A/N: as with the previous chapters, the italics are the gods. The bold italics are the fight scenes from a sort of distanced POV. This is the battle between Achilles and Hector. I am not too good with the whole fighting writing but I will give it my best shot. So don't be too harsh with that because as you can tell, I'm more of an emotional writer. I copied some off of the movie too, hey they wrote the fights better than me! Did you see that spear that Achilles threw? Straight through the neck!
Thank you for all the reviews, they are much appreciated and helped me write this chapter. The Fanfic was meant to be a one-shot but I found myself compelled to write more and more so I changed it to three chapters. But now I am writing another two chapters for it. Also Paris and Helen are not portrayed in the best light. Miss-Andromache, you weren't flaming me. Do not fear, I just wanted to explain that I wasn't writing it historically accurate. I enjoy flames anywho, they let me cook my brownies! Brownies that all the reviewers get!
The sun rose, bringing with it an uneasy silence. The walls of Troy hid a city in mourning, people living in fear.
"Achilles," was the whisper on the lips of Troy. "Achilles comes." Everyone knew. The people brave enough to venture close to the walls great heights looked out to see one solitary figure moving amongst the camps and ships. Achilles bathed in a golden light that seemed to elevate him above all others. No-one could touch him, he was blessed: A Blessed Murderer. Such irony when their own Saviour seemed to be frowned upon by the Gods. He readied for battle, readied for the kill. His every move was smooth as if he was a ray of sunshine moving across the plains with an air of elegance.
But sunlight burns. As the walls slowly filled, whispers grew into chatter as the people discussed the events they had all come to watch. Some argued, others stayed silent. Each person came for the same reason and for that they were united. Old and young, men and women… All of them came for one man, Hector.
Hector stood by the window, a single hand placed upon the cool wooden frame. He stood there, silence surrounding him. He had always been standing there, waiting for this day. He knew, deep down Hector knew this day would come. It was only a matter of when, and when was now.
Andromache fluttered open her eyes, stretching her swan-like limbs with a yawn. The noise drew Hectors attention, and a smile found its way to his lips. His wife, his beautiful lover. But he did not turn to see her, he could not. If he did, he would not be able to walk out of that door, unable to leave this exceptional woman. Last night he had given her his heart, and he knew that he would never return to collect it.
"Hector," was the whispered cry on her lips as Andromache looked over to her husband. She awoke to feel cold, no arms around her body to warm it. When she had opened her eyes, they sought out Hector. And there he was. By the window, dressed in his armour. Handsome to be sure, he always was. Not beautiful like Paris, but handsome. The air around him was regal in every way, confident and powerful. He belonged with the gods not with the mortals.
But her cry was not from passion, as it had been last night, but of grief. He was bathed with an ethereal light, as if he was already among the dead, a ghost of a faded memory.
"Andromache." Hector sighed, allowing his gaze to glance to her out of the corner of his vision. "Do not." He knew her question, and she knew his answer. The sword was already in his hands, and Achilles made his way to the Skain Gate. Every second he spent here would soon be his last, they both knew that. There was no stopping this chain of events, Achilles wanted his revenge. If Hector sought shelter in his home, Achilles would burn Troy to the ground alone to find him.
She got to her feet, the stone cold against her warm skin. She bent down to snatch up her robe from the floor, wrapping it around herself. She said nothing to him, could say not one word. Andromache turned and walked from the room, towards her sons. Hector sighed and leant his head against the stone as her footsteps became quiet, leaving the cold sound of silence rushing through his mind.
"I cannot do this." he whispered, letting the watery tears come to his eyes, clouding his vision. "I cannot leave her. Do not make me, please do not make me."
Hector was not a man for begging but at this moment, as he stood watching the golden speck get closer and the death become more defined, he did not care. Nothing mattered to him. Not honor, not glory. All he wanted was to stay in the arms of the woman he loved and hold his son forever. Why, he wished he could scream. Why gods, why do this to me, to her?!
"Do you wish to see your son?" Came the cool tones of Andromache from behind him, snapping the prince from his reverie.
Hector looked back to Andromache, smiling for Astyanax' benefit. He had managed to hide his pain from the baby, and would not falter now. There was no smile on Andromache's lips, only a look of pain.
"Hello there little warrior." Hector cooed, going over and dropping his sword on the bed as he opened his arms for his son. He wanted to hold him one last time, his beautiful baby boy.
A cry of fear came from the baby, and he turned away to hide within his mothers robe. Hector stopped, his arms dropping limply to his side with failure. Even his son hated him. Andromache sighed and held the crying infant to her, making smooth rocking motions to placate his tears.
"He does not recognize you." She said softly, her own pain aside at the sight of Hectors. "He has never seen you in battle garb. Take off your helmet."
