A/N: Hector's dream isn't really set apart from the rest of the story, but it is italized.

The weeks spent traveling on that Ithacan ship was one of the most torturous times of Hector's life. He'd managed to somehow fill the days with busywork – meeting with his men, having conversations that he only half-remembered later with Odysseus, staring out at the water and willing the current and wind to take him to his destination faster – but the nights were long, lonely, and restless. How could one tiny room feel so vast and empty? Perhaps it was the extra cot he'd set up in the corner, sitting there all neatly made as if it were waiting for someone that never came. Hector had prepared it on one of the first nights of the voyage when sleep eluded him, in the foolish hopes that Paris would be joining him when they set sail from the Myrmidons' homeland. It was one of the few thoughts that seemed to be keeping him sane these days and yet the overwhelming possibility that it wasn't going to happen added more weight to the already oppressive loneliness that clung to the air.

The only way that Hector could keep from obsessing about his eldest son's potential rejection of him was to focus on the guilt he was feeling. Years of playing the role of the perfect prince made it difficult to shed off those feelings of obligation that he had toward his father's court. For all intents and purposes, he had just marched in there while they were trying to get a handle on an already tense and unprecedented disaster, spilled out all of his problems that none of them could do anything to fix, and walked away. Of course, they must have known where to find him before he left – he'd spent the two nights that were needed for preparations on the beach with the Ithacans – but that didn't mean that they felt comfortable approaching him then. Now the nobles, most of whom were actually rather decent people, were left to deal with the mess he left behind with no one to stand between them and Priam. While Hector would never again apologize for the reason why he had to do it, tearing apart the king's façade and exposing the real him before leaving without attending to any of the consequences would most likely have serious repercussions when he returned to Troy's shores.

And return he would, if only to collect Andromache, Astyanax, and the rest of the refugees from Mount Ida to take into exile with him. In the darkness of the night, when Hector's mind would give him a temporary respite from thinking about Paris before he went insane, his thoughts immediately went to that gathering of people that he'd led from the city and watched retreat into the mountains. Fleeing was really the only thing that they could do, considering the political instability of the city but Hector still felt his heart wrench at the thought that he had done anything that made their lives even more difficult. The feeling was made worse by the fact that he couldn't go with them to make sure that they were indeed safe for fear that someone would use them against him – those that were loyal to his father would follow Hector before they followed anyone else and none would risk losing the prince's trail for anything. Keeping the distance was a major source of anguish for the Trojan, but he bore it as he had always borne that in his life: with a strong resolve that what he was doing was right and a determination not to burden others with his pain.

He was still haunted by them: his wife; youngest son; most of the servants, including Hook, still in pain because of his injuries but gravely keeping the prostitutes together, and Paris' servant boy Julian, who'd been rescued from his imprisonment before Priam's supporters could deduce his role in Hector's revelation; and other frightened citizens and nobles who loved Hector and could not serve a king they couldn't trust. Luckily for all of them, no one had attempted to hinder their departure and the guards at the main gates had even stepped out of the way without receiving one word of command. At least Hector could find some comfort in the fact that his father would have to deal with the city's political stability before seeking out those who'd left; and the prince had left them in the care of many loyal soldiers and guards under Lucius' command. The noble soldier had requested to be a part of the small contingent of men accompanying Hector but the prince needed to leave someone he trusted to protect those that he loved. Besides, given Lucius' antagonistic history with Achilles, bringing him along might be interpreted as a provocation to battle.

So another Trojan prince had departed in (relative) secret, leaving behind those who needed him; people he loved and cared for deeply, and he felt the pain of that separation most sharply in the lonely hours of the night when he was alone with his thoughts and demons. Even when Hector managed to get some sleep it was not restful at all, for his nightmares tormented him with all of his fears of what could happen when he found Paris. For years he'd had happy dreams about the day that he'd finally tell him the truth – Paris would always smile with more joy than Hector had ever seen before flinging himself into his newfound father's arms. Now that the day was almost at hand the dreams had become sinister and increasingly terrifying.

