There was no escape from Hector's death for Andromache while she slept on the day of his death. Her dreams were filled with times she had shared with Hector, memories she held dear to her heart. And as she slept, tears began to trickle down her cold and pale face.
It was not until nightfall had washed over the sky that Andromache finally awoke. Her eyes stung for a few seconds while they adjusted to the sudden darkness, and once they had, she rose from her bed. She walked over to the table in the room and poured some water into a cup, the cup Hector would always use.
As Andromache slowly sipped from the cup, she looked around the room she had known for so long and that now seemed cold to her. She felt as if Hector's presence had already left the room, his warm and reassuring spirit had vanished and now the chamber was left cold and dismal.
Andromache's eyes wandered over to the chamber door and she jumped slightly with shock when she saw Cassandra sitting in a chair beside it. She placed the cup onto the table, and was about to open her mouth to speak when she suddenly caught sight of Cassandra's eyes.
The usual calmness contained within Cassandra's eyes had disappeared; instead her eyes were like dark pits of despair. Her face looked whiter than a sheet and she was shaking violently.
Almost as if the gods had pushed the thought into her head, Andromache suddenly remembered her first wedding anniversary with Hector, years ago, when Cassandra had fainted and acted just like she had on the day of Paris's birth.
"Death to Troy," whispered Andromache, repeating the words that echoed in her mind. She remembered those words so clearly; the words Hector said Cassandra had shouted through the palace while Paris was being born.
Andromache glared into Cassandra's eyes and something suddenly dawned upon her. She stepped closer to Cassandra, a shocked expression washing over her face. "You knew … you knew this would happen." She paused for a moment, suffering from disbelief. "You knew that Helen would come to Troy, that war would come here, and that Hector … would die."
"I couldn't prevent it," stuttered Cassandra, she struggled to her feet and quickly walked to where Andromache stood. Tears leaked into her eyes while she watched the remaining colour leave Andromache's cheeks. "The gods control us all; they have mapped out our entire lives. We are toys to them, I could do nothing!"
Anger and shock swam into Andromache's eyes, her heart began to beat furiously and she clasped onto a chair to steady herself. She lowered her head, not able to look into the eyes of a person who could have prevented so much pain and suffering, who could have prevented her husband's death.
"You were his sister," said Andromache, her voice quivering slightly, "you were Hector's sister and yet you allowed him to fight day after day, knowing his fate!" She sharply turned her head to look at Cassandra, hatred seeping from her eyes.
Tears began to fall from Cassandra's eyes. She could feel what Andromache felt, she could feel the agony her sister-in-law felt, the now constant throbbing of pain within her. "I'm so sorry, Andromache. I … I hoped that I was wrong, that what the gods had shown me was wrong!"
"When are the gods wrong?" whispered Andromache, anger oozing from each word she spoke.
Cassandra shook her head desperately and reached out to touch Andromache's hand that clung onto the chair. "The gods play with our minds, Andromache, you do not know how often they come to me in my dreams, how often they whisper to me!"
"When are the gods wrong, Cassandra?" screamed Andromache, and stepped away from her sister-in-law. She had never felt such anger flow within her, but Andromache knew that it was not only anger at Cassandra she felt; it was anger at herself as well.
Cassandra could say nothing in reply; she knew there were no words that could turn back time and erase all that had passed. In the depths of her heart she had known the gods were right, they were always right, but she had dared to hope they may be wrong.
Guilt, for not persuading Hector to fight, consumed Andromache as she walked closer to Cassandra. She thought she could have prevented Hector's death, had she known what Cassandra knew, but things are never that simple.
"Why didn't you tell us what would happen?" asked Andromache. She quickly grew irritated with Cassandra's crying and grabbed onto her arms. "This war could have been prevented, if only you had told us what would happen!"
Cassandra pulled herself away from Andromache's grip, her eyes suddenly blazing with anger. "Would any of you have listened to me? Even my own father thinks I'm mad, why wouldn't you or anyone else?" She stepped closer to Andromache and her voice became a low and sharp whisper. "For years I've been scorned for my visions, disbelieved and thought mad! I tried to tell my father what would happen to Troy, I told him when Paris was born but he didn't dare to believe me! I even told my mother, that day when I fainted on your anniversary, but she wouldn't listen!"
Andromache's mouth opened slightly, she knew, in the depths of her soul, that no one would have believed Cassandra even if she had told them their fates – it was Cassandra's destiny to forever have her visions disbelieved.