Hector sighed with relief and nodded, taking the bronze helmet from his head and smoothing back his hair. Astyanax turned to glance at Hector, his tears stopping. This was a man he recognized, this man was his father.
"Da…da" he called, arms outstretched. Hector was there in an instant, a true smile on his face. He held Astyanax to him, looking down at the smiling baby with the same wonder that filled him every moment he saw what he had accomplished.
"Did you hear that?" Hector whispered with awe, letting Astyanax tug on his finger gently. "He said my name. He said Dada!" This was truly the best gift the child could give him. Andromache nodded, watching them with tearful eyes. This was her family. Hers. She worked so hard for this, wanted it everyday since she could think. Why would the gods be so cruel and take it away from her?
"I heard." She croaked, stepping closer to them both and wrapping her arms around Hectors shoulders. She did not care anymore. She pushed aside all the expectations on her as the Princess of Troy, wife to Prince Hector. All she was now was Andromache, a broken woman ready to beg for the life of her lover.
"Please." She begged desperately. "Do not go." Hector looked back to her, the sight of this desperate woman more than he could bear. The tears fell from his eyes freely, and no man could hold back this pain.
"Andromache, my sweet Andromache." Hector sighed, turning away from her and placing the giggling Astyanax within the crib in their room. Turning back to her, the Prince wiped away the single tear that had fallen from her eyes. "I love you, know that. Always and forever."
"It is not enough!" she demanded, though she kept her voice at a whisper for the benefit of Astyanax. He had no idea about the toils of his parents, and Andromache wished to keep it that way. Hectors arms found her body, wrapping themselves around her lithe form with a gentle comfort Andromache knew she would never find again.
"It never is. Nothing is ever enough. With this war, men can never get enough of the things they desire. It is a storm, and it never passes." Hector whispered, leaning his head against hers. "But you are my peace within it. Always and Forever my love, always."
"My Lady? My Lord?" A voice asked from behind them, and Andromache spun around to see Kallistrata, the young girl that had been sent to serve as Astyanax' nurse. Though Andromache wished she had not disturbed them for another moment, she was glad to see the young dark-haired girl.
"Yes Kallistrata?" Andromache asked, clearing her throat to make her voice stronger. The young girl bowed, avoiding Hectors eyes. At this, the Prince gave a sigh. Many did this now, avoided the eyes of the very man who would give anything to save them. Was it fear? Or perhaps it was respect? Whatever it was, Hector found himself unable to care anymore.
"I come to take Astyanax." Kallistrata replied, going over to the cooing child. Hector reached out, taking the baby from the maids arms and holding Astyanax to him one last time. Kallistrata moved back and nodded, bowing her head to the floor.
"Leave him for a moment longer." Andromache said to her, moving over to collect a blanket for the child. "I will bring him to you up at the wall." Hector nodded and placed one last kiss upon his sons fair brow. Kallistrata nodded, and then turned to leave the room, pausing for a moment by the door frame. She looked back to Hector, the slightest look of grief upon her pretty young face.
"Yes.. My Lady." the young woman whispered before disappearing. Andromache turned back to Hector, taking Astyanax from his strong arms and wrapping the blanket around him.
"It will be chilly so early." she informed Hector, holding the baby against her frail frame. She watched as Hector moved, placing his helmet back on his head. He picked up his weapons and looked to her, the sadness showing through his deep and warm eyes that always served as comfort to Andromache.
"My love." Andromache whispered, placing a hand on his shoulder. Hector wrapped his own palm over hers, interlacing their fingers. He gave a small nod, bringing her palm to his lips and bestowing one last kiss upon it.
"As long as you love me, I'll never die." Hector, Prince of Troy, whispered to her as his muscular arms brought her body to him one last time, embracing his beautiful wife with all the love he could possibly show in this single second. "I'll always live on, with you." He slid a hand to rest over her heart, smiling as he felt it beat faster and faster at his touch. "Here."
Andromache gave a nod, biting her lip as the tears began to fall again. She did not watch as her husband walked out of the room for the last time, instead just held the last part of him she had to her. This would be her world now. Astyanax, her last love.
"HECTOR!!!" the smooth tones of Achilles screamed out over the plains, stopping the horse just before the gates. He got from the beast, ripping his shield and spear viciously away from the seat and stepped towards the gates.
Hector raised a hand, causing the archers to lower their arrows. "No." he called. He looked down to Achilles, looking to the face of death. There was no emotion left in the mans eyes, no grace. Pain. That was what Hector saw. Suffering and Vengeance.
"HECTOR!!!" The Prince whose name rang out over the plains gave a nod, and turned, walking over to his father. Priam shook his head, not wanting to admit this harsh truth and reality that was about to pass, right before his gates.