The worst nightmare of all had come to Hector in the dead of that night:

He stood there facing Paris. They were standing – somewhere; Hector had no idea what Achilles' home looked like and didn't have the energy to start guessing, so that part of his dreams was always nondescript. It wasn't important, anyway; the only thing he cared about was the boy that was finally within arm's reach. The prince was desperate to pull his son into an embrace but the truth was still acting as a barrier between them. It had to be told before they could move on. "I'm your father, Paris," Hector told him as gently as he could.

Paris didn't respond – not with a word, facial expression, twitch of the body, or even a look in his eyes. It was as if he hadn't heard him, but given that they were standing so close that was impossible. 'It must be shock,' Hector told himself, not wanting to think about whatever else his unresponsiveness could mean.

"I'm so sorry I lied to you," Hector pressed on. "You have every right to be angry, confused, to hate me, and anything else you might feel. It was wrong of me to do and there is nothing in the world that I regret more. Oh Paris, I thought I was protecting you; that was the only reason why I was able to survive giving you up. I love you so much, my son."

Again no answer; Paris stood as still as a statue. "Paris, please," Hector was at the point of begging. It was then that he realized that indifference was the one reaction from Paris that would drive him to despair, for it meant that his son didn't care to work up the energy to feel anything for him. It would be the ultimate form of rejection. "Strike me; yell at me; tell me you hate me; ask Achilles to torture or kill me! Just say something."

Still no reaction. At the end of his rope, Hector reached out and placed a hand on Paris' arm only to feel his son's skin turn to sand at his touch. "No!" cried Hector, but there was nothing that he could do. Paris simply dissolved until there was nothing left of him but a pile of sand where he'd been standing.

Sobbing uncontrollably, the elder prince fell to his knees and grasped at it, desperate for some kind of miracle. "Take my life," he pleaded to no one, for he knew that the gods would no longer listen to him. Paris was gone forever and it was all Hector's fault. Still, he had to try. "Please, anyone! I will gladly endure the worst that Tartarus has in store for the most evil man if only you save my son."

Harsh laughter behind him froze Hector's blood; he knew who it belonged to even though that person wasn't supposed to be there. "The gods do not need your consent to impose such a punishment, especially after this. Just look at what you have done," taunted Priam with gleeful malice. "Why are you so surprised, Hector? The gods know that you are not good enough to be his father. Did you really believe that one or two grand gestures on Paris' behalf would negate a lifetime of lying and abandoning him?"

"I wanted to raise him," replied Hector through his sorrow. "But you said –"

"Are you still telling yourself that you believed what I told you that night?" asked Priam mirthfully. "You knew what kind of man that I was, that I would be able to look that that whore's child and see that he would grow up to be one of the most beautiful people in the Aegean. You knew that I would have to add him to my collection of exquisite things to show off and lend out at will."

"No I didn't! I was so young."

"And that will always be your excuse," Priam chided as he walked to Hector's side. "Children do not care what the reasons for their parents' weaknesses are. All of the 'I was so young's in the world will never change the fact that Paris grew up feeling isolated and unloved because you were not strong enough to be his father when he needed you to be."

The cruel king dug his toe into the sand that had once been Paris. Hector, in his grief and fury, shoved him away but Priam only smiled in amusement at the response. "How do you live with yourself, Hector," he purred, "knowing that you have done more to defend this pile of sand than you ever did to protect your own flesh and blood?"

Hector awoke with a start. The dream hung on to the edge of his consciousness, making the room even darker and more oppressive. He sat up in bed panting and sweating while a few tears slipped down his cheeks. Blackness was all around him; and the loneliness was suffocating him until he thought that he would pass out. The Trojan might have welcomed it had he thought for a moment that it would take him away from his troubles, but he knew that all unconsciousness held for him was more nightmares that would be even worse. He couldn't take it anymore; he had to get out.

