A/N: Hector's first person recollection is not set apart from the rest of the text, though it is italicized.
Priam's face contorted in fury and panic. "Be silent, Hector!" he ordered sharply. His voice sounded only slightly more desperate than he would have cared for at that particular place and time but that didn't matter if he could convince his uncharacteristically bold offspring to recant what he'd just announced before the court. "Keep your mouth shut; you are stumbling over your own words as it is."
Hector heard the implied demand and clearly understood what his father wanted him to do but he was in no mood to comply with his wishes anymore. For almost all of his life he'd played the part of the obedient son in order to appease that treacherous old man, later adapting his role as the stoic warrior in front of the nobles and people of Troy because he knew that was what the king desired of him. Because of this compulsion to please a father who would never give him love and approval, Hector had never bothered to do anything to preserve his own happiness or protect his well being.
'Or Paris',' he thought suddenly, and the realization shamed him. Always deep down inside of Hector was that fourteen-year-old boy whose soul protested and heart screamed in anguish when Priam robbed him of his son. While he could excuse his inaction because of his young age at the time, how could he justify ignoring that part of him that had been saying for over sixteen years that he should be the one raising his own child?
The answer to that gut-wrenching question was before him in the hall. It made him sick to finally face the fact that he was guilty of putting his obligations to everyone there – his father, the nobles, the soldiers – before Paris. Placing the blame on all of them wasn't exactly fair, for few of the nobles and none of the soldiers were aware of the extent of Priam's emotional abuse and plans for the boy's future. Hector, however, wasn't in the mood to be fair. Outrage and the feeling of utter betrayal had finally freed him of his desire for their approval and he no longer felt the need to contain his own pain in order to keep others from having to deal with unpleasant realities. Apollo forgive him, he didn't even want to try to soften the blow that this revelation would undoubtedly be to Andromache. In fact, as his eyes honed in on Priam he barely remembered that anyone else was in the room at all. That rebellious, insistent internal voice was now vindicated and he refused to hold his tongue.
"I won't be silent for you anymore," growled Hector. "I was silent when you ordered Ianthe to go into hiding in some filthy, windowless room in the cellar of the palace when you found out about her pregnancy. I was silent when you used her death and the fact that my mother finally found a way to escape your tyranny to claim my child as your own. For all of these years, Father, I was silent while you did everything in your power to keep me from forming even fraternal bond with Paris. What has been gained from all that silence? My son is so frightened of what you have decided is his destiny that he felt safer fleeing in the middle of the night with one of the notorious foreign warriors in the Aegean than remaining in the only life that he's ever known!"
"Your brother was –"
"My son!" screamed Hector. Everyone jumped back, startled; it was both amazing and terrifying to witness the depths of his rage and despair. Indeed, the dam that had held back all of those emotions was now broken and years of agony were flowing unfettered out of him. "My son, my son, my son," he half-sobbed. "Paris was only called my brother because of your contrivances. He is my son – of my flesh, of my blood, and of my heart. You can't say that he's my brother anymore; I won't let you continue to claim him!"
The silence in the room was suffocating as the royal father and son tried to stare one another down. The others looked on, dazed as they struggled to come to terms with the influx of shocking news and what it all would mean for their futures – and the future of Troy. Surely Priam's offenses against his sons – son and grandson – displeased the gods, but who in the room had the right, the authority, to question the king of Troy's actions? The rift between the king and his heir could most likely never be healed, but what if Hector chose to do more than just expose his father's wrongdoings? The city would not have worry about any Greek's military ambitions in that case, for the ensuing civil war would destroy almost everything worth invading for anyway.
Finally Linus, the soldier Lucius' father and esteemed nobleman, found his voice and cleared his throat. "Prince – Prince Hector," he stammered.
Hector's mind slowly registered that someone was addressing him and he forced his eyes to look away from Priam and at the old man. "How – what – how could any of this be so? It is difficult enough to conceive that the king would ever want to –" Linus choked a little as his throat constricted in self defense so he wouldn't have to finish that horrible sentence. "I do not understand how Prince Paris could be your child. I cannot recall any pregnant females around the palace at that time and you were so young…"
"Fourteen," Hector whispered, closing his eyes and the memories of so long ago resurfaced in his mind. No! This was not the time to let himself drown in self pity. He snapped them open and raised his voice so that all could hear. "I was fourteen-years-old when Paris, my eldest son, was born; and only thirteen when I got his mother pregnant."