The door to the chamber suddenly opened, and Paris stepped into the room with Astyanax in his arms. At first, Paris didn't see either Cassandra or Andromache, but Astyanax saw his mother immediately and called out to her.
"Astyanax," greeted Andromache, and she immediately forced her voice to be cheerful and pulled a mask of composure over her face. She walked over to where Paris stood holding Astyanax and reached out for her son.
Paris carefully handed Astyanax to Andromache, and as he did he thought he saw a tear rush down her face, but when he looked again it had disappeared. He allowed his eyes to wander around the chamber and, like his sister-in-law, felt the sudden disappearance of Hector's spirit.
Cassandra hid her tears and inhaled deeply before moving away towards the door. She had only come to see how Andromache was, and because she felt guilt for allowing Hector to fight when she knew he would die.
"I must see my mother," said Cassandra, her voice was quiet, yet controlled. Like Andromache, she had the ability to hide her emotions if needed.
Andromache only nodded; she could say no more to Cassandra. She knew that if Hector had been told he would meet his end on the plain that day, then he would still have gone and fought.
"I'm sorry, Andromache," Cassandra said quietly before she left the chamber.
Paris watched as his sister left and then turned his attention to Andromache. Aside from Hector and Xanthe, he knew Andromache better than anyone in the palace. He couldn't read her mood by looking into her eyes as Hector had been able to, but he knew she could conceal her emotions better than anyone.
"If there's anything you wish me to do, Andromache," said Paris, his voice unsteady as he was unsure of what to say, "then you need only to ask. Helen and I could care for Astyanax if you wish him to be around family instead of his nurse."
Andromache tightened her grip on Astyanax; almost afraid someone would come into the room and take her precious son away. She then turned to Paris, her eyes narrowed in anger. "You've already done enough! If it wasn't for you then Hector would still be alive!" And then she went silent, shocked at her own words. She realised she was blaming everyone else, blaming those who were trying to help her, except Achilles because he wasn't there for her to blame.
"I hate myself for what I've done, but I can't take back time and change it," said Paris quietly. Once again, the last words of his brother began to echo in his mind, as he looked at Andromache.
"Please," said Andromache weakly, feeling as if she was about to lose control over the tears that were mounting in her eyes, "please go, Paris." She saw the reluctance to leave wash over Paris's face and added: "I will call for you if I need you."
Paris nodded and left the chamber.
Alone, once again, in the chamber she had shared with Hector, Andromache began to cry quietly. She lay down on the bed with Astyanax and watched as he drifted off to sleep, unaware that his father lay dead in the Greek camp.
Achilles sat alone in his tent. He was absorbed with staring at his sword, the sword which had caused so much pain for others because he had used it. The blood of Hector still dripped from it and Achilles suddenly stood up and went to it. He gathered fresh water from the sea and an old cloth, and silently began to wipe away the royal blood.
Once he had washed the blood away from his sword, Achilles returned it to the stand were his armor hung. He then returned to his chair and bottle of wine.
The flap of Achilles's tent was suddenly opened, and a man wearing a thick dark robe stepped inside. For a few moments the man simply stared at Achilles, and Achilles stared back as he was unaware who the man was and why he had come to him, but then the man pulled down his hood to reveal he was King Priam.
Priam walked to where Achilles sat, his eyes dark and blood shot. He was past the point of fearing for his own life now and only wanted his son's body returned to him. He knelt down before the murderer of his son, and countless Trojan lives, and kissed Achilles's hands.
"I have endured what no one on Earth has endured before," said Priam, and he stared into the eyes of Achilles, freely allowing tears to fall down his aged face. "I have kissed the hands of the man who killed my son."
Killing opponents in battle had never affected Achilles before; he had never had to face the loved ones of those he had killed, but now he looked at the father of a man he had killed, and it stirred an emotion he had never felt before, guilt.
"How did you get in here?" questioned Achilles. He was moved by the old man and rose from where he sat and helped Priam to his feet.
"I know my own kingdom better than the Greeks," answered Priam. He was silent for a few moments and then ventured to speak on. "Give Hector back to me. I have brought a ransom fit for a king, enjoy it all, but give Hector back to me."
Achilles stared at the old king, searching within the man's eyes for a hint of hatred towards him, but there was none. Instead, Achilles only saw desperation and grief swirling through the pools of the king's eyes. "There's nothing you can do now, Hector is dead."
