Alexander brought his right index finger up to his mouth, signaling for Andromache to be quiet. He then whispered to her: "If you'll be quiet then I'll release my hand."
Andromache nodded furiously, and Alexander released his hand from around her mouth.
"You've been crying," he whispered and wiped away Andromache's tears.
Andromache flinched at his touch, but quickly composed herself. She cried inwardly, wishing she hadn't sent Xanthe away.
"You're probably wondering why I'm here," said Alexander, quietly, "I'm not here to hurt you; I only wanted to speak with you." He paused for a moment, and studied Andromache's face. "You must be a remarkable woman to have Hector's love."
Andromache said nothing.
"Hector once said he'd never marry," said Alexander, "though I think any man would marry you if they had the chance."
"We were arranged in marriage," said Andromache.
"Of course," said Alexander, "your father probably knew he could gain a great ally in marrying you away."
Again Andromache said nothing, she knew what Alexander had said was true; she didn't need to confirm his words.
"Did Hector tell you who I am?" asked Alexander.
"Yes," stuttered Andromache.
"Did he tell you that I betrayed Troy for the sake of some gold?" grinned Alexander, no longer bothering to whisper.
Andromache nodded.
"And that I killed his best friend?" said Alexander.
Andromache again nodded.
"It's the truth," sighed Alexander, "although I did it for much more than gold."
Andromache turned her head, wishing to hear more. Alexander smiled and continued:
"The King in the South offered me his daughter if I told him Troy's plans of attack. I had met his daughter; Elora was her name, a few times in the past when I had sailed to the south for my father. I fell in love with her as soon as I laid my eyes upon her, she was so perfect … she looked like you."
Alexander brushed his hand along Andromache's hair, she shivered.
"She had brown hair, like you and blue eyes also," he said and gazed into Andromache's eyes. "But you aren't like her in everyway. I had accepted the offer of marriage to Elora, but she was killed by a Trojan while she tried to escape her father's palace. I killed the man who killed her, and by killing him I had killed Hector's best friend."
Andromache looked at Alexander, and saw a different man gazing back at her. She felt sadness seep from him, and she wished to heal his pain. Alexander had done wrong in betraying Troy, but he hadn't deserved to lose the woman he loved, she hadn't deserved to die. "Why was she not taken as prisoner?"
Alexander sighed; he had never spoken of Elora since the night she died. He only spoke to Andromache of her now because she reminded him so much of the woman he had loved and lost. "She stabbed a Trojan warrior who tried to stop her from escaping. Doryclus, Hector's best friend, was the brother of the man she had slain, and he killed Elora out of rage."
"I'm sorry," said Andromache, sadly, "I wasn't aware that you had lost someone."
Alexander smiled. "I knew you'd understand, you're so like her."
"Why are you here?" asked Andromache, timidly.
Alexander was silent. He ran his finger along Andromache's cheek, the way he had once done with Elora. "I wanted to see you … you who look so like Elora. Hector never understood my pain; he rushed to Priam and told him that I was a traitor to Troy. Hector knew everything, he even knew about Elora … but still he attacked her home!" Alexander stood up off the bed, and then looked out of the balcony.
Andromache looked to the door, she knew that Alexander bore pain and hatred beyond relief, but she feared for her own life. She knew that if what Alexander had told her was actually true, then he would wish to seek revenge. She ran to the door and was about to place her slender fingers on the handle when Alexander tore her away.
Alexander wrapped one arm around Andromache's waist and then with his other, he placed his hand around her mouth. He felt tears fall upon his hands, from Andromache's eyes, but he wasn't moved.
Andromache was dragged to the bed; she didn't attempt to fight Alexander. Once Andromache was returned to the bed, Alexander withdrew a knife from his waist. Her eyes widened with alarm and her body shuddered with fright while she watched the knife in his hand.
"Stay where you are," snarled Alexander, he then ran his finger along the knife.
Andromache didn't need to be told what he meant by caressing his knife, she knew that if she moved then she would be killed. She felt something writher in the pit of her stomach, she presumed it to be nerves caused by stress, and clutched it.
Alexander eyed her suspiciously. "Are you with child?"
"Yes," lied Andromache, she wasn't with child but thought he would be sympathetic towards her if she told him she was.
"I always wished to have children with Elora, but that will never happen now." Said Alexander, he looked at Andromache and a dazed expression flashed across his face. "It's almost as if the gods have sent me to you. You, who are like Elora in everyway … you're even with child."
Silence filled the room for a moment, and Alexander began to pace the room, still clasping his knife. He held his right hand to his head, as if he suffered from a headache. "Do I take you, my gift from the gods, or do I leave you here with a man who doesn't deserve you?"