"But who was she?" pressed Linus, his voice tight. "You were never permitted to leave the palace without your father's supervision or that of a chaperon. Was she the daughter of a visiting dignitary whose presence I cannot remember at this time?"
"Her name was Ianthe," answered Hector. He chuckled but there was no humor in it, or malice either – only bitter pain from over half a lifetime of grief. "And she was no noblewoman. I believe that Father counts one of my many sins to be becoming so close to a servant in the palace, but he need not blame anyone but himself for that. For all of my childhood I was isolated in this gilded cage. Most of the people I came into contact with were, well, all of you; and no one ever had the time to humor me by stopping and listening to me. The only ones around that were my age were servants and they knew that they weren't allowed to look me in the eye, let alone engage in a conversation with me. Ianthe was nice, though; she was the one person back then who ever spoke to Hector the teenaged boy rather than Prince Hector of Troy."
Wiping his tears with his fingers he continued on. "It was nothing more than puppy love, but for a lonely boy with no other friends and a servant girl who was being treated so kindly after being taught all of her life that the royals were her betters it felt like so much more. We used to make believe that we were grown-ups who were only visiting the city and would be leaving soon to return to their simpler, happier life in the country. I guess we managed to convince ourselves that we were actually adults and we let that feeling and the curiosities that are normal for children of that age take our relationship" – he refused to let his father's snort of disapproval rattle him – "to a level that neither of us were ready for."
"She became pregnant," Lucius said rhetorically, at a loss for any other words.
"Yes," nodded Hector, avoiding turning around to look at Andromache. "My first thought was that we should get married, but by then Father knew all about it. A servant cannot become to the prince as close as the two of us did without other servants knowing and none of them wanted to be accused of keeping it from the king when she found herself pregnant with what was obviously my child. He wouldn't hear of his heir marrying someone so low of blood."
"Cease this nonsense," groaned Lord Isidore, sounding annoyed rather than panicked. "My stomach will not stand for any more of this innocent version of events. Puppy love? Relationship? I did not think that anyone who has lived in the palace for so long would have to be informed that servants who provide their betters with sexual pleasure are called whores, Prince Hector."
"And she was the worst kind of whore," agreed Priam in disgust. "One who forgot her place. How could you think for a second that such a person should eventually become your queen?"
Hector glared at them murderously but it was Odysseus who sneered: "And so you two figured like-mother-like-son?"
Taking a deep breath, the prince forced himself to hold it together. Later he would allow himself to yell, rant, scream, cry, and plot brutal revenge; now he had to get the rest of the truth out. "She was immediately locked away in that small room. Very few know about her condition and even less were told who the child's sire was. It was a horrible time; yet I was joyful because I loved the baby from the moment she told me he was coming. We talked about him when I was permitted to visit or managed to sneak down on my own. She and I chose the name Alexandros and I – I remembered our games of make believe and let myself dream of raising him in the countryside of Mount Ida. I thought that we could all just live happily ever after there, away from all of the complications that life in the palace posed."
"A preposterous wish of a foolish boy," muttered Priam scornfully.
"Father, I'm going to tell you something that might sound familiar: be silent!" snapped Hector. When his father clamped his teeth together indignantly, Hector's face drained of anger and recollection took over again. "She died in childbirth. For awhile afterward all I could do was hold her hand and cry over the loss of her, our relationship, and the dreams that we had. By the time I'd gathered my strength and wit about me my baby was gone, as was everyone else. I only cared about my son's disappearance though, and searched until I found him in my father's quarters – in my father's arms. I stared for a moment before requesting: 'Father? May I see him?'
He moved the blanket so that I could see his face but ignored my outstretched arms. 'Father please, I need to hold him,' I pleaded.
Still he made no move to surrender him. 'Why would you need to do something like that? You cannot claim him as your own.'
'Yes – I can – I will!' I stuttered back. 'Why are you saying otherwise?'
'And how do you expect to raise him?' It sounded almost as if he were taunting me. 'You are still a child yourself, Hector; and one who is weak of body and mind at that. Thisbaby is evidence of that. How can you bring him up to be strong when you yourself are incapable of it?'
