A/N: It's been awhile since the last update, and I'm sorry. This chapter jumps around a bit, so read carefully or you'll be lost. I just didn't want to go into detail about the courtship- if you want to read about it, it's in 'Haunted By Bliss.' Anyway, for all you H/A fans, here comes Andromache!

Chapter Five: Torture

To me it seems ridiculous that even though Paris was the brother who loved women so much, I was the one forced into marriage. When I was twenty, my father refused to let me exist without a wife. He called me to his empty council chamber one afternoon to tell me of his decision, and he was quite blunt.

"I don't know if you have any illegitimate children running around, Hector, and frankly I don't care," he informed me, raising one wrinkled hand to stop my protests. He didn't need to worry about me having children out of wedlock, though I often wondered why he never kept a closer eye on Paris. "But I think it's time you have an official heir. After all, you are the crown prince, and I am aging quickly. If something should happen to us, who would rule Troy? You need an heir, son."

From his first hint I was firmly against it, knowing what it entailed: marriage. "I don't see why this is so important," I replied, keeping my voice calm as I crossed my arms over my chest. "There will be forty-nine other sons to take the throne if I cannot."

Father raised one white eyebrow. "Paris is next in line."

"I will marry," I answered hastily. I loved Troy far too much to do anything that would put it in control of my brother. Yes, I loved him dearly, but it was impossible to overlook how irresponsible and childish he was. He had never seen Troy in the way I did, never loved it like I did. He couldn't rule it.

That put me in the hated position of choosing a bride. No, not choosing- you'd be surprised at the complicated process of courtship. This wasn't a normal marriage, born out of love. It was a political arrangement. I had to choose a bride whose city would be a strong ally to us. It wasn't my wedding; it was Troy's.

But then there was that selfish part of me that wanted a woman I could spend my life with. If I had to marry, as was the case, I wished to be stuck with a woman I liked, but I was not so naïve. Brides were expected to respect and obey their husband, manage the household, and bear children. There were no exceptions. I never expected a companion from the marriage.

For nearly a week, every afternoon I would meet Father in the council room. At first, I would sit calmly with him at a table, but after two days I gave up sitting altogether, preferring to pace the length of the room. As I paced, Father would grit his teeth (he has always hated my nervous habits) and rattle off names of princesses who had already been offered as my bride. He needed no messengers to tell him the names and information. What he lacks in strength and youth he makes up in memory, it is true. He had met many of the maidens before and tried to provide me with all the information I could ask for. It wasn't enough.

"Lady Periboea of Argissa," he suggested. "An excellent weaver, I remember. Very kind, and a pretty young thing."

And when given a description like that, how was I supposed to be interested? I concentrated on the city instead of the girl; every name and description seemed the same after only a few days. "We do not need an alliance there. Argissa is too weak to attack us."

"Well enough," Father said mildly. "She's ten years younger than you are, anyway. But what about Denolyta of Lycia? She's a moderate weaver, and she's very shy and obedient."

"No," I said with a groan, dismissing her future with me in a word. It continued this way for an eternity. After a week of suggestions, both Father and I were impatient with the whole process.

"Merone of Dardania. Stunningly beautiful, gentle, respectful, and has inquired after you many times," Father said weakly. "A perfect bride for you, Hector."

"Eh," I croaked. Father sighed and moved on. If there were many more women to hear about, I feared I would wear a hole through the stone floor. "And there is where Prince Hector paced as he chose a bride," my youngest brothers would tell their grandchildren, after I was dead and in Hades, far away from the torture of picking a woman.

"Andromache of Thebe. Seven brothers. A bit fierce, if I remember right. Come to think of it, I doubt she really needs to marry at all. Never mind, then. Artane of Thes-"

"Wait, Father. Why won't Andromache be wed?" I asked. Finally, a unique description among the information about fine weavers and respectful, reverent, dull girls.

"She has seven brothers, Hector. That's all the marriages and alliance her country needs, I think. And most men prefer a quiet, obedient wife. And," he said, watching my face carefully as he delivered the worst news. "She's only a moderate weaver."

I considered this for a moment- of course I disregarded the weaving part- and tried to recall the descriptions of other maidens, but all I could remember was her name in a tangle of others. Maybe some god or goddess blocked the others from my mind. If so, I thank them.

"I will marry Andromache," I decided. Father gave a relieved smile, closing his eyes, undoubtedly thanking every god he knew of for making me decide.

"A good choice, my son. Thebe will be a useful ally to us," he said thoughtfully. "I will send a messenger to King Eetion to tell him that the arrangements must be made."

I bowed my head respectfully as I left the room. Idiot that I was, I thought I was free from any more marriage business. But that cursed King Eetion sent the messenger back far too quickly for my taste, saying that his daughter would be most willing to marry me, and that I should come as soon as I could to make the bridal arrangements.

And that put me in the position of actually having to go to Thebe to collect my bride, which I wasn't too happy about. In the time before I left, Paris teased me relentlessly about the maiden. I went to the stable a few days before I was scheduled to leave, and Paris tagged along. I was impressed. Paris hated the stables; he complained endlessly about the smell of horses, the way I ignored him on favor of the beasts, and that the horses "looked at him strangely." Yet he determinedly followed me to my favorite place.

"Now tell me more about this Andromache," he demanded. I unlatched the gate on a stall and slipped inside, automatically stroking the horse inside.

"You know as much as I do about her," I told him for the thousandth time. Even if I had known more, I wouldn't have shared my knowledge with him. Much as I hated to admit it, I was still a bit stung over his trick with the maiden at the festival, and a small part of my feared that he would steal my bride's heart, as well.