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

"Well, look who's up and about at the wee hours of the night." Odysseus raised his eyebrows quizzically at the Trojan prince as Hector emerged from below deck. Spreading his arms out behind him, the Greek braced himself against the rail of the ship. "What brings you up here?"

"I could ask you the same question," countered Hector quietly. The horrible dream was still too fresh in his mind for him to feel comfortable talking about it. "I might point out that the charge of the night duty is generally left to the second-in-command."

"You could do that, but it would be rather presumptuous of you to basically question my decisions when you're only on board at all because of my good graces," said Odysseus; maintaining his affronted attitude and furrowed brow just long enough to get those words out before letting a smile break out across his face. "I just like being on duty at this hour. It's peaceful, and a welcome break from having to constantly command my men. I do some of my best thinking in the dead of night."

"The nights aren't meant for deep thought," Hector replied in a far away voice. "I find myself foraging around in the darkest corners of my mind whenever I attempt to think about more than what I have to do the next day. There is no rest during the nights when I allow my mind to take control."

Odysseus studied his face in the moonlight. What he found didn't surprise him: dark circles were prominent under his eyes and new lines had aged his face since they'd parted from the refugees and set out. "You've been thinking about much more than what the next day brings since this journey began, haven't you?" he inquired kindly. "Would you like to talk about it?"

"No," Hector shook his head. "I came up here to escape all of that."

"I've found that giving voice to your thoughts does wonders for getting them out of your head; I think it reduces their power over you." The corners of Odysseus' mouth twitched. "Over others as well, now that I really think about it. I've had many ideas that sounded great in my head but never held any sway over the very people that I was trying to persuade."

"Achilles, for instance?" asked Hector wryly, pondering for a moment the man who had enough gall to defy his father in such a bold way. He gave a great sigh when he noticed that Odysseus was still studying him intently. "I have dreams."

"We all do," replied Ithaca's king frankly. Indulging Hector by letting him get away with such vague answers wouldn't do any of them much good. After all, it was better in the long run to move a dislocated shoulder back in place and cause that pain than leave it out of joint forever. And Hector would need all of his 'joints' functional if he was going to get past Achilles. "Are these dreams about anything in particular?"

Hector looked out over the dark waters, across the horizon line where Achilles' homeland would come into view. "We're almost there," he said.

"So we are." Odysseus noted the change in the topic but refused to give in. "Is that what you've been dreaming about?"

"Not much," lied Hector. No, he didn't want to lie anymore to anyone when it wasn't absolutely necessary; no matter how uncomfortable it would be for him. "Every night," he amended sheepishly. "In every dream I tell Paris that I'm his father and it all goes downhill from there. He ends up hating me, or having his spirit crushed, or running into the sea to escape me and never coming up again – I always lose him. And tonight…tonight my words and touch turned him to sand. My father was there as well, telling me how I'm not good enough to be his father and that Paris will never care about my reasons for lying because the past cannot be undone."

"I'm not sure I should be the one to tell you this," hesitated Odysseus, but only for a few moments. "But someone has to: the latter part of that is true."

Hector tried to swallow the lump that was forming in his throat. "I just want the chance to make up –"

"Hector, you need to understand this before you talk to Paris or else I can guarantee that you will lose him forever," interrupted Odysseus. "The past is over with and you cannot make up for it; no matter how much you want to you can't go back and fix everything. Paris Alexandros was raised by King Priam feeling alone, scared, largely unloved, and mostly forgotten until he grew older and received all the wrong kinds of attention. It's heartbreaking, but it will always be a part of him whether or not he accepts you as his father. Wounds that deep might heal but they leave behind scars. I'm sorry."

"I am a terrible father," Hector lamented, never feeling so low before.

"No; you're just not a perfect father," Odysseus told him in a falsely cheerful tone that betrayed his own personal struggle with the topic at hand. "And you're not alone in that. Fortunately for all of us, we don't have to forfeit our children's love whenever we make a mistake."