My heart wept. 'If I don't raise Alexandros when will become of him?' I cried.
'There is no Alexandros,' he told me sharply. 'That name sounds too low to be bestowedupon my son.'
I thought that I'd misunderstood what he was saying because I couldn't accept that he would do something like that. 'What do you mean?' I asked, perplexed.
'Your mother is refusing to return from her visit with her family,' he replied. 'Intolerable wench, trying to humiliate me with her defiance, as if she is worth a show of force to get her back! But at least now we have a plausible story to explain away both inconvenient events: we will say that she died and her mourning parents sent the child – the one that she did not know that she was bearing when she departed on her journey – home to be with his father.'
I couldn't believe my ears. 'No!' I protested.
'Would you rather, then' he condescended, 'that he be branded as the bastard child of the prince's shameful dalliance with a servant?'
'We don't have to stay here,' I insisted. 'I'll take him to Mount Ida and no one will have to hear from us ever again.'
He just smiled nastily and looked down at that precious bundle in his arms. 'Your brother wants to take you to some gods-forsaken rock where you can both die of starvation,' he cooed.
'Don't say that!' I shrieked. 'Don't call me his brother. I'm his father; he's my son!'
With a roll of his eyes he looked at me again. 'So you do wish to see him scorned, tainted with your sin, before making his little body sport for vultures and crows. Are you really that selfish, Hector?'
His face grew almost kind. 'I can protect him from that,' he promised. 'I will not let you harm him in any way. He will be my son, Prince Paris.'"
Hector shook himself out of the memory at the sound of hurried footsteps fading away behind him. "Andromache!" he cried out, but she'd already run out of the door with their son in tow. Was this the prince that he would always have to pay: in order to show loyalty and love to one family member he must forfeit others? The gods would notask forsuch a thing and Hector knew that he couldn't stand back and let it happen.
"Where are you going?" Priam demanded vehemently when he started to rush out after them. "I have not given you leave to depart. I will not stand for you disrupting the court meeting and then merrily skipping away!"
"I don't take orders from you anymore, Father," declared Hector. "What kind of a man steals his own grandson from his son? What kind of a king uses his power to torment and manipulate his family? Anyone in this room save that snake Isidore would make a better king of Troy than you. I vow to lend my name to the worthiest candidate who takes up that call – after I do everything I can to put my family back together." Without another glance back Hector ran out, leaving behind the shell-shocked court – and Odysseus.
The Grecian king sighed in long-suffering resignation. "This seems to be happening fairly often as of late," he noted to no one in particular. "I keep getting left behind in the middle of someone else's mess."
"You – you can hardly compare the two," stammered Lucius incredulously, not quite sure how to react to Odysseus now. "With all that Prince Hector has been through – and Lord Achilles didn't – "
"Didn't what? Lose Prince Paris? Love Prince Paris?" Odysseus glanced around the room and for possibly the first time felt the reckless courage of knowing that he could do nothing to mend their situation. The Trojans would be preoccupied with all of the problems that were sure to come about from that day's revelations, making it simple enough for him to lead his men out of the city safely. Why not stop tiptoeing around the rest of the truth? "There's where you are mistaken, good soldier of Troy. Achilles loves Prince Paris, just as the prince loves him."
"He might have told you that, but he threatened to rape –"
"Oh, you poor diluted young man," moaned Odysseus. "He never threatened to do anything of the sort to anyone, let alone the prince. His pride and ego alone prevents him from doing such a thing. Lord Isidore just caught them kissing in the garden and decided that he needed a clean way to murder Achilles, probably so there would be no complications when he himself raped the prince. Think about it: the lord provokes you with these false words so much that you enter into a duel with Achilles with the intent of killing him; figuring that if you fail he would surely kill you and he'd then have to face the penalty of death for murdering the son of a noble. The only reason you're still living is because Prince Paris was brave enough to sneak into the Greek quarters to ask Achilles not to kill you and Achilles loved him enough to listen."
He flashed his most winning smile at all of them. No wonder Achilles loved behaving this way – it was very liberating. "Well, I can see that all of you have your own problems to deal with," he concluded, "and my men and I have overstayed our welcome as it is. We'll be departing as soon as we can."
