A/N: Well, here's the last chapter. Dedicated to the readers for sticking with it, and huge thanks to Gaslight for ideas and beta-ing, and Lady Hades and Lariren-Shadow for the talks. Thanks for reading, enjoy!

Chapter Eleven: The End of Peace

With the arrival of Helen, everyone's life was affected in some way. The changes happened almost immediately, and try as I might, nothing I could do would return the palace to its old ways, not even attempting to return the Spartan queen.

The day Paris came back, Oenone fled with Corythus back to Mount Ida, and nothing Andromache could do or say stopped her. Paris surely must have noted her absence, but he said nothing. Instead, he wore casualness like a light cloak, treating Helen like a cherished medallion. He looked upon her with painfully obvious lust and possession. She certainly did not mind the attention he or other men gave her. With one glance she could enchant almost any man, and she felt free to abuse that power. From the moment I met her, I felt uneasy around my brother's wife, and took great pains to avoid her. It was not only her beauty that made me feel strange, but also how godlike and inhumanly cold she was. The stories of her birth, and how Zeus had courted her mother as a swan, must have been true, for that was exactly what she was: a swan, a mixture of both god and bird, hidden cruelty and evident beauty. She was insufferably calm though she knew she was bringing war to Troy.

We had a chance to stop the war. Menelaus sent envoys that arrived shortly after Paris and Helen did. The men met with us in council. Their offer was fair.

"King Menelaus will wage war on Troy if his wife is not returned with compensation for the treasure Prince Paris took from his vaults," one messenger said. I did not blame Menelaus for wanting his treasure back. Helen and Paris had taken enough of his wealth to fill two ships, and left room to sack one neutral city on the way home. While Paris reveled in his new glory as a sacker of cities, he failed to see his mistake: The city he sacked could have been a valuable ally to us in the war he had started.

"I need to confer with my advisors," Father responded, waving to two guards to escort Menelaus' envoys out of the room. He looked around expectantly to the rest of us in the council room.

I spoke before any of my father's advisors could get a word in. I had little respect for most of them, as their decisions were often foolish. "Father," I began. "They offer a way out of war. Let us return to Sparta what has been taken. Helen is no benefit to us; she serves as an excuse for the Achaeans to try and take the city. They yearn to take our power and wealth- they know we are the most powerful city in the Aegean. But we are fighting a wrong. Send her back to where she came from."

I could feel Paris' anger rising, even though he was hardly visible. Father had placed him farthest from Menelaus' messengers, in the shadowy corner of the room, as a precaution. He stepped forward now, his eyes narrowed at me. We had not spoken since our fight; I crossed my arms and silently dared him to speak.

"It is no fault of mine that that man cannot hold on to his own wife," he spat. "Helen is my wife now, and I will not give her up."

"Your actions have endangered the entire city," I fired back. The council members lapsed into an uncomfortable silence, not wanting to step forward and resolve our argument. Even Father was quiet, but I continued to speak. "It is not fair that our soldiers should have to die because you've given the Achaeans a reason to attack us."

"We hold back raiders constantly," Paris retorted, his hands balling into fists.

"No, Paris," I cut in. "We do not hold back raiders. You have no part in it. The men of Troy do the fighting, and they should not fight for one of your stupid mistakes!"

Paris was angrier now, as angry as he had been when we attacked each other. But now we were surrounded by others, and no physical violence could resolve the issue. "If Helen is only an excuse, as you say," he said, his voice reaching a tone I did not like. "The Achaeans will attack anyway. It is of no consequence whether I keep my bride or not."

To my horror, a mumble of agreement coursed through the room. I hastily tried to argue my point. "If Menelaus gets his wife back, they will have no other excuse," I said desperately, but it sounded weak and unconvincing even to my own ears.

Father stood, bringing the noisy room to silence. "Paris is right. Helen is not the reason for this disagreement, and so she will stay."

His proclamation sent my heart plunging to the floor. "Father," I begged, lowering my voice. "Would you see Troy fall for his mistakes?"

But he ignored me, sending a guard to bring back the envoys. At that point I stormed out of the room, unable to keep my composure any longer. That evening I watched the Spartan sails cross over the crystalline waters, dreading what I knew was coming.

Yet no one paid heed to the looming threat. Weeks went by, and there was no sign of war. The royal family embraced Helen as our own, for the most part. I think to everyone she was still slightly alien. And no one mentioned Oenone or Corythus, for fear of what Paris would do. Everyone had heard of our fight and seen my broken nose, and no one wanted to incur his anger again.

I will never forget the day war came to Troy, not even if I live as long as the gods themselves. The afternoon was hot, but not blistering. Farmers toiled in the fields, tending newly planted crops. A small group of women had taken their laundry down to the Scamander to wash. In the citadel, Paris and Helen had locked themselves away in their manor, while my parents were resting.

I was not resting. For the third time that week, I was inspecting my weaponry. I sat on the bed in my chambers, picking up my bronze sword and examining it carefully. When I was satisfied that there were no new flaws, I put it aside and studied my greaves.

"Stop, love," Andromache requested softly from her seat at the loom. "You look like a warmonger. I doubt your weapons have received any new flaws since you last checked."

Hesitantly I dropped my greaves back onto the bed. I cursed myself for making her nervous with my tension. She knew I expected a war, but she did not want to believe me.

"I'm sorry," I said, moving to stand behind her at the loom. I rested one hand on her slender shoulder and brushed her curly hair back. "I cannot help being nervous," I murmured.

