Andromache watched as Pheobus Apollo drew his chariot across the sky, dipping into the sea and casting long shadows over the city of Troy. The view was breathtaking, her favourite. A ghost of a smile crossed her face as she thought of the first time she realized her heart beat for Hector, and he alone. But it disappeared fast as she remembered what the morrow held. Heartbreak. Death. Suffering.
She wanted to believe it, truly she did. More than anything she wanted to believe that Hector would walk out that door in the morning, only to walk straight back. She could feel his arms around her waist, his hot breath against her neck. "Never," he would whisper to her. "Would I leave you. Not for this, not for anything. You are my all, Andromache and I will not walk out that door until this is over."
A tear fell silently down her tanned cheek as she shook such notions from her head. Hector had his duty, to Troy. Not her. Troy. As much as Andromache wanted to believe that Hector loved her, she could not. He loved something more. He loved his city and would die for it.
Tomorrow he faced that Myrmidon, Achilles. As fair as Paris, with an arm to rival the gods themselves. Blessed said many, by the gods. An immortal warrior who would stop for nothing to get the glory and fame he so dearly craved. Achilles would kill anyone and anything in his path, slay the strongest dragon if it meant a child would utter his name a hundred years from now.
She knew what he was, a killer. The sound of war sounded so heavily in her mind every time the men of Troy stepped out on the field, only to be killed by one of the Greeks. But all she could think about was Hector. She didn't care if the others were brought back safely, all she wanted was Hector back in her arms every night. This made her detest herself, knowing that as Hector, her first duty was to Troy, and Troy alone.
As the silky night fell, Andromache made no move to light a candle and shed a light in the room. This suited her better, dark. It fell upon her like the darkness surrounding her own heart.
When had this started, Andromache wondered. Not the war, she knew when that had happened. When Paris brought back that Greek whore. Helen, she detested her. Did Hector ever want her? Even the densest of women could not ignore the beauty of the Grecian goddess. Her silky hair was like a river of gold, running down her back with a softness so many wanted. Her skin was so perfect, not a mark upon it, not a blemish. Those eyes held the same beauty as Aphrodite's, and even women found themselves drawn to this mysterious woman Paris had brought with him.
Obviously beauty was not everything though, Andromache smirked, as every week Paris had another woman in his arms. She had caught Paris with so many in the long years of this war. Chambermaids, widows, fishermen's wives. Every woman that passed through his line of sight was the object of his affection. Paris had even tried Andromache, but she had threatened to tell Hector if he even so much as thought about her. That certainly scared him.
But the war was not what Andromache wondered about. She wondered about when she had started to die, because she was. Slowly, but surely, her heart was breaking. The Trojan wife knew that her time was up. No matter how much she wanted to believe that Hector would be safe tomorrow, she knew. This would be his last night, and hers. For without him she would die. Hector was her all, her life. Without him her heart would be split in two, her breath would cease and leave her a broken woman with nothing.
One single tear crept down her cheek, leaving a salty taste in her mouth as it crossed her lips. The same lips that Hector would never kiss again, Andromache realized, running a finger across them. This time her strength faltered, and she fell to her knees, body racked with sobs. Every ounce of resistance within Andromache was washed away as she allowed the grief to take her. She wanted to scream to the gods, demand an answer to her questions. Run down to the Greeks and beg them not to take Hector, anything to stop her feeling so powerless.
She was so within herself that Andromache had not heard Hector enter the room and rush over to her, a look of concern on his face at his wifes anguish. His strong arms were around her, and pulling her towards his strong chest before she even realized that someone was in the room.
"Andromache." he whispered into her hair, smoothing it down with his large hand. "Andromache, do not cry." His voice was soft and gentle, yet it did nothing to soothe her sobs. They stood there, lovers set apart from the world in their own grief and acceptance of what would happen. He held her, offering a comfort only he could. Letting her soak his tunic with her tears and pour out all the emotions he knew she had been hiding.
When she was spent, and no more tears would fall, Andromache pulled away the slightest to look up at her wonderful husband. She rested a hand on his cheek, and he tilted his head to kiss the palm of it.
"Hector...." she whispered, bringing him to her so she could gently kiss him, his arms around her waist.
"Don't." he croaked through the kiss, causing Andromache to pull away and look at him sadly. His voice held a desperation, one she had not heard before. His eyes sparkled with his own tears, and this surprised her. Never had she seen Hector cry.
"Do not ask this of me." How well the prince knew his wife. He knew the words before they even found their way to her mind. "You know the answer, yet you still ask. It is not fair of me."
"Not fair of you?!?!?!" she screamed, forgetting that the people within her palace were sleeping for the early morn. Hector dropped his hands to his side with the air of a man defeated as his beautiful goddess yanked her body away from him. "How is this fair on me?!?!?!"
