King Odysseus of Ithaca was many things. Most people were aware that he was sly, diplomatic, and able to convince even the most stubborn of fools to do exactly what he wanted them to do while making them think that it was their idea all along. It was those skills and traits that had earned him the moniker of old fox from Achilles. It was also what had enabled him to save himself and his men from the wrath of the Trojans after Achilles saw fit to deceive them all and slip away from Troy during the night with the city's youngest prince in tow. He was proud of those gifts and made certain that they were kept sharp and well-practiced.

What wasn't so readily spoken about was his stunning amount of patience. It was certainly never counted as a glamorous or exciting character trait, but it served Odysseus remarkably well and at the moment he was as grateful for it as he was for any other than he possessed. Any other man in his position would have done something idiotically rash by now. They might have screamed at King Priam for playing a more prominent part – unwitting as it had been – in the flight of the Myrmidons than the Ithacans did and then having the gall to threaten them. Or else they might have tried to fight their way out of that wretched city, sail across the Aegean, and do battle with Achilles and his men over their damnable betrayal without sufficient planning. Either scenario would have obviously ended with the needless slaughter of his men and Odysseus was humble enough to know that his restraint so far most likely would have been exercised by any leader with a little bit of impulse control and rational thought. No; the matter in which Ithaca's king praised his patience in at the moment concerned Prince Hector, who'd just dashed by while ignoring his calls. He was confident in his assumption that any other leader in such a precarious situation would have finally snapped at that and stormed after the prince, demanding an audience for a little talk.

He certainly wouldn't have faulted anyone for such a course of action, but he was patient and canny enough to take the more prudent road. The prince had obviously found out about Prince Paris' disappearance and the role that Achilles had played in it (the official version, at any rate) and would not react kindly to any Greek that he came across, especially one that was behaving as if he were a victim in all of this. He was running in the direction of his father's private alter, meaning that he wanted to understand the situation better before condemning those who remained in the city and that gave Odysseus hope. Hindering him now would only draw his hostility and suspicions, and he needed Prince Hector's cooperation if there was any hope in rectifying the situation as best as it could be. He was determined to use that patience that was rarely celebrated but always present and wait until he came back that way again to capture his attention.

The Fates, however, apparently had other plans for him. "My king!" shouted one of his men as he came quickly from the opposite direction that the prince had headed off in. Odysseus braced himself when he heard the alarm in the soldier's voice. "I'm sorry, my lord, but it's happening again. Some of the Trojan guard were very rudely questioning our honor and jeering at us that we should be rotting in cells or hanging by the gates by now. We know your commands, but a few of the younger ones – well, they have difficulty in just sitting there and enduring such abuse…"

Odysseus sighed and followed the soldier back to where the altercation was taking place. Some of his men did not possess the patience that he did and clung too tightly to the notion that defending insults to one's honor was more important than whatever good may come from putting up with it for a short while. He could forgive them for that as he once again reined in the more hotheaded of his men before smoothing things over with the Trojan guards by using the same traits that got him labeled old fox by the very same Greek that the guards actually hated. It was the responsibility of his men to carry out his orders as best they could. It was his responsibility to see to it that every Ithacan in Troy left those shores alive and he took that very seriously.

That responsibility sometimes cost him opportunities. By the time he'd dealt with the situation sufficiently enough to ensure that there wouldn't be a heated fight the second his back was turned and returned to his original position, Prince Hector was just passing out of sight. He was heading in the direction of the main garden, no doubt to see Andromache and Astyanax; Odysseus recalled catching a glimpse of mother and son sitting on a bench out there when he passed by. The image of the pair transformed into Penelope and Telemachus, his own wife and son, and he felt a kinship with the prince. He certainly wouldn't like it if a perceived potential enemy delayed a reunion with his family after being parted from them for so long. Fine then; he would wait a little while longer while Prince Hector had his time with his family. Then the time for them to have a discussion of their own would finally be at hand.

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

A beautiful scene awaited Hector when he finally stepped foot into the large garden that looked out over the sea. Andromache was seated on a stone bench with Astyanax in her lap. The child was smiling up at her and gripping a strand of her long brown hair in his tiny fist as she sang to him. The song she'd selected was silly, something that was considered by King Priam to be too ridiculous for a royal heir that she often sang anyway. She held firmly to the fact that Astyanax was her and Hector's son and while the king's opinions couldn't be wholly ignored, they would not stop her from raising him in the manner that she felt best. Andromache was all too familiar with the emotional pain that Priam inflicted daily on his own son's and was determined to protect Astyanax from such a fate. Hector admired that conviction and loved her all the more for it.

