Author's note: This is a story about Hector's life before he had a family of his own. Most of the story is set as a "flashback" of some events that took place several years before the war with the Greeks. I wanted to show some things about Hector's background and why he has become the man he is.
After a lot of thinking; I decided to choose PG-13 for this story, but it's possible that the rating will go up. If you read the story I will be happy and if you give me some feedback, I'll be even happier.
Prologue
Prince Hector of Troy resolutely clamped into his narrow cabin and slammed the door behind him. The dull movements of the ship seemed to be in agreement with the rush of the blood inside his veins. He forced himself to aim his eyes at a point on the wall for a moment as he took a few very deep breaths. Slowly, he felt his body relaxing slightly.
Sighing, he moved to the wooden table that was placed under the small window. His throat felt raw and he had a taste of bile in his mouth. Slowly, he lifted an earthenware jar and poured himself a cup of water. He slowly drank, hoping that the liquid would also cool his emotions.
This sort of wrath was uncharacteristic for the prince. Despite being a formidable warrior, he was known for his mild and controlled personality outside the battlefield. He always kept his head cool and he never let his feelings run away with him.
But there were a few things that could upset him and throw him out of balance. He hated it, but there seemed to be no way to control it. There was one thing in particular that could infuriate him. Or one person, more likely.
The thought of it sent a new wave of fury through Hector's body and in a fit of rage he slammed his fist into the table, almost causing the jar to fall over.
"Damn him to Hades!" he hissed silently. "Why does he always have to bring me into his antics?" And this time it wasn't just him, it was about their country and their people. All because of one man's foolishness.
The memory of his conversation with Paris on the boat deck rang again and again in his ears.
"You fool! Do you know what you have done? Do you know how many years our father worked for peace?"
Despite facing the wrath of his older brother, Paris looked calm. His eyes were frightened but his tone of voice was composed. "I love her," he said simply.
Hector snorted loudly and scowled at his brother. "It's all a game to you, isn't it?" he asked in disbelief. "You roam from town to town, bedding merchants' wives and temple maids and you think you know something about love?"
Hector closed his eyes and shook his head. Stupid boy, he thought to himself. Stupid thoughtless boy. Did he understand what was at stake here? Did he understand what he was risking?
"What about your father's love? You spat on him when you brought her on this ship! What about the love for your country? You would let Troy burn for this woman?"
Suddenly and completely unexpectedly, Hector felt a sting of guilt. He tried to shake it off. Paris had been wrong; he had deserved everything his brother had thrown in his face up on that deck. He had forgotten his duties for the sake of a pair of pretty eyes and an imagined infatuation. He had acted like a spoiled brat and threatened to bring misery upon his country with his actions.
What right do you have to judge?
Hector tried to push away the quiet and still very irritating question from his mind. He had no reason to feel bad. He had not done anything wrong. Unlike Paris', his conscience was clear. But was it really that simple?
No, he realized. Things were never that simple. Sighing, he settled down by the table. He was an honest man, brutally honest, he sometimes thought and unlike many other men, Hector was able to stand up for his mistakes. The righteous anger he had felt just a few moments ago suddenly seemed hollow.
What sort of right did he have to condemn his brother, when he had once committed almost exactly the same crimes? Maybe not in the same way, but still... Had he not once risked his duty, his father, his country and his people too? Had he not once been just as young, naive and hopelessly in love?
"I have killed men; I have watched them dying and I have heard them dying and there is nothing glorious about it. Nothing poetic. You say you want to die for love, but you know nothing about dying and you know nothing about love!"'
All of Hector's anger had left his body. The memory seemed to mock him. What a hypocrite he was, he grimly realized.
His thoughts were far away as he went to the window and looked out over the clear blue sea. Troy was many miles away but in his mind, he was already there. This would end in a bad way. You didn't steal a king's wife unpunished. His country and his people would suffer, he knew that. Yes. He knew.
Standing face to face with your destiny can be a frightening thing, but Hector was not afraid for himself. Well, maybe he was, but not nearly as much as he feared for those that he loved.
Uninvited, the memories came over him. He made a face. He didn't want to think about it, but he realized that he had no other choice. He felt something ache slightly inside him as he travelled back in time to face her once again...