7. First slow slide.

Hector couldn't remember being this comfortable in a long while. Especially on a boat. But his bed was soft and warm and fragrant and his body seemed molded to it, fitted. He felt contentment, a sweet, thick, heavy haze of it. He didn't want to get up, he didn't want to move. His arm was wrapped around what was probably a pillow which felt equally good so he pulled it closer pressing his face into the fragrant silk and breathing in deeply. Under his hand something was throbbing... no not throbbing, beating. An even, slow rhythm against his palm that was as much comforting as it was unnerving. Why was his pillow throbbing? Suddenly he realized he didn't have a pillow. He had given it to Andromache and it sure as Hades didn't smell anything like ... like... oh gods... frankincense. He opened his eyes slowly to see curly, cinnamon brown hair. That had been the 'silk' he was smelling. As his body awoke he realized that he wasn't lying on/ holding a pillow, but Andromache. His leg was draped across hers, one arm (that he could barely feel) was sticking out, her head lying on top of it as if it were a pillow, and his other arm was banded around her in a strangely possessive nature, like she belonged to him and no one else was going to touch her. Like every inch of her was his, which was silly because he didn't even have her heart let alone her body. And his hand, well it was a bit numb as well, but something unbelievably soft and warm was in it, and the rhythm...

Great Zeus is that her?!

Yes it is...

How?

You'd better move your hand before she wakes up...

How did she get here? She sleeps on the other side of the cabin.

Well maybe she got cold. Or afraid, maybe she was testing what the rest of her life would be like.

Her breast... his hand was on her breast, it was her heart that was thumping against his palm. He had to move quickly, glancing up he saw... was that sunlight? Normally he was up with the sun no matter what time he had gone to bed... what time was it? He'd overslept... well not really he didn't really have anywhere to go, but still. Slowly, very slowly he moved his hand out from under her feeling the blood rushing back to it making it sting like ten demons. Then he removed his leg, and the arm below her head. Suddenly she moaned and snuggled back against him with a sigh. He froze, afraid to breathe, afraid to blink Damn, damn, damn, damn and waited until she quieted before moving away completely and rising to his feet. She rolled over, wrapped up in blankets, her hair fanning out over their 'bed' and her shoulders, her arms folded beneath her head. She looked like an angel, innocent, pure full of light and hope and his heart cracked spilling more tenderness and need and yes, love for this woman. He hadn't really made her a woman yet, she was still a maiden, but to him, in his eyes, she was a strong, intelligent, passionate woman, a goddess. Years down the line, in retrospect, he would recognize this moment as when he first fell in love with her; in the first hours of morning light, unaware of the world about her, her skin glowing like spun gold, her flesh warm from slumber. He picked up a ¾ sleeved, black robe trimmed with gold, turned and climbed the stairs to the upper deck. The wind was chilly as he had suspected and as he slipped on his robe, he sighed feeling ridiculously happy. A shout rose up unbidden in his throat but he fought it down. What was wrong with him? Nothing had happened, she wasn't his wife, he hadn't claimed her as his own... but just knowing that she had lain beside him that night, that she trusted him that much, even if in actuality it was hardly anything to the world, to him it was more than everything; it was immortality, the universe and the deepest desires of his heart made attainable to him. He hadn't known her yet, but still he felt this peace within his bones. He looked out at the horizon and closed his eyes raising his face to the sun and the cool breeze. That was how she found him when she awoke about half an hour later. In that moment he was just Hector to her; a young, handsome, serious and completely lovable man who had for a moment shucked the burdens of his title. She walked up to him, wrapped in a blanket and he turned to face her with gentle eyes and a kind smile.

"Good morning." He said. She smiled back and stood beside him.

"Good morning." She replied.

"I woke up and you were next to me." He said. "How did that happen?" She had the grace to blush and look down.

"I'm sorry... did you mind at all?" she asked meekly.

"Not overly much." He replied. "I was a bit shocked... very shocked actually but it was fine... a bit pleasant actually." He teased and her cheekbones flushed even redder.

"I um... I was just trying it out...we were getting along so well and-" she looked up at him, saw his amused expression and looked back down at her hands. "Wh... when we get to Troy, will...will I sleep in your bed?" she asked.

"No, no we have chambers for maidens." He replied. "After we get married; then you will share my rooms." He replied He turned back to the sea breathing in deeply and she studied him.

"You like sailing don't you?" she asked, her face cooling much to her delight.

"Yes I do. It's relaxing, I feel freer somehow." He replied then turned to face her. "Am I that obvious?" he asked. She smiled again and reached out her fingers running down the center of his brow.

"You have a line there mostly..." she said softly. "As if you are constantly in the midst of a struggle or a puzzle or a problem. It makes you look a bit menacing, older. But it's gone now, now you look... young... happy." Her hand stroked over his face curving to hold his cheek gently in her soft palm. He smiled.

"I am happy. Happier than I ever thought I would be." He replied.

"And I as well." She replied. He reached out and traced her cheekbone tenderly with the backs of his fingers before reaching up to cradle the hand that was against his cheek. He moved it away caringly before bending his head and closing his eyes to drop a soft kiss in the center of her palm. A shock of sensation moved down her arm from the point of contact and as he lowered her hand, his eyes opening and fixing themselves on hers she felt her stomach flip over and tie itself into knots, vicious knots. She felt warm all over and she was sure that her face was bright red. His eyes were swimming with emotion, who could have known that he could be so gentle, last night and just then. His lips were so smooth and soft, warm; she wouldn't have believed it unless she had felt it against her palm so perfectly.

"Andromache." He whispered.

"Yes Hector?" she replied just as softly. She felt as if his eyes were drugging her, pulling her closer, pulling her in.

"Do I look that old?" he asked, ebony orbs twinkling. She smiled warmly.

"Yes." She replied and he raised an eyebrow. "Very old. But you're surprisingly spry for your age."

"You're amusing." He replied flatly and she laughed loudly.

"No but really, you don't, I think I picked a bad word to describe you."

"Damned right you did." He grumbled good-naturedly and she chuckled again.

"You look scary, more weathered, more hardened than someone your age would be expected to be." He nodded in understanding. "But when you smile, or now you look amicable, less...threatening, less cold."

"Do you trust me?" he asked. She blinked her brain snapping to attention and her mouth opened to say 'Yes, yes I trust you!' but something made her hold back.

"Not completely." She replied. "I trust you with my life."

"But not your heart?" he asked. She shook her head, her eyes begging him to understand and not be mad.

"Be patient with me Hector." She requested softly. He nodded and smiled before holding her head in his hands stroking her hair, then he leaned down and kissed her brow lovingly. She smiled at the easy gesture, it made her feel cherished.

"Breakfast?" He asked and she smiled and nodded. She could love this man, she knew, with his hard, calloused yet infinitely tender hands, his warm eyes and his gentle heart. He slipped an easy arm about her shoulders and led her down to their cabin.