It was such a lovely image that the prince didn't say anything for a moment, choosing instead to absorb it into his mind and soul and store it in his heart. "I've had this dream before," he said at last, smiling as she looked up at him in surprise. "It keeps me company on those long nights away and tempts me to forsake all my duties to see you both again."

Andromache rose and rushed to embrace him. "My dear husband," she sighed contentedly. "I never realize just how long you've been gone until you come back. Thank Apollo you're home!" Sadness crept into her eyes. "I wish that you could have been greeted with better circumstances."

He returned the embrace, planting one kiss on her mouth and another on Astyanax's forehead. "I only wish that I'd come home earlier," he lamented. "Perhaps I could have discouraged Achilles and the Myrmidons for committing this shameful act."

"Hector," she started, something between comfort and scolding in her tone.

"How do you two fare?" he asked, eager to interrupt before she could begin another of her speeches about being too hard on himself. She meant well and only sought to support him but he needed to be reminded of his failures in order to stop himself from doing something stupid or acting too cocky. "Have the Greeks harmed you in any way?"

"We are fine," she assured him. "I've rarely even seen our guests and the ones that I do encounter have been courteous enough. Paris is the one that we should be worrying about now."

"I cannot believe that something like this has happened," he murmured in distress as the image of Paris being starved…beaten…raped continued to torment him. "I didn't– "

Hector cut himself off suddenly. His father was right; he was weak for letting his emotions get the better of him time and time again. After years of keeping his darkest secret hidden he almost let it spill because he was too upset to think clearly! He cringed internally at Andromache's curious look and berated himself for not being as strong as she was. "Have you heard any more news?" he asked hastily.

"I'm not the one to ask that," she replied, assessing him with her wise eyes and deciding that now was not the time to pry. "No one is willing to share any more news or details with me than absolutely necessary. I suspect that they're trying to protect me from the brutal truth, but not letting me know what's going on only makes me think of all the horrible things that could have happened and might be happening now. Have you not spoken with your father yet?"

"I did."

"What did he say?"

Hector sighed. "Only that Achilles took Paris and that I am to stay out of it."

"So he's just going to leave your brother at the mercy of a man who broke into his bedchamber and dragged him away in the middle of the night?" demanded Andromache in outrage. She was well aware of the fact that Priam had an inexplicable obsession with making sure that his sons had nothing to do with each other but she'd never thought that even he would be willing to do such an unspeakable thing just to keep them separated.

"No, it's not that," he protested automatically though his heart wasn't in it. "He just – wants to handle this situation and all, him being Paris' – father – and all."

Andromache shot him an exasperated frown. "I don't pretend to understand your father's reasons for preventing the two of you from having a relationship," she declared, "but whatever they may be, they don't matter now. Paris adores you and I know you love him. Do you really think it's going to be your father who goes to rescue him?"

"Andromache…"

"He needs you, Hector," she insisted, staring into his eyes while placing a gentle hand on his arm. "Paris doesn't need the king, he needs you."

Hector acknowledged the truth of her words, knowing that she didn't realize just how deeply they'd moved him. He glanced out over the sea that had carried Paris away and steeled his resolve to disobey the king. "You're right," he told her, "but I can I help him without Father trying to stop it?"

"You have earned the unwavering loyalty of many of the guards and soldiers," he offered.

"I do not want to force my men to choose between obeying me and obeying their king," he hedged. "That could place them in a lot of danger."

"I doubt that King Priam has told them anything about not heeding your orders. In fact," she added slyly, "the guards – your men – that are currently posted outside of the room where Julian's being held are growing restless at all the inaction and would be happy to do whatever you asked of them. I believe that would be a good starting point."

Hector smiled at her as she sat back down on the bench where, unbeknownst to either of them, an important event that led to the Myrmidons' flight with Paris took place. "Thank you."

The smile that Andromache returned was grim. "Hurry."

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

Obviously, no one had told Odysseus where Prince Paris' young servant, Julian, was being held but it really wasn't all that difficult to figure out. He wouldn't be allowed to stay in the common servants' quarters where he'd be free to regale that lower class with the tale of the princes' disappearance before he confessed all to the king. They would isolate him and the perfect place for that would be in one of those awful anonymous chambers scattered around the palace that were reserved for encounters with the palace prostitutes. After discreetly following Prince Hector and overhearing his intention to speak to the boy Odysseus decided that it would be best for them to "accidentally" meet on the way there.

Hector scowled at the Greek king who was standing just out of sight, waiting for…him? 'Why are he and his men not imprisoned?' he wondered bitterly. Even a blundering dolt like Menelaus had seen that Achilles trusted Odysseus above all others, save his Myrmidons. Surely he must have had some knowledge of his plot to abduct Paris!