She paused in her weaving. "If the Spartans have not come already, perhaps they will not," she suggested hopefully. I did not correct her notion. It was clear in the way she said it that she didn't believe her own words.

She bit her lip, a habit of concentration I doubt she knew about. I could almost see the thoughts racing through her head, but could not imagine what she was thinking. Finally she lay down her shuttle and stood. "It is too beautiful a day to waste," she said with fake casualness. "Will you take me out walking in the city? To the Tower of Ilium, maybe?"

I was curious as to why she asked me, and to escape my own tension would be a relief. I opened my mouth to agree, but in that moment, my life of peace ended. The warning bells of one of the watchtower sounded hollowly throughout Troy.

I froze, immediately forgetting my plans. I could feel the bell's vibrations in my chest. As soon as one chime ended, another began, tearing down hopes and delivering fate.

I saw Andromache's happy eyes change into orbs of terror, and just as quickly, she masked her fear. I ripped myself out of my immobile state and began snatching up pieces of armor. A few seconds later my wife helped me fasten leather and metal, her deft fingers trembling almost unnoticeably. She did not speak, and in the frantic rush I doubt I could have answered her. Before all my armor was fastened, I snatched up my sword and hurried out of the room with Andromache on my heels.

It did not take long to reach the segment of the walls where the armory was. Before going to the crowded warehouse, I sprinted up the walls to assess the damage. Already Helen and my father had gathered there. I did not speak to either one, but stood stunned by the sight before me.

Menelaus was not leading only the Spartans against us.

There were at least a hundred ships nearing the shore, with more sails appearing over the horizon. I saw the squiggly octopus of Spartan sails, and the black sails of the Myrmidons, and more symbols on other ships that I did not recognize. But there was one sail that was all too familiar: the lion of Mycenae.

Menelaus' brother, King Agamemnon of Mycenae, had wanted to destroy us for years.

Helen radiated excitement. "The ships with the thunderbolt sails are from Salamis," she informed my father. I silently counted the ships with those sails. Forty ships, fifty men to a ship…that city alone has brought two thousand men!

"And the ones with the three blue lines are from Elis," Helen continued, her voice thick with joy. With a jolt, I realized she was flattered that these men had come to die for her. "Oh, they've only brought eleven."

I knew I didn't have time to be counting ships. I had to fight them. I turned from the sea and stepped forward, nearly colliding with Andromache.

Her face was a mask of calm that almost looked real, if it weren't for her devastated eyes. "Hector, promise me you'll be careful," she said in a quiet rush. "Because I'm with child. And the baby will need you-"

I cut off her words and I closed the distance between us in an embrace. I felt her draw a shuddery breath. "I will return," I promised, confused by the thoughts in my head. I hadn't known it was possible to feel fear, love, joy, and despair all at once. In the end, the immediacy of the battle drew me away. "I will return," I assured her again, then ran down the stairs, taking them two at a time. I raced into the armory without pausing, and shouted above the men's voices.

"The Achaeans are bringing their ships to shore," I called out, still feeling numb from Andromache's news. "We must beat them to it! I want all archers to accompany us to the shore!" I ordered. I grabbed a spear off a rack and weighed it in my hand, then put on my helmet. I found myself wishing that the allies of Troy were with us, but we were alone for this battle. I turned to Deiphobus, who was trying to find a spear. "Brother, send messengers to Glaucus, Aeneas, Sarpedon, Acamas, Memnon…" I rattled off the names of our strongest allies. "Anyone else who has pledged their loyalty to us. We will need them soon." Deiphobus nodded briskly, and I turned to find my waiting chariot. The charioteer, a boy about 12, stood stiffly holding the reins. For an instant I felt sorry for him, wanted to send him back to his home. But I killed my first man before I was twelve. Not even the innocents were spared in war.

I waited impatiently as soldiers scrambled into a group in front of where I stood, adjusting their armor as they came. One of the archers had thoughtfully brought a torch with him. I ordered a nearby infantryman to bring more.

The majority of our men assembled in only a few minutes; I was suddenly glad that we did so many drills to build speed. I held up a hand for silence.

"The Achaeans have too many ships for us to attack them with our own," I explained in a shout. "We will meet them at the shore. Make it difficult for them to land," I ordered. "Stay in ranks behind me. Archers at the back." I nodded at the guard to open the gate, and with a war cry as old as Troy itself, we were flying across the plain.

My mind should have been focused on nothing but the impending threat, but that was impossible. My thoughts were split between the weapons in my hands and why I was fighting. Could I kill men simply because the laws of brotherhood ordered me to protect my brother in his selfish decision? It went against my honor both to fight for Paris and not to.

As the thundering of Trojan feet and chariot wheels echoed across the plain, a sense of urgency enveloped me. Why was I fighting? Surely the time had come to acknowledge that the unwritten laws of brotherhood were no longer as true as they once were. There was an undeniable rift between Paris and I. W as I fighting to protect him anymore? In my mind, suddenly the heart of my beloved city was clear: my wife and unborn child.

A single Achaean ship embedded its prow in the Trojan sand. Time slowed enough for me to pray to the gods that I would live to see the birth of my child, and then I plunged into battle with a fury that overcame me.

I did not fight for Paris, for the laws of brotherhood I held so dear had been broken too many times to hold true.

Not in retaliation for the harm he had done me.

For Troy.

End. I hope you liked it! Thanks so much to everyone for reading and reviewing, it meant the world to me. If you want to read more about Andromache's baby, and the rest of Hector life, I'll cover it all in Haunted By Bliss, I promise.

Spider