The prince snorted incredulously. "I appreciate you saying that but I doubt that you've ever made such a horrible error when it comes to raising your son."

"Don't be too certain about that," retorted Odysseus, more tired than malicious. "It's been months since I've laid eyes on Telemachus. Do you know how much he must have grown since then?"

"It's not the same. You have duties that cannot be ignored."

"Yes, the nature of my position forces me away from him and his mother for long stretches of time and I can do nothing about that," conceded Odysseus, "but what's keeping me away now? I have no obligations to anyone – to you, Achilles, and certainly not your father – so am I heading home to them? I'm afraid not; instead I'm escorting a prince who's just rebelled against the king of a country that's in political shambles to a land where we could very well be attacked upon arrival so that he can tell the son who willingly left it all behind that they're not brothers, as he'd been led to believe all of his life. When it's put that way, it's hard to argue why this is more important than being with Telemachus."

"You're right," concurred Hector woefully. "There's no reason why you should have to be here with me on this journey. It was pure selfishness to impose on you in the first place. Drop me off at the nearest port; I'll make my way from there. You shouldn't trouble with me for any longer than you need to."

A martyr complex was certainly unbecoming on a Trojan prince; it was time to snap him out of it once and for all. "First, allow me to point out that the nearest port is full of Myrmidons – we're almost there," said Odysseus, rolling his eyes. "Just dropping you off, then, would be tantamount to murder. Secondly, you're missing the point of my melancholy blatherings. My son is probably wondering where I am and why I can't be with him right now."

"It sounds like I understand well enough," commented Hector.

"When you only listen to the first part of what I'm saying," Odysseus responded with a hint of annoyance in his voice. "Will you be so kind as to let me finish? One day he might even ask and I'll have to explain all of this to him. I can't say that my assistance in this part of your journey will amount to anything; time will tell and this just might prove disastrous or at least worthless. However, I don't have the benefit of hindsight and so I can't know what it will mean right now. All I can to, then, is what I think is best and hope that it turns out well. Sometimes it doesn't; our best isn't always good enough, but it's all we have to offer our children. What I'm saying is that you shouldn't dwell on the past decisions and how you would change them now – focus on what you do have the power to change."

"So I should stop obsessing about my son's hideous past and start worrying about not screwing it up from now on?"

"I give up!" Odysseus threw his hands in the air dramatically and marched over to a nearby pile. "Since I clearly can't console you, I suggest that you get a hobby. Here" – he found what he was looking for and walked back to thrust a piece of wood and a knife into Hector's grasp. "Carve something. Anything. Hopefully that will keep you acting like a ghost for the rest of the journey. Make something for Paris Alexandros."

"What, you mean a toy?" scoffed Hector, peering dubiously at the contents of his hands. "You just told me not to focus on his past. He's too old for such childish things; it's too late."

"Better late than never," Odysseus urged assertively. "At the very least it will give you something to do with your hands until you can drift off; it might even wear out your mind enough that you'll be too tired to even dream. I have another suggestion: spend the next couple of days catching up on your sleep. You'll need all the rest that you can get."

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

For the next two days Hector occupied his time by carving until he was too tired to carry on, sleeping, and then repeating the cycle. The dreams still came but exhausting his mind by concentrating on every little detail of his carving until his mind was too strained to do anything helped to dampen their affect on him. It was nice to be able to do something that was active and positive for his son.

He was just completing the individual hairlines in the animal's mane when the sound of footsteps all around drew his attention away. Almost immediately, an excited knock thudded on his door. "My prince!" called a voice that Hector recognized as belonging to one of his soldiers.

Tucking the toy and knife under his pillow, Hector made his way over and opened the door. "Yes?"

"We were able to see it as soon as the sun came up," the soldier informed him breathlessly. "Myrmidon territory is dead-ahead. With the wind and the current King Odysseus estimates that we'll be able to go ashore by mid-morning."

To be continued…

A/N: I just wanted to take the opportunity to thank everyone who's reviewed so far. It means a lot to me!