Andromache knew that he was merely mumbling to himself, but spoke to him regardless of what he might do to her. "I know you're hurting and I'm sorry, but taking me away will not help you!"
Alexander walked to the bed, where Andromache still sat. He then held her face in his hands, dropping the knife to the bed. "It'll help me. You'll ease my pain, my suffering. You'll be Elora!"
"I'm not Elora," sobbed Andromache, and pulled Alexander's hands off her face.
Alexander looked into Andromache's eyes and saw her looking back at him. Sadness swept across his face. He searched within he eyes, hunting for even a mild trace of his loved one Elora. Tears sprang from his eyes, the tears that he had locked away since the night of Elora's death. "You're not Elora."
"I'm not," said Andromache.
The door to Andromache's chamber opened. A panicked look rushed across Alexander's face. Andromache looked at Alexander; she knew that he had meant her no harm.
"Xanthe didn't seem very happy, what did you say to her Andromache?" asked Paris, his head was slightly bowed as he entered the room, but he slowly looked up and saw Andromache with a face stained by tears, and Alexander sitting in front of her, a knife beside him. Paris knew who Alexander was.
Paris lunged at Alexander, who had grabbed his knife and was clenching it tightly. Paris successfully reached Alexander's left hand, the hand that held the knife. Paris clasped onto the hand and Alexander almost dropped the knife, but then he quickly caught it before it left his hand.
Andromache ran to the open door and looked for the guard that was supposed to guard her chamber day and night … there was no sign of him. Andromache whimpered quietly, she looked back into the room and saw that Paris and Alexander were now fighting on the floor.
Alexander was a trained warrior, a full grown man, whereas Paris was not. Andromache looked around the chamber, looking for something heavy. She caught sight of Hector's old shield, and ran to pick it up. Andromache knew that Paris would hate her for this, but she needed to do it. She hit Paris on the head with the shield.
Paris was instantly knocked unconscious. Alexander dropped his knife to the ground and stood up. Andromache saw that his lips were bleeding slightly, but other than that he was perfectly fine. Paris suffered from a bleeding lip, and it appeared that a black eye and bruise on his left cheek would soon appear.
Alexander looked to Andromache with questioning eyes. "Why did you hurt him, instead of me?"
"You need to leave," said Andromache, and picked up Alexander's knife and handed it to him. "Paris would never have allowed you to leave if he was conscious. Go … now, leave the palace. I'll persuade Paris to lie and not confess to you being here."
"Thank you Andromache," said Alexander, and took Andromache's left hand in his own and kissed it delicately. "You've helped me today in ways no other person has before, thank you."
Andromache watched as Alexander quickly left, leaving the way he had entered the palace. She quickly collected a cloth and a basin of water, and then sat by Paris' side.
Carefully, Andromache tended to Paris' wounds. She washed away the blood on his face, and waited for him to wake. She couldn't carry Paris to the bed, and she didn't wish anyone to know Paris was hurt until she had spoken with him.
Once Andromache had cleaned Paris' face, he slowly awoke. He looked at Andromache's face and released a sigh of relief. Then he looked to the shield that lay by his head and his face grew angry.
"Where's Alexander?" asked Paris, and tried to sit up, but Andromache pushed him back.
"You need to rest," said Andromache, calmly.
"Where's Alexander?" repeated Paris.
"He's gone," answered Andromache, "I allowed him to leave. Alexander didn't hurt me, and I'm grateful that you put your life in danger for my own, but you must not mention what happened to anyone, certainly not to Hector."
"I'll not lie to my brother Andromache," said Paris, sternly. "I threw myself at Alexander to help you, and how did you repay me? You repaid me by knocking me unconscious with a shield!"
"You don't understand!" exclaimed Andromache. "Alexander lost the women he loved when Troy attacked the south; he only wished to see me because I reminded him of her. I'm sorry that I hurt you, but I had to because I knew that you'd have the guards arrest him and he doesn't deserve that."
Paris looked at Andromache in disbelief. "Andromache, he's a traitor!"
"Yes he is," scowled Andromache, and nodded, "but he only did that so he could marry the woman he loved!"
Paris shook his head and sat up.
"Will you promise me that you'll not mention this to anyone?" pleaded Andromache.
"I'll not speak of this to anyone," said Paris, and stood up, "but if I'm asked what happened to my face then I'll tell them the truth."
"No, please Paris!" begged Andromache, and clutched onto his legs to stop him from walking away. "If anyone asks, then say that you were hit, but that the husband of a woman you bedded hit you. No one will disbelieve you."
Paris laughed and lifted Andromache up to her feet. "I'll keep your promise Andromache."
Andromache embraced Paris. "Thank you."
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A/N: Thank you for the reviews :)