A/N: I think the time has come to admit it: This story is nearly over. I have this chapter and one more (maybe, and I stress maybe, two) and then it's done. If you've enjoyed it and are sorry to see it end, a) Thank you for liking it! And b) you may like my other ongoing Troy fic, Haunted By Bliss. It's from Andromache POV, but it's centered around Hector, and it starts before the war and goes until seven years past the end. And it won't be finished for a very long time. I also have a few other Hector oneshots and more coming, so stayed tuned for those if you liked this story.

This chapter is dedicated to Ms. Laughlin, my English teacher who has helped me with my writing so much this year. When I'm stuck on an idea (often) or having trouble getting the point across, she patiently helps me through it, and I appreciate it immensely.

Again, thank you to all reviewers, and I hope you like the chapter!

Chapter Nine: A Blessing and a Curse

Even before my foot had healed, it became clear that things were not improving. It seemed the painful relationship of Paris and Oenone was more permanent than we all had hoped.

I was struggling to put my armor on one afternoon, wincing at the way my sandals squeezed my swollen tendon. The snakebite had nearly healed, leaving me with four pink scars where his fangs had been, and a dull pain that resulted in an embarrassing hobble. My limp was barely noticeable, and I suspected it would disappear entirely within another week, but it still amused Andromache. She always wore a laughing smile when I was troubled by the wound. As humorous as she found that day, we had agreed not to go near that pond again.

I was fastening my armguards when my wife quietly entered the room. Her mouth was twisted to say something, but it shut as she saw me, only to open again. "What are you doing?"
I tried again to fasten the armor my right forearm. "Training new men for the cavalry," I explained. Andromache shook her head dubiously.

"You might hurt your foot again," she said, in the exact tone my mother was fond of for using to reprimand foolish children.

"It's nearly healed," I objected. She shrugged, acknowledging defeat, and reached to help me with my armguard. "I've just been to visit Oenone," she stated timidly.

I was a bit confused by this sudden change in behavior. Andromache had gone from a near-argument to being quiet as a doe in a matter of seconds. "Yes?" I asked cautiously.

She finished the last clasp of the leather and turned to pick up my war helmet. I gently took it from her hand and put it back on the stand. It was only training; I wouldn't need it. She knew that. She kept her gaze on the ground as she spoke.

"She's with child."

"Oh." I immediately understood the problem. It shames me to say that my first reaction was bitter. Why were the gods blessing my brother and his wife with a child when they had only been married a short while and felt only lust? How had Andromache been married for over a year and overcome our dislike, and still had a family of only two?

Furious with myself, I pushed those thoughts away. The gods had their reasons. And I couldn't be angry with a child who had had no choice in the matter.

"Perhaps a baby will make Paris calm down a bit?" I joked weakly. Andromache smiled, but the expression did not reach her eyes.

"Perhaps," she agreed softly. "I suppose now they're truly going to stay together."

"It would appear so," I said, reaching for a spear. "Does Father know yet? Is he excited for a grandchild?"

Andromache shrugged. "Paris will probably announce it at the evening meal, if they don't know already."

I nodded. "I'll return in a few hours," I said with false cheer, giving her a peck on the cheek before leaving the chambers. I knew how badly Andromache wanted a child, and it must have been torture to learn that Oenone was going to have one before her. Still, I knew she was too kind to hold a grudge. She would help Oenone through sickness, fears, and even labor, hiding all her sorrow.

It was difficult to concentrate on training our new cavalrymen. Aeneas and I had selected a dozen skilled riders to work with, but I was having a hard time with it. I wondered if Oenone would miscarry, whether the child would be a daughter or a son, if Andromache would truly be able to deal with it, and what sort of father my immature brother would be. With all these worries thundering through my mind, it was impossible to concentrate on leading our men through drills. After the third time I gave orders that made little sense, Aeneas confronted me.

"Hector, are you ill?" he asked, puzzled. "They cannot retreat with their spears out to force the enemies back."

"No, they cannot," I agreed sheepishly. "I think you should train them today; I'm a bit distracted. Would you mine taking control?"