"What do you want, Greek?" he hissed.

"You are Prince Hector, are you not?" inquired Odysseus very politely. Though not easily quailed by another man's temper – numerous dealings with Achilles at his most volatile had long since tamed any of those fears – the Trojan prince's fury made him think twice about what was appropriate to say and once more before he actually voiced it.

"I am," Hector replied shortly. "What else do you want? I may just sound terribly suspicious, but I'm finding that the Greeks of any city have the tendency to want more than they ask for and desire more than what they should expect to receive."

Odysseus sighed inwardly. He knew that this wouldn't be easy. "I am sorry for what happened to your brother," he said diplomatically.

"Are you now?" sniped Hector sarcastically. He was not going to play political games at a time like this! "Well, you're apologies are doing much to save Paris, are they?"

"No, they aren't," Ithaca's king conceded. "But I have information that concerns the well being of Prince Paris that I believe is key to mending this whole unfortunate matter."

"Information that you've been keeping a secret!" Hector was livid. "You dishonorable filth! Did you decide not to share it with my father in the hopes of extorting some kind of wealth from me now?" He took a threatening step forward. "Is that why Achilles kidnapped Paris? Was that the scheme all along?"

"Your father already knows about this!" Odysseus insisted. 'A part of it, in any case,' he added silently. "He just doesn't believe that it has anything to do with what happened when it has everything to do with it. I'm coming to you with this in the hopes that it will sound more compelling coming from you than from me."

Hector didn't say anything so Odysseus took the opportunity to press on. "I have a family – a wife and young son – that I love. If there is anything I can do to help your family I will do it. Please, Prince Hector."

"Very well," Hector bristled, unable to turn down any source of information even if it was from a potential conspirator. He sized up the Greek and a thought suddenly occurred to him: Andromache had told him of 'courteous' encounters with Greeks. Judging by his demeanor and familial situation, it seemed more than likely that those encounters had been with Odysseus. "My wife tells me that you've spoken with her."

"I have," Odysseus told him simply. She hadn't, of course; he'd eavesdropped on every word of their conversation and knew that she'd never named him. Hector was testing his honesty and thankfully he had nothing to conceal with respect to Andromache. "She reminds me of my own wife – strong, lovely, and loyal – and seeing her with your son eased some of the pain I feel at being separated from them for so long. I hope I've done no offense to you or her because I meant none."

"She is in the main garden with my son now," said Hector. "I'm loath to send you there, but it's probably the only private place where you and I can speak without arousing suspicions and you can't wait for me here without being caught soon enough. Can I trust that you won't carry them off while I question a servant?"

Odysseus wisely chose not to respond to the barely veiled accusation. "I'll meet you there," he promised, and left while thinking about the fact that he was going to tell Hector all of what he had to say in the very location where all of this officially began.

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

Hector continued the rest of the way down the corridor to the heavily-guarded chamber door. Without anyone uttering a single word, the guards opened the door and gave way to allow him to enter. "I am not in here," he instructed them emphatically. "I was never here. And do not open this door to anyone while I'm 'not' in here, unless it is the king himself and you have no other choice."

With a curt nod, a guard slammed the door shut and Hector turned around to face Julian. The ten-year-old boy cowered in the corner, petrified. "Please – please d-d-don't hurt me," he begged pitifully.

Hector sat down on the floor, mindful to keep a sufficient distance between the two of them. It was plain to see that the boy had been handled roughly in the hopes of getting him to divulge more information but it had only served to terrify him more. He silently cursed whoever had done it, no matter what frustrations and desperation had driven them to do so – he needed Julian to speak freely, not be afraid that he'd be beaten for saying the wrong thing.

"I won't hurt you," he vowed in his kindest tone. "Please just be honest; you have my word that you will not be punished for it."

Julian didn't respond. Time for another tactic. "Julian, you're loyal to Paris, are you not? You don't want him to be in danger, do you?"

"He was n-n-n-nice to me," the boy trembled. "I only want him to – to be safe and happy."

"Well, Julian, the only way that can happen is if you tell me everything you saw the night that Achilles kidnapped him," coaxed Hector. "And since I want him to be safe and happy too, I won't be angry about anything you say."

Julian lifted his face to look at the prince. Hector could see the tear stains on his cheeks. "I'm sorry," he whimpered. "I didn't mean to see. I shouldn't have spied!"

That response bewildered Hector. He'd assumed that Julian's silence was due not only to the fear of punishment but also from the trauma of witnessing Paris endure such an act of violence without being able to help. He never considered until that moment that it might have come from guilt about actually seeing it happen. "You didn't mean to see what?" he asked. "What shouldn't you have seen?"

To be continued…