The sun had escaped from behind the dark clouds and was now flooding its glorious light onto the city of Troy. The walls shimmered beautifully and they appeared like gold once more. The sea sparkled like glitter, which made it appear even more inviting in the sweltering heat, and the plain was no longer filled with the sounds of battle. Troy suddenly seemed perfect, idyllic, yet when you looked closer and saw the destruction and the horrors of the night within each person's eyes, you could see it was not perfect.

Those who had survived the night were now forced to watch their possessions loaded onto the Greek ships. Their hearts were filled with fear because they knew that soon, soon they would also be loaded onto the ships like mere items.

The remaining Trojans had lost their identities, they were no longer considered as human or even worth respect. Instead they were addressed cruelly, with names such as slave or whore, and they knew that this would be their lives now. They would be slaves, slaves to Greeks who had torn apart their own world in Troy.

The laughter of Greeks rung in Andromache's ears and she clenched her fists in anger. She could no longer bear to hear their joy, not when she had lost everything because of them.

For a moment she closed her eyes and inhaled deeply in attempts to gain control of her anger, but as she opened her eyes once more she saw something that made her blood boil even more.

Dismounting a dark chestnut coloured stallion was Helen. She seemed perfectly at ease as she skillfully dismounted her horse and patted its mane while she waited for Menelaus to finish speaking with one of his men. It was only when Helen caught sight of Hecuba, Polyxena and Andromache, as she looked at the ships, that her content expression suddenly vanished.

Andromache felt sickness race up her throat when she saw Helen, but she quickly forced it back down into the pit of her stomach, which caused a burning taste to erupt within her mouth. She could feel her whole body tense and her lungs constrict when she saw Helen, but it was not only seeing the woman who had played a part in her pain that sickened her.

"She was riding Hector's horse," Andromache croaked. "She was riding Lampos."

Hecuba raised her head at the sound Andromache's words and looked to what had gained her daughter-in-law's attention. She gasped aloud when she saw Helen and looked back at Andromache quickly, wary of what she might do.

Lampos, sired by Hector's older horse Helenus, had been the horse Hector had used in battle. He had loved that horse more than any other because it had been bred by two of the greatest horses he had ever ridden. He would let no one else ride it, not even Andromache, and now Helen had rode it, after all she had done.

Andromache rose from the stone she had sat on and she began to walk towards Helen. Her wrists were still bound, but that did not prevent her from walking, unlike Hecuba and Polyxena, whose wrists and ankles were bound. They called for Andromache to come back before the guards returned from feasting in their tent, but she ignored them.

There were Greeks everywhere, but no one paid any attention to Andromache as she headed towards Helen. Each step she took brought her closer to Helen and she began to walk faster until she was almost running.

Helen quickly glanced across to Menelaus when she saw Andromache head towards her, but she saw that he was engrossed in conversation with one his men and she knew that she would have to speak to Andromache. She knew she owed that right to Andromache, especially after all that had happened.

Suddenly, however, Menelaus turned to Helen to ask her something when he saw Andromache running towards his wife. He knew who Andromache was, he had seen her the night before, just after her son was killed, and quickly looked back to Helen once more before running towards Andromache.

Andromache had almost reached Helen, her blood racing within her veins at the thought of inflicting pain upon the woman who had caused her more sorrow than she could even begin to speak of, when she was suddenly pulled back by Menelaus.

Menelaus grabbed Andromache around her waist and inwardly cursed the guards who had not bound her ankles together because she suddenly kicked his knee and he almost stumbled to the ground. He soon managed to gain control over her, however, and he felt her heart beating ferociously, with the desire for revenge, as she tried to restrain her.

"Let her go," said Helen, her voice high and shaking somewhat. She looked into the eyes of Menelaus to show she was leaving no room for question, and sighed quietly when she saw him suddenly release Andromache.

Andromache did not run to Helen though, instead she remained where she was. She had never felt such rage and anger when she saw Helen dismount Lampos, she had never felt her blood turn sour and race angrily through her veins, and she had never wanted to inflict pain on someone so much until then.

"Go to your tent," Helen said to Menelaus, "I will come shortly."