When he gave her no answer, it only added to her ire. The anguish had been replaced with anger, and she felt it all towards him.
"You have no answer for me." She spat. "Because there is none. You care not for me! For our son! You go to fight in the morn for glory. You are no better than Achilles! I hate you, HATE YOU!!!!!" Andromache rushed forwards, striking him with her hands, hitting out at anything. Angry tears found their way to her eyes and she did not even know what it was she was attacking, just feeling better that she was.
Those words killed him. Hector wanted to drop dead right there. He did not feel her strikes, they were nothing. She was his wife and he loved her but she was weak and her fists would not even hurt a child. But those words, the thought that she might hate him.... That hurt him more than any blade through his heart ever could.
"Andromache, you don't mean that." he said, grabbing her hands as they went to hit him again. Andromache shook her head and struggled to pull her hands away from him. "Listen to me, please!" he begged, letting the tears fall down his cheeks. She stopped, the rage faded and leaving her cold.
"Listen to more lies?" she spoke hoarsely. "They fall upon empty ears Hector, and I do not want to hear any more of them."
"Please beloved, please do not do this. Do not close me out." he said, trying to pull her into a warm embrace, to comfort the both of them. She let him, but she was limp and did not return the gesture.
With one sound of anger, Hector let her go and spun around, slamming his fist into the stone wall. Blood trickled down his skin, sending bouts of pain through his hand but he ignored it, resting his head against the wall. The short burst of ire surprised Andromache and she flinched a little, eyes wide.
"Hector?" she asked weakly, resting one hand upon his broad shoulder. Despite how much she wanted to hate him, wanted to believe her previous words she could not. No matter what he did, she would always love Hector, and her anger made her words become bitter in the hopes of lessening her own pain. But they did not and it only made her feel worse. She wrapped her arms around his waist from behind, resting her head on his left shoulder.
"You think I do this because I care not for you?" Hector asked her brokenly. "Because I have no feelings for my son and family?" He turned in her embrace to face her and allow Andromache to see the real Hector. Her husband, scared and frightened. So lost and alone. He brought her to him, kissing her soft lips passionately, as if to remind them both that he was still here. When he spoke again, his breath was hitched, from the wanting he felt. Wanting of her, of her body. Of wanting to hold her and never let go. Perfectly content to just hold her, Hector would fight through fire to get to his wife.
"Andromache, I do this for you." he whispered as he hugged her. "All my life I have been Hector of Troy, the prince who will defend his country to his last breath. And I have been happy to give everything I have to my land and to protect it over anything else. All I had was Troy. I never had anything. No love, not even from my people. All they need from me is my strong arm and ability to fight when they will not. You are right. I did fight for glory, for honor, for Troy. Until now." Hector pulled back so she could see his eyes, and the truth that shone through the aquiline tears.
"Andromache, I would give up everything for you." he swore. "If I could. I love you, more than I can ever say or show. The gods themselves cannot understand how much my heart beats for you. Every time I see you it is as if I am living a dream, because I must be for such a wondrous thing to have blessed me. You are more beautiful than Aphrodite. I loved you before I met you, you graced my dreams. The day you became mine, I died. I wasn't Prince Hector any more, I was reborn as Hector. Just Hector, husband to Andromache and father to Astyanax."
Andromache opened her mouth to say something but Hector shook his head, placing a finger over her lips. The tears that fell from them both were not of rage or anguish, but of love.
"You gave me life, a purpose to live in this harsh world. If the gods had struck me down after our first meeting, I would have gladly let the fates cut my thread as I would have died happy. Because of you." He knelt to the floor, picking up her left hand that bore the ring he had given her so long ago.
"Andromache, you are my Troy." Hector smiled, bringing her hand to his lips and bestowing one sweet kiss upon the ring. "You are my everything."
Silence fell over the two of them, and if someone walked into their room they would have thought that Hector had just asked Andromache to marry him. In a way he had, for Andromache never felt more love for this man as she did now. No words could she speak, only draw him up to his feet.
"Lay with me. Lay with me like we did before. As Andromache with her Hector." he asked her, walking over to the bed and sitting down. Her feet did not wait for her answer as Andromache joined him.
As the ecstasy spread through the two of them, sweat dripping over their entwined bodies, Hectors words were true. For a blissful moment, a moment in which the gods even turned away from them, there was only two people in the world as everything slipped away.
Andromache and her Hector.
A/N -- Thankies for all the reviews, that were much appreciated. I just love Hector and andromache, I think they were the best from the myth of Troy. As for the review from Miss-Andromache, I realise that this probably won't be completely historically accurate. I know a lot about mythology, but the actual living of the Ancient Greeks is something I don't kow much about. So sorry if you were all expecting a historically accurate account, but it is true to the myth and after all this is a fanfiction. Keep on reviewing, that little typing monkey in my mind loves them.