A/N: I am possibly the worst updater of all time, but this time I had an excuse- banned from writing. However, the last chapter will be up soon, I promise. Hope you like this one!

Warning: Paris bashing…literally. But please read it anyway. I've been looking forward to this chapter for a looooooong time.

Chapter Ten: Broken Laws

Paris did not return to Troy in time for the birth of his child.

In fact, he missed nearly all of Oenone's pregnancy. Since he was the only familiar thing to her, and he was absent, she was reluctant to ask anyone else for help. Lucky for her, the royal family helped her without being asked. As I had suspected, Andromache was willing to comfort her when she felt ill. I was so proud of my wife. She aided Oenone in any way that she could, hiding all of her sorrow at the situation. Not even to me would she admit any resentment.

After a few months, Oenone was rarely ill anymore, but she still feared the delivery of her baby. My mother did her best to quell those fears; when the time came, she acted as the midwife's aid so the young girl would feel more comfortable.

Oenone came to me for comfort as well, especially toward the end of her pregnancy. She would visit me in my father's council room, and stand timidly by the door, always asking the same question.

"When will Paris return?"

And every time, I would trace his route on a map of the Aegean, and patiently explain every step of the way. I even went so far as to tell the tale of Hesione's abduction several times. And though I was making everything clear to Oenone, my mind cleared up with doubt, and I believe hers did as well. She feared that he had found another mistress, some temple maid in Sparta. I feared some tragedy. A trip to Sparta should not take eight months. Half a year, at most. I tried to think of every cause for delay, but these were not comforting thoughts. The ship could have been caught in a storm, but there had been no word of wreckage. Paris hadn't planned in stopping in any other cities, and I could not think of any reason to stay in Sparta so long. No one seriously expected him to bring back Hesione. He should have been home, unless something had gone wrong.

Something had gone terribly wrong, but I was blissfully unaware of it at the time. In Troy, life continued cheerily. Oenone gave birth to a healthy baby boy, who she called Corythus. It was clear to all that she loved him. She watched him as he slept, as chattered on to anyone who would listen about how his father would love him. It is sad to look back on her excitement now, or think of that princely boy.

Three weeks after the birth of Corythus, the horse-bearing sails of Troy appeared on the horizon. Father sent Deiphobus and a small band of soldiers to welcome them. I waited patiently in the entrance room of Father's palace with Andromache at my side. I was curious as to why Paris was so late in returning, but mostly relieved that he had made it back safely.

Oenone entered the room in her timid way, with baby Corythus in her arms. She gave a shy smile to everyone in the room, then stood by the wall, where she wouldn't be noticed. She clutched her son lovingly, bouncing him in her arms, but her amber eyes were locked on the heavy door. Excitement lit up her fragile face; she was finally going to be reunited with her husband.

The door swung open, pushed from the outside by two guards, and Paris entered. His journey had not changed him much. He had the same playful eyes, well-combed curls, and sly smile. The biggest change was the woman attached lightly to his arm.

And oh, that woman. The room collapsed into a stunned silence as every set of eyes drank in her divine beauty. Her hair was a cool golden river, her skin so pale it glowed. Her pale blue dress had silver pieces sewn into it, and the light fabric caressed every curve of her body. Her pink lips were unsmiling, and her cheeks held only a faint blush. Her wide blue eyes were as bright as the Aegean Sea. Her entire being reeked of coldness. There was no warmth to her; it was as if she was made of the most frigid dawn the world had ever seen. She was beautiful, that was undeniable, but repulsively inhuman.

Paris' smug smile was enough to light the room, if anyone would look away from the woman long enough to see it. "Father, I present Helen of Troy," he announced. "She has consented to being my wife."

There was the pitiful sound of Oenone choking back a scream in the corner, but I could not deal with her sadness yet. I was vaguely aware of Andromache slipping past me, presumably to comfort her. I was completely focused on Paris and my father.

"Helen, Queen of Sparta?" Father corrected, his voice posing a question. We had all heard rumors of her beauty, and of the manner of her birth. It was said that Zeus wooed her mother in the guise of a swan. Looking at her, it was easy to believe that tale. It was also easy to understand why so many men had wooed her, and pledged to protect her and her husband, King Menelaus of Sparta. With all that in mind, I could not fathom how she had been brought to Troy.

Paris shook his head. "She is a Trojan princess now," he explained lightly, gazing at his new bride.