"Not at all," he said kindly, allowing me to leave. As I urged my horse, Lampos, into a trot, Aeneas ordered the new soldiers into a more organized formation, shaking his head when he thought I wasn't looking.

When I arrived at the stables, I handed Lampos over to a groom. The boy looked a bit surprised, but said nothing. I rarely let the stable-hands groom any of my horses after I ride, finding it more relaxing to do it myself. But that day, I knew nothing would put my mind to rest, except maybe a visit to my brother. I left the stables in a rush.

I found him in the courtyard used for training foot soldiers and archers. He had his bow with him, and he was firing arrows into a bale of straw carelessly, without aiming. I stayed silently behind him until he went to retrieve his arrows; I would not risk another injury so soon.

"I heard the news," I called when he pulled the shafts out from the straw. "Congratulations, brother."

He whirled around to face me, the arrow in his hand swinging dangerously. His eyes were wild, but there was an ember of exhaustion in them. "Thank you," he said finally, turning again to remove the remaining arrows. "It was quite a surprise."

I waited until the sharp points were safely resting in the quiver before approaching. "You have a while to get used to the idea," I reminded him. I was surprised by his shock; he seemed almost upset about the child on the way.

"Yes, I think that is what I need. Time!" he said frantically, pulling the bowstring back to send an arrow flying. It shot through the bale of straw and hit the wall behind with a scream that told me its tip had been severely dulled. Heedless of his arrow's condition, Paris nocked another.

"Wait!" I begged, laying a hand on his arm. Metal was valuable, and I couldn't let him waste it. "Why are you upset?"

To my relief, he laid his bow on the ground and ducked under the strap of the quiver. "I'm not upset," he said defensively.

"Of course not. Here, sit and talk with me," I coaxed, then realized there wasn't really any place to sit. I led him to the wall and sat down with my back against it, feeling the soft sand trickle into my sandals. Paris sat down beside me, putting his head in his hands.

"A child is a blessing from the gods," I reminded him, and he looked up.

"Or a curse," he shot back nervously, but instantly looked as if he regretted his words. "I will love the babe, Hector, of course I will," he amended hastily. "But I have never aspired to be a father. I don't want a child," he confessed.

I didn't know how to comfort him. If his fears had been ridiculous, I could have dispelled them. But in truth, I did not think he was capable of being a mature parent either.

"Father has already tried to help me," he continued, running his palms over the sand. "He wants to give me time to think. He's sending me to Sparta, on a mission to rescue Hesione."

I shook my head in disbelief. Hesione was my aunt, the sister of my father, and she had been taken from Troy by Heracles and Telamon long before I was born. It is said that when Heracles slew Poseidon's monster that terrorized the city, my grandfather King Laomedon would not give him the promised prize. On a later expedition, Heracles kidnapped Hesione and slew her father and brothers, save for the youngest, Podarces. Podarces was ransomed back to Troy and took his place at the throne, but from then on he was called Priam, which means 'ransom.' I do not know how much of this tale is true, for my father does not like to speak of it. Yet now, years after the event, he wanted to send Paris to rescue Hesione? Rumor had it that she had happily married Telamon and bore him a son named Teucer, who was probably my age by then.

"It's a useless, impossible mission," Paris clarified. "He only wants me to get my thoughts in order, and return ready to be a father."

"Maybe you should go," I advised quietly. "A trip to Sparta may clear your mind. If all goes well, you could be back before your child is due."

"I doubt even a century traveling the Aegean will ready me," he replied bitterly. "But I will go. Will you care for Oenone while I'm away?"

"Yes," I promised. He leaned back against the wall, staring up at the sky, as if he would find answers there.

"When I return, I'll be a father," he said desperately. I had never seen him so serious. "Oenone is ecstatic," he continued, as if trying to convince himself that it was a good situation. I could see that he was failing. I sat there with him, hoping he would come to his senses in time to welcome his baby.

He left two weeks later, leaving Troy in search of answers, and he returned bearing the biggest problem we will ever face.

Hope you liked it! I'll try to update soon.