"I can give him the proper funeral rites he deserves," said Priam weakly, exhausted from the pain he felt within. "I can give him the honour of being burned in his kingdom, and I can take some pain away from his wife and child by bringing him home."
At the mention of Hector's wife and child, Achilles flinched. He had known that Princess Andromache of Thebe, the country he had sacked long ago, was now the widow of Hector, but hearing Hector had a son reminded Achilles of his own son, Neoptolemus.
Neoptolemus was the son of Achilles and Deidamia, the daughter of King Lycomedes of Scyros. Achilles had once believed he loved Deidamia, but he was often called away to battle and so their love dwindled. Neoptolemus had rarely seen his father as he grew into the man he was today, and had been twenty years old when Achilles was called away to war.
Always wishing to follow in the steps of his father, Neoptolemus had wanted to go to Troy and fight with his father, but Deidamia had managed to persuade her son from going. But she knew that the time would soon come when Neoptolemus would be called to fight, just like Achilles had been years ago.
"Remember you own father, Achilles," said Priam, "his old heart rejoices to hear you are alive, but me … my life is cursed by fate. You have taken my eldest son away from me, the heir to my throne and defender of my kingdom."
Achilles was torn away from his own thoughts of the past and turned to look at Priam.
"Allow me this one mercy and give Hector back to me," pleaded Priam, he was not ashamed to lose all self-control and weep in front of the murderer of his son; he would do anything to have his son's body restored to him.
"I will return Hector to you," Achilles said finally, after a few minutes of silence. He walked towards the flap of the tent and went to leave, but then turned back to look at Priam, who followed him. "Remain here; I will call for you when he's ready."
Priam nodded and slowly stepped back, and sat in the chair Achilles gestured for him to sit in.
Achilles took a torch and left the tent, he called to two of his myrmidons to unload the ransom on Priam's wagon, and then called for two servants to bathe and anoint Hector's body. He looked out to the sea that crashed against the beach and waited while Hector's body was prepared for its return to Troy.
When the servants had bathed and anointed the body with olive oil and wrapped it in a dark shroud, they returned to their own tents and left Achilles. Achilles silently lifted Hector's body and carefully rested it on the wagon. But before he called for Priam, Achilles slowly pulled back some of the cloak from Hector's face.
Tears filled Achilles's eyes as he looked upon the prince he had robbed of life. "Soon, well shall meet again." He then covered Hector's face once more and called to Priam.
Priam quickly left Achilles's tent and paused for a moment when he saw his son's body on the wagon, he felt as if a sword had cut into his heart at the sight, but he persevered and walked to where Achilles stood by the wagon.
"How many days do you need to bury your son?" asked Achilles, his tone was unreadable and the tears had vanished from his face.
"Twelve," said Priam quietly, wondering why Achilles would ask such a question.
"Then no Greek will attack Troy for twelve days," said Achilles. He then helped Priam board the wagon, saying no more.
Priam was speechless as he boarded the wagon, and he continued to gaze at Achilles until the god-like man was out of sight. He was stunned that Achilles had shown him such kindness when he had expected to be killed by him.
For a few moments, Achilles watched as the wagon began its journey to Troy and then he returned to his tent. He slowly sunk down on his bed and waited for sleep to consume him.
A/N: As many of you don't wish to see some characters die at the end, I'm considering writing another short piece, which will be separate from this, that has certain characters live. I'll let you know if I decide to do this. And thank you for all of the reviews :)
Queen Arwen – Thank you for the review :) Achilles will probably suffer more; I'll definitely try anyway.
Priestess of the Myrmidon – It's interesting that Cassandra kills Achilles in the Firebrand, I've not read it but I need to. Thank you for the review and I'm glad you liked the last chapter :)
Idun03 – Thank you, I'm really glad you think I've done a good job with Hector's death etc. I've not decided if Andromache will ever truly forgive Paris, but at the moment I don't think she really will. Thank you for the review :)
Kitera – Thank you for the review, and I'm really glad you liked the last chapter :) Poor Andromache indeed, she'll have a hard time of it now I'm afraid :(
Gaby – I'm really glad you liked the last chapter, even though it was sad. I usually like Achilles too, but hate him when I read/see that he kills Hector. Thank you for the review :)
meitsiwong36 – You're welcome about not letting Andromache marry another man, I could never write that and it just would be … wrong, lol! Thank you for the review, and I'm really flattered that you can't get this story out of your head :)