"What do you hope she will be like?" he asked. The horse in the stall lifted his head in Paris' direction, and he hopped backward, glaring.

"I don't know. Normal," I said boredly. "Listen, Paris- stop bothering me about it, would you? You'll meet her eventually."

"I'm only trying to figure out what sort of woman would want to marry you," he teased. I laughed through clenched teeth- he had unknowingly hit on another of my fears. I wasn't exactly typical husband material, and I wasn't comfortable around most maidens. I had my doubts about how well this marriage would work.

"Stop bothering me about it," I repeated.

"It's a wonder she's even considering this- HECTOR!" Paris roared. I had mounted the horse and nudged him gently so he reared up slightly, just in front of Paris. I let out a hearty laugh as my brother turned away and stomped back toward the palace. He still isn't fond of horses.

I have to admit that he was partly right. When I arrived in Thebe, I was a bit surprised at how hostile Andromache was. She clearly didn't want to be my wife, and she told me so in many ways. I still chuckle at the various ideas she had to express her anger- insults to my city, my ways of courting a maiden, my intelligence, my battle skills… the list goes on. And yet I was determined to marry her. Yes, she could be infuriating, but she was absolutely beautiful, with a mind of her own. I knew then that her individuality was a rare gift, and I wanted her to be my wife. She finally consented to it (I had offered her the choice of marrying me) and we sailed away from Thebe. I felt like the gods had blessed me.

I had no idea what I had gotten myself into, of course. I thought, like a fool, that once she was away from her family, and her seven overprotective brothers, she would open up and talk to me more. I was wrong. She barely came out of her cabin on the first leg of the voyage, and when she did come out to talk, she was reserved and would bestow me with a murderous glare if I overstepped what she was comfortable talking about.

I tried my hardest to converse with her, though. "Are you enjoying the voyage?" I asked one afternoon, catching her as she came on deck for a breath of air.

She shrugged. Her whole body was stiff, but I don't think she realized it. "Poseidon's domain is beautiful," she said politely. I didn't dare move closer to her. I knew she would move away.

"I like sailing to, but sometimes it's nice to be on steady ground again," I commented.

"Mmm," she said as a way of reply, already on her way back to her cabin. I was an utter failure at winning her over on the ship. If not for Paris, I doubt I would have been able to talk to her at all.

But Paris did help. When he first met her, he went through his ordinary routine of a charming introduction, and then he watched her carefully for the rest of the afternoon. I admit that this unnerved me a bit- I did not want a repeat of that girl at the festival. When I escorted her to the guest chambers and returned my baby brother Troilus to his nurse, Paris was waiting for me in my room, as I suspected he would be.

"I'm doing this for Troy," I told him immediately, to stop any advice he had. Paris was lounging on my neatly made up bed, with both hands crossed behind his head. I pulled off my tunic as I entered, leaving on my skirt. Well, the heat was unbearable.

I tossed the shirt onto the floor and walked to the balcony, hoping to catch a breeze. Paris was clearly getting impatient. "So?" he prompted.

"So what?" I asked, bracing my arms against the low wall.

"Andromache!" Paris said exasperatedly. "What do you think of her?"

I turned and faced him. "Please tell me this isn't one of those if-you-don't-like-it-can-I-have-it? Things," I said warningly.

Paris shot me a teasing grin. "You know me too well," he said. As I took one menacing step toward him, he shook his head violently. "No, no, no! It was a jest! I don't want your betrothed," he said hastily, scooting over to the farthest side of the bed. "I just want to know what you think of her."

I ran a hand through my hair, not fully noticing what I was doing. "She's not what I expected," I said finally.

"I couldn't tell," Paris muttered, rolling his eyes. I ignored him and reached for the shirt I had taken off, but Paris was too fast. He hopped off the bed and snatched it away.

"Paris!"

"She's wearing green, you dolt," he informed me impatiently. "Green and gold. And if I remember correctly-" he opened one of my trunks and began rummaging through it, creating disarray. I knew better than to stop him. "Here." He tossed a black tunic lined with gold at me, along with a matching skirt. "Wear the mantle you had on earlier."

I caught the clothes and stepped behind a screen to change. I couldn't argue with Paris' sense on fashion.

"So, do you like her?" he asked. I could hear him walking toward the door, where a plate of fruit waited. I shook my head irritably as I herd the feet lazily returning to my bed, then a thud as he flopped onto it.

I tied the black skirt, letting it rest on my hips. "Do I like who?" I asked calmly. I knew who he was talking about.

"Andromache!"

"Oh, her. I don't know," I said, speaking louder so my response would be less muffled as I pulled the tunic over my head.

"You don't know? She's beautiful. Seems stubborn, but kind, and I bet she has a mind of her own," Paris continued as I stepped out from behind the screen. "Not my kind of woman, though. I could never tame her," he said thoughtfully as he popped a grape into his mouth.

"And you think I can?" I asked incredulously. Paris grinned his famous impish smile.

"You're Hector, Tamer of Horses," he said.

"That's not the same thing," I protested. Noting the position of the sun, I moved to the door. " want to go visit Cassandra and then escort Andromache to dinner."

Paris scowled. "I thought I was going to escort her."

"With your reputation, you're lucky I let you within a mile of my betrothed," I reminded him dryly. He smiled sheepishly.

"True. But I'd never go after your woman, brother," he said, pausing with a grape in his hand.

"She's not mine," I said gruffly as I slammed the door. It was true. But with Paris' help, she soon would be.

Thanks for reading...I love making Hector shirtless...