Disclaimer: Homer wrote it. He left out the good parts. I'm just adding them back into the text.
Notes: For the Dust to Dust: Ash Wednesday Challenge.
Requiem
You cannot sleep. You lie in your extravagant bed alone, you, Alexandros, the fairest man this side of the Aegean Sea. Helen has not touched you in years; she hates you for taking her away from Menelaus. You don't love her, either.
He presses heavily against you, tan fingers digging into your golden thighs, and you can almost see the purple bruises that will appear the next morning. You try to touch him, but he only bats your hands away before clutching your thighs again.
"I hate you," he tells you
You only ever loved him. You never loved Oenone or Helen...only him. You think you should have stuck with one of them, probably Oenone since she loved you, because neither of them are your brother, and that makes all the difference
and you know he doesn't, you know he loves you. Everyone loves you, or loved, anyway, except for Cassandra, and he is no exception. He welcomed you when you first appeared at the palace in your shepherd drags, and even when you brought Helen back and earned yourself disapproval from some, he never did anything but love you and support you.
The only difference with him is that you love him back
because only your brother can hurt you this much. Sometimes, you wish you never fell in love with Hector.
His widow is still in mourning, but you, who love him the most, received your entire share when the funeral games ended. You are the only person left to command the army, and you wish you fought more when Hector was still alive
and you know he knows that as well. He continues.
"I hate you for foolishly bringing Helen to Ilium just because Aphrodite promised her to you. I hate you for charming me so much that I didn't force you to take Helen back to Sparta so that she won't bring war upon us. I hate you for turning to me when she abandoned you. I hate you for making me love you so that I can't hate you," he utters lowly, sliding into you faster and rougher, and you know now that he isn't lying, that he loves you but hates you at the same time.
"I can't believe I'll die because of you," he growls
instead of charming your way out of everything in order to live a life of idleness and luxury. But you still had Helen then, and by the time you lost her, no one came to ask you to fight anymore. They all still loved you, of course, because you are Paris, but Hector was the only one who really cared about you. At least, he was the only one who actually came to you when Helen left you.
And now, you have no one. You don't have Oenone or Helen and especially not the only person you ever loved, and you think that maybe you deserve all this because it is your fault, anyway, that any of this happened. You caused everything, so you really shouldn't be surprised that you would lose in the process as well, even with Aphrodite's protection.
and you arch up into him as he says, "Because I killed Patroclus, Achilles won't let me live." With one last thrust, you are coming, and he says then, "I won't live to see tomorrow night. All because you made me too weak to order the return of Helen," and when you finally regain enough senses to open your mouth in protest, he covers it brutally with his own.
He releases you with the taste of blood in your mouth, and he tells you, "Never again, Paris. You can't charm me anymore." He turns away from you, and though you reach for him, he doesn't see. He doesn't want to see.
He doesn't turn back, just dresses himself and leaves you by yourself in your bed, and you think that maybe he doesn't know that you love him, after all, that you are in love with him.
You finally manage to sleep a few hours before a servant awakens you, and when you dismiss him, you gaze at the armor laid before you, the armor that you must wear now that your brother is gone. You touch each piece and wonder how your brother felt, sweating under them in the sun, blood staining the shining metal plates.
You put your armor on slowly, and when you finish, you gaze into the mirror and know that you don't fit within the confines of war. Your golden, smooth skin contrasts sharply with the cold hardness of the armor, and you are reminded of the scars and calluses on Hector that you used to lick as he slowly stripped himself of his armor. Hector was a warrior; you are nothing but a soft prince.
You watch when Achilles strikes your brother down, watch your brother's glorious form fall under the wrath of a goddess's son, and you can almost hear your brother telling you again that he hates you, that you are the reason he won't live to see the sun set this day.
When Achilles drives around the city with your brother's corpse tied to the chariot, you turn away from the dust beginning to cover Hector's handsome figure. The spectators on the walls weep, and though you yourself do not, you think that they have no reason to cry at a hero's death when only you ever loved him the way he deserved to be loved.
No one stops you when you leave for your rooms, too caught up in their own grief and despair at the seemingly inevitable doom of Troy to even notice you slipping away. You don't cry; you don't know how to because you have never before had an occasion to do so.
You only hope Hector forgives you
You stand upon the city walls, and you can discern Achilles by the godly armor he wears. You think of your dead brother's beautiful body burned at the pyre, think of how you will never again see the sunlight glinting off of your brother's armor as he fights, and you want nothing but revenge for the death of the only person you ever loved. You know Phoebus Apollo favored Hector, and you pray he may help you, too.
The thick dust before Troy rises as the day's battle begins, and you whisper to the glint of gold shining through the hazy cloud at irregular intervals, "Dust you are, and to dust you shall return."
because though you caused his death, you will also avenge him. He is the only person you ever loved, and
He is the only person you will ever love.