My breath hitched in my throat. Her husband will want her back. War. This will create war. The thoughts of terror dripped through my head agonizingly slow, accompanied by images of scarlet-cloaked men and the fearful eyes of wives. Amidst the fearful thoughts, one wish stood out clearly.

Peace. I want peace.

"Welcome to Troy, Helen," my father said calmly, and in that moment my hopes shattered. He was entranced by her as much as Paris was. He pecked hr on the cheek and she smiled, her eyes darting around the room. I cautiously removed myself from the innermost circle of people. With one glance, she captured the men, made them ache for her approval. Even I found it hard to hate this enchantress, but I certainly was not willing to pledge my heart or loyalty to her. And though it was clear she had come with Paris of her own accord, I could not be angry with her just then. All my rage was aimed at Paris.

After a moment's hesitation, I barreled through the crowd to where Paris stood. "Brother," I spat, hating to call him by the title that connected him to me. "A word with you, please."

In the room full of men admiring his new prize, Paris was reluctant to leave. "I just arrived, Hector," he protested airily. "Let me rest before we speak."

The months of worrying about his safety and my relief at his return vanished with his words. His carefree attitude made my palms itch to slap him. I wrapped one hand around his wrist.

"We should speak now," I stated, leaving him no room to decline. With an apologetic shrug at his new bride, he followed me out of the hall and into the large, empty council room.

"What do you think of Helen?" he asked, hopping onto one of the chairs.

"Beautiful," I growled, shutting the wooden door. "Perhaps you forgot, little brother, about your first wife."

His joyous expression went stony at the mention of Oenone, but I continued. "And have you forgotten your child? You're the father of a healthy boy. Corythus. She named him Corythus. He's going to look a lot like you someday," I snarled, growing more furious with every word I hurled at Paris. "He deserves to be a prince someday, not the son of some poor girl you tossed away."

Still Paris would not speak. I continued to fill the silence, bitterness creating words. "Oenone waited for you for far too long. You cannot forget her devotion for this Spartan-"

"Trojan," Paris said stiffly. "I love Helen, and if you cannot accept that-"

"You are already a husband and a father!" I shouted, pounding my fist against a chair. It clattered to the ground, but I did not care. "You cannot neglect what you have!"

"I have no wife but Helen," Paris said coldly. "I have no son."

Fury flashed through my veins; before I knew it, I was directly in front of him, and then he reeled back as my fist made contact with his jaw. His surprised cry echoed through the room. Then he was on his feet, lunging at me with murder in his eyes. Both his hands wrapped savagely around my throat; as the pressure increased, I swiftly rammed my knee into his stomach.

"You'll start a war!" I screamed at him. As he doubled over, I hit his head. It was not enough. Though he was obviously in pain, he straightened up to his full height and slammed his fist straight into my nose.

An animal-like cry escaped my lips as blood exploded onto my face. I raised my hands to stem the flow of blood, but it was useless. Blinded by pain and anger, I closed my wet hand over Paris' shoulder and forced him back against the wall. I hit him twice more before the door flew open.

"STOP!" Andromache's voice was slightly hysterical. Against her command, I hit my brother again, and instantly felt the weight of my wife trying to pull me away. A second later, someone much stronger was pulling me back. I collapsed to the floor as my mother rushed to Paris, crying. Suddenly the room was full. Andromache was kneeling by my side, looking shocked, and Aeneas was right behind her with Deiphobus, who had helped pull me away. Worst of all was my father, standing close by Paris, his eyes holding intense fury.

"That was unacceptable! I will not have any of my sons fighting!" he said loudly. Paris glared at me and spat blood from his mouth.

"He will start a war!" I heard my own desperate voice say, but Father would not listen.

"He is your brother, Hector, and he deserves your loyalty as much as anyone else," he said, and that was the end. Mother helped Paris out of the room, followed by Father and a few guards, and I remained on the floor.

"Your nose," Andromache said. I raised a careful hand to the injured part of my face. I suspected it would have to be shoved back in place, the way it had been fixed when the nose-guard on my helmet struck it years before. Aeneas nodded understandingly, already willing to fix it himself.

"Paris should be stoned to death," I muttered, using the arm Deiphobus offered to get to my feet. "He has started a war now-"

"He is your brother!" Andromache cried, echoing the words of my father.

They were right. I had broken one of the laws of brotherhood; I had hurt him. All my life I had looked after him, only to break that bond of trust now. But I was not the only guilty one.

For Paris had brought home a bride that could get all our brothers killed.