking a cup of wine from the servant who'd just arrived.

As Menelaus took a deep sip Paris glanced at his brother with his eyebrows raised. I would never have thought I could pity someone I'd never even met, he mouthed. Hector only nodded wearily.

"You did not set a place for yourself," Menelaus said, glancing over at a woman who'd just arrived.

"I am not inclined to dine tonight, the preparations left me weary," a musical voice answered.

Upon hearing her voice Hector stood up quickly from his chair, as etiquette requires. He hadn't seen her come in, so she'd startled him somewhat. He turned to his left, since she was still standing by the door, and was hard pressed to keep himself from gasping when he first beheld her.

Paris was a bit slower to stand, and his back was facing her. But at her words he'd jumped up and spun around, and then frozen in place.

By all that is holy, it is as though I behold Aphrodite herself, he thought, amazed. She wore a white, simple dress that glided over her skin. Her hair, golden as the sun, cascaded down her back with small, white flowers entwined in them. There seemed almost to be a heavenly light cast down upon her, as though the gods wished all to know of her uniqueness. Never had there been a creature so perfect, so ethereal, yet so mortal.

"It is my desire that you dine with us tonight," Paris heard Menelaus say.

There was a long pause, but Helen bowed her head and quietly entered the room. She seemed to move with a grace that far surpassed all other women of her class, but it seemed natural at the same time. Her head was bowed, so he could not see her face. She stopped to stand in front of the princes, and Hector and Paris both sunk down low in bows.

"Princes Hector and Paris, I present my wife, Queen Helen," Menelaus said. Only then did she raise her face, as Hector spoke to her.

"Queen Helen, I am honored," he said. She smiled at him, a smile that did not reach her eyes, then turned to Paris.

They locked gazes and Helen no longer wore a smile on her face. Paris heard himself murmur something proper, but he was not paying attention to his words. His eyes never hers but every detail of her face was memorized in that one moment. The slight, upturned nose, the full lips and flushed cheeks, but most of all her eyes. They held his fascination, though not for the color. To be sure, they were the clearest blue he'd ever seen, but it was the depths that enraptured him. They were the shade of the beach at Troy, but with the depth of the Aegean behind them. Emotions as numerous as the stars swam in them and they held years of stories and lessons.

But it would not be proper to stare at another man's wife for too long, so Paris tore his gaze from her and sat back down. Helen sat by her husband's right hand, directly across from Paris. Hector and Menelaus carried most of the conversation, because Helen stared at her plate for the most part and Paris had lost all desire for words. The meal ended quickly with Menelaus saying they must be tired after their journey, so Hector and Paris retired and left Menelaus with his wife.

As the door closed behind them Paris turned to Hector. "Did you see her?!"

"I'd have to be blind not to," Hector retorted good-naturedly. "The rumors do not do her justice."

"She looked immortal."

Hector nodded.

"I've never seen such beauty, and her eyes-" Paris went on.

"Paris, stop. It won't due to have you praising another's man's wife, especially one known for his jealous rages."

Paris obediently was silent, mindful of the servants nearby. But when they were in the sanctuary of their own quarters- two sleeping rooms joined by a shared lounge- he spoke once again on the Queen of Sparta.

"He doesn't deserve her," Paris said decidedly.

Hector sighed. "He doesn't deserve her more than many other men deserve their own wives. She is not the first to be unloved."

Paris was silent, thinking on these words. "I never thought of it before."

"Beauty does not guarantee love, Paris. Nor does wealth. It is the gods' blessing, and they bestow it on whom they will. She is no worse off than thousands of other women, both rich and poor."

"When I finally marry, my wife will not be one of those thousands," he vowed.

Hector smiled. "I know, Paris. You may bed many women, but when you choose that certain one, she'll not be unloved." Hector paused for a beat. "Else I'll not permit you wed her." He smiled at his brother and went into his bedchamber.

Paris sighed restlessly and collapsed on one of the nearby couches. He felt like a glass of wine to help clear his mind, but no servants had been allotted to them. Glancing at Hector's closed door, he debated whether his brother would permit him to go in search of refreshment.

Probably not, he decided, standing up. But what he doesn't know won't hurt him. He silently left the quarters, drawing no one's attention.