Menelaus opened his mouth to protest but the look on Helen's face showed that she would not be persuaded out of her decision. He turned away and led both his horse, and the horse Helen had ridden, to his tent and gave them to one of his guards before stepping inside.

"You already have him trained well," remarked Andromache and sneered, not caring how low she stooped to verbally attack Helen.

"I understand how you must be feeling," said Helen, the tone of her voice rising when she saw Andromache's guards leave the feasting tent. "We can talk, but let us talk in private."

"You don't understand how I feel!" shrieked Andromache, angered that Helen could say such a thing. "You chose to leave your child! I did not choose for my child to be killed, Helen."

"I know you didn't," said Helen weakly, and she glanced nervously at the guards who now questioned Hecuba and Polyxena.

"I have lost everything," said Andromache, her voice lowering, "and yet you have caused a war, dishonoured your husband, abandoned your child … and still you have a husband and child to go back to." She paused for a moment and then continued. "What have I done that is so terrible that I must lose my family in Thebe, Hector, and my son? Why am I cursed?"

Helen said nothing because she could find no words to say. She knew she could not end Andromache's pain and felt foolish to ever think she could compare her pain to hers. She walked forward and tried to comfort Andromache but Andromache stepped back.

"I'm sorry," said Helen, "I wish there was something I could do … I wish I could have stopped what has happened."

"It doesn't matter anymore," said Andromache quietly and she felt tears seep into her eyes; "nothing matters anymore."

The guards suddenly turned away from Hecuba and Polyxena and turned to see Helen. They were alarmed to see Helen and Andromache together and began to quickly walk to where the women stood.

"I'm so sorry, Queen Helen," said one of the guards, when he reached Helen, "we didn't think she would dare leave with so many Greeks around."

"Do not apologise," said Helen sternly. Her eyes glanced fleetingly at Andromache and then glared back at the guards. "I wished to speak to this woman, do not punish her on account of me."

"Of course not, Queen Helen," said the guard and he bowed in front of her.

Andromache smirked slightly at how well Helen had retained her title as Queen of Sparta. She looked at Helen again and was slightly surprised at how more confident she appeared, so much more confident now than she ever had been in Troy.

"You loved him, didn't you?" asked Andromache, suddenly. She didn't care that the guards were around her, about to take her away again, all she wanted to know if everything that had happened was worth something.

For a moment Helen was silent, but she looked into Andromache's eyes and understood what she meant. "With all my heart."

Andromache nodded, but said no more. She knew that Helen's love for Paris could never truly justify the war or the loss of her husband and child, but she had needed to know that the downfall of Troy had been worth something, even if it was the love Helen had for Paris.

Silently, the guards took Andromache by her arms and led her back to where Polyxena and Hecuba sat. They then returned to their own, smaller fire, a few feet away and began to talk in low whispers.

Andromache sat down on the stone once more and looked into the fire, its flame dancing in her eyes. She made no attempt to speak, even though Hecuba and Polyxena questioned her on what Helen had said, and allowed the memories of past times to absorb her thoughts.

The sun beamed down on Neoptolemus appraisingly as he rode down to the ships on his father's chariot. He passed numerous corpses, and women and children chained together, but instead of ignoring these horrible sights, he looked at them.

Neoptolemus felt no guilt as he looked upon them though, he felt numb to all emotion. The only thing that passed through his mind was of what he had to do, it was the only thing that kept him focused and away from the thoughts of the murders he had committed.

Even though he knew he could never be liked his father, Neoptolemus was still intent upon finishing what he had begun. He would honour his father one last time by revenging his death on those that had caused it, but after that he would try to forget everything he had done and try to move on.

Neoptolemus felt that revenging his father's death was compensation for not being more like him. He had always tried to impress and be like his father, and he had felt prepared to take life, just like his father had, but he found he could not. He would only kill one last time, one more to make him free of the burden of his father's memory.

The waves were crashing against the shore when Neoptolemus finally reached the ships. He could see the tide was beginning to creep upon them and knew that they would soon have to leave, that they would soon leave Troy.

He stepped off his chariot, after steadying his horse, and was immediately greeted by a young man, presumably one of Agamemnon's men as he wore a Mycenae breastplate.