"Stop him!" yelled Priam, his face turning purple as Odysseus sauntered out. He was infuriated when no one made a move. "I am the king of Troy and my orders will be obeyed! Lucius, seize him!"
Lucius ever so slowly turned to look at him with hollow eyes. "I fought the greatest warrior in the world to defend the princes from dishonor and torment," he told him deliberately. "What makes you think I won't take on an old man for the same reasons?"
OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO
Andromache hadn't gone very far before her tears overwhelmed her and she sank to the floor, clutching Astyanax in her arms. That's how Hector found her: almost hunched doubled over while her body was racked with sobs. He immediately threw himself down on his knees in front of her. "I'm sorry, dear wife," he choked out, guilt stabbing him for being the cause of her pain. "What I did – you have every right to be angry."
"Do you really think so little of me?" she asked him, and indeed there was no anger or judgment in her tone. "I'm not so petty and insecure that I would fault you for what happened in your life before we met. Whatever penance you might owe for your lies since then have been paid many times over. I'm just hurt that you didn't trust me with this, didn't let me help you."
"Oh my love," he whispered. "I couldn't. That night – the night that Father took him from me – was the last time I ever called Paris my son out loud until today. If I'd have said it to you I wouldn't have been able to go on with the lies and I thought that I was doing what was best for him."
She reached out and touched his face lovingly. "This explains so much. You are a good man, Hector; a good husband to me and a good father to both of your sons. There are few who would endure all of that grief for the sakes of those he loves."
Hector turned his face to kiss the palm that was pressed against his cheek. "I was blessed the day you came into my life, for you made me want to live again for the first time in years." His expression grew serious. "You understand what I have to do now."
Andromache nodded gravely as Odysseus strode by. "Never mind me," he said to them flippantly. "I'm just going to gather my men and we'll be out of your hair."
"King Odysseus, wait!" Hector's call stopped him in his tracks. He didn't have to turn around and see what the prince had to say; he didn't have the treaty he had came there to obtain that would obligate him to get involved with Troy's political troubles. But he felt an odd kinship with Hector that made him do just what he didn't have to do.
"What is it, Prince Hector?"
"I know why you'd want to get your men out of the city and I'm not about to waste both of our time trying to talk you out of it," said Hector as he stood up and helped Andromache to rise. "All I ask is that you take me with you."
"To Ithaca?" asked Odysseus flatly, though he knew exactly where the Trojan wanted to be taken.
Hector shook his head. "I need to find my son."
How did he manage to get himself tangled up right in the middle of this? 'Perhaps the better question,' mused Odysseus in a self deprecating manner, 'is why can't I make myself walk away?'
"He isn't lost," Odysseus said aloud in a tone that was blunt but not unkind. "Your son is out of the city of Troy, just like you always wanted; and what's more, he's in the arms of someone who loves him deeply. Don't start a war that you can't win right now with the Myrmidons attempting to make him give that up."
"That isn't my plan," insisted Hector. "Paris can control his own comings and goings; I have long ago surrendered any right I might have had to do that. I – I just want him to know that he has a father who doesn't think he's a prostitute."
"Achilles won't make it easy," Odysseus warned him as he felt his own defenses crumbling. "He thinks that you knew about King Priam's plans all along."
"But he told Paris that I could visit if I behaved myself and I will," countered Hector. "Julian heard him. Please Odysseus; from one father to another."
And there it was: the reason why Odysseus wasn't able to disengage himself from this mess. At his core he was a father, observing and judging his surroundings through those lenses. "All right, Hector," he relented, stressing the name to show the prince that he noticed his quiet permission not to use his formal title anymore. "I suppose that there is room for you and a small number of your men aboard my ship, I can convince Achilles to let you see Prince Paris, especially in light of that promise." He paused for a moment. "No, not Prince Paris; I think that 'Paris Alexandros' has a better ring to it."
Hector felt a thrill run through him at the sound of the name that reminded him of the first time he drove a chariot all by himself. Telling Paris that he was his father could very well destroy Hector, but if his son accepted it, and didn't hate him…everything that the older prince had very wanted just might be within his reach. "Thank you," he said gratefully. "We'll attend to what we need to around here; then please take me to my son."
To be continued…