"King Agamemnon has ordered for me to allow you to choose whichever woman you like," said the man, panting for breath. "You are to choose between the royal women of Troy, as a token of my king's gratitude. Shall I take you to them, my lord?" He then gestured towards the weakening fire where Hecuba, Andromache and Polyxena sat, along with other noble women.

Neoptolemus, although unconcerned over choosing a woman as his prize, looked to where the man indicated. His eyes wandered across the women quickly as he had more pressing matters to attend to, but then he suddenly came to an old woman who was speaking and he felt as if a knife had slashed at his insides when he heard her words.

"Put your hands closer to the fire, Polyxena," ordered Hecuba, the woman Neoptolemus saw, "you're freezing."

It was not because the wind chilled her flesh that Polyxena was cold, but because she suddenly felt as if she was seeing death, her death. She looked across the fire, past the guards and to a man she had never seen before, yet knew.

Polyxena glared into the man's eyes, the eyes she thought she had once loved because they were the eyes of Achilles, although she knew this man was not Achilles, it was his son.

Neoptolemus simply stared at Polyxena for a few moments. He had wanted to see her, to find her, but now that he saw her, he felt like he had frozen and that he had lost all thought of what to do.

"What is her name?" asked Neoptolemus and he subtly pointed to Polyxena, even though he already knew her name and who she was.

The man looked at Neoptolemus for a moment, thinking that he had chosen a woman to be his, and then looked to where he pointed. His eyes caught sight of Polyxena and he smiled at who he thought was Neoptolemus's choice, and then turned to face him. "I believe she is Polyxena, a daughter of King Priam. Is she who you have chosen?"

Neoptolemus slowly shook his head. "No, I must speak to Odysseus." Then, without another word, Neoptolemus headed towards the tent where Odysseus was.

Silently, Neoptolemus entered Odysseus's unguarded tent. His eyes winced as he entered because it was full of darkness, except for three small lanterns in separate areas of the tent. He closed the flaps of the tent behind him and then turned to see Odysseus sitting on a wooden chair, glaring into the light of one of the lanterns.

"What do you want?" Odysseus asked, his voice void of all emotion. He did not look up at Neoptolemus; instead he continued to stare into the small flame.

"I came to ask you for your help," said Neoptolemus, his voice shivering with nerves. He looked at Odysseus, waiting for him to reply, but when he did not he decided to continue. "I have seen … I saw … Pol- … Polyxena."

Odysseus was silent for a moment and then looked to Neoptolemus. He was shocked to see that there were tears within Neoptolemus's eyes.

"I have to honour my father," said Neoptolemus, his grief freely swimming into his eyes, but he did not release a single tear. He paused and looked up to the roof of the tent for a brief moment while he tried to compose himself, and then he spoke again. "My father tried to do his best for me … and now I have to honour him in return…,"

Odysseus slowly rose to his feet and walked towards Neoptolemus. "Do not shed more blood because of your father; if you do then you'll never be rid of the guilt."

Neoptolemus looked at Odysseus with a slightly confused expression. He had not heard that Odysseus had killed the young Prince Astyanax, and so did not realise that Odysseus spoke of what he wished he had done, and of his own guilt.

"My father was your friend," stuttered Neoptolemus. He inhaled deeply and tried to regain control of his emotions. He wanted Odysseus to agree to help him because he needed someone to tell him that what he had to do was acceptable, that it was the only right thing to do. He needed someone to tell him that because he was beginning to doubt it himself.

Odysseus was silent and looked firmly at Neoptolemus. He could understand the conflict of emotions the young man felt because he too had felt them, just before he had killed Astyanax. He was now haunted by the horror of what he had done and wouldn't wish anyone to be so plagued by guilt, but as he continued to look at Neoptolemus he saw that the man would not listen to reason.

"I will help you," said Odysseus slowly.

A/N: I apologise for the amount of time it has taken me to update. I've been furiously working on chapters in one whole document because I couldn't decide where to separate them into individual chapters until I had actually finished them, hence the reason I've taken a long time to update. I've almost finished the last chapter to this story, and I want to continue working on it until I'm done, so because of this I'm not replying individually to reviews because I really want to get on while I have time.

Thank you, however, to everyone that reviewed. I appreciate every single review, so thank you!