"Father, forgive me for any offenses." Hector spoke as he bowed before the King, kissing the back of his hand with respect. "I served you as best I could." He got to his feet and walked on, stopping as Priam called his name.
"Hector!" he called, mingling in with the cries of Achilles below them. Hector turned and nodded to his father, who stepped up beside the first son of Troy. Priam stood silent for a moment, just looking onto his son, his brave Hector. When he spoke, his voice was no more than a whisper, and Hector could barely hear it over the cries of the warrior below him. But he knew what his father said, without any words having to be uttered.
"No Father ever had a better Son." Priam whispered, hugging Hector to him. "May the Gods be with you." Hector had not the heart to tell his father that the Gods had abandoned him a long time ago, and merely nodded, moving on.
"Apollo guard you, Prince Hector." Glaucus said, clapping a strong hand onto Hectors shoulder. The commander had faith in Hector, and believed that his leader would pull through this. Hector merely gave the man a short nod, then moved to step before Paris. Hector felt torn about this handsome man before him, fair and graceful, even standing here in silence. Even if he was his little brother, Hector could not help but feel the slightest bit resentful towards Paris. Not for his sake, he knew this day would come, when his shield would fail to protect him. But for Andromache and his son. They would be left alone now, all because of Paris and Helen.
But one look into those warm brown eyes, Hector knew that his brother wasn't to blame, and he could not hold anything against the young lad.
"Paris, you are a Prince of Troy." he said, bending forwards to place a kiss upon his brothers forehead. "Make me proud." Paris nodded and fought back his tears as he gave his big brother, his protector one last hug. Hector let him go and walked towards the steps, trying again to ignore the haunting sounds of death yelling his name. "HECTOR!!!"
"Hector." a soft voice uttered from behind the Prince as he stepped down onto the ground, his footsteps echoing on the stairway behind him. Hector bowed his head to the ground and turned, looking towards Helen. A smile she wore on her calmed face, shrouded in jewels and great silks.
Andromache had been willing to give up her jewels and various luxuries to help Troy, without a second thought. That was what Hector loved about her. She needed no fancy silks and dresses to make her beautiful. But Helen, she insisted on keeping her things. And what Helen wanted, Helen got. It seemed every man in Troy, and perhaps all of Greece was besotted with Fairest Helen. And Hector was not a blind man, he could see why. And he hated her all the more for it. She used what little power she had over the men to get as she wished, and had no thoughts for anyone else but herself.
Paris was no saint, this Hector had known for an age it seemed. But this woman standing before him, this so called vision of beauty and grace, to him, was no more than a shadow of a beast sent from Hell. His brother was naive, in love with the notion of love itself. Every week he had a new slave girl, and there were more than a handful of babies born to Troy because of Paris' wanderings. People never saw Helen's betrayals, for they were blind to her. But he did. He saw.
"Lady Helen." Hector spoke quietly, bowing to her. A mockery, he felt, of Troy. She stepped towards him, lifting the white veil from her face.
"The Gods are with you Hector." she whispered in his ear, embracing him to her. Hector tensed under her grip, merely pulling away politely and nodding. He turned to leave, but stopped and looked back to Helen.
"The statue." he asked her. Pallas Athene's temple had been trespassed, though no sign of forced entry was found. No Trojan could have stolen the sacred statue, so Hector found himself wondering whom. "Tell me Fairest Helen, who took it?" The woman merely smiled enigmatically and walked away, to join with her Prince. That simple movement answered all of his questions about her, and Hector thanked her for at least giving him truth.
"HECTOR!!!" once more the voice of death called, and this time Hector answered.
"Open the gates!" Hector called up to the guards. They exchanged a silent vote, as if contemplating not opening the gates at all, and for once doing what they felt was best for Troy. But they followed their Prince's commands and the gates opened.
Hector gripped his weapons tightly and stared at Achilles, into those menacing blue eyes. With one last look towards the wall, Hector made his way out of the gates. They thudded shut as he stepped out, sending a chill of dread through him. Even the bravest of men feared something.
Hector kept walking out of the gates, stopping a few feet away from Achilles. The warrior merely glared at him with a fire Hector had never seen in a mans eyes before.
"I have seen this in my dreams." Hector spoke, his fingers wrapping themselves tighter and tighter around the golden hilt of his sword. Again, Achilles said nothing, merely continued to stare at Hector. "Let us make a pact." Hector added, trying to appeal to the mans human nature. Surely he had some? No man could be this cold and bloodthirsty. "The Winner will allow the others body to be returned, for the proper burials." This gained some response from Achilles, as he let out a laugh.
"There are no pact between Lions and Men." he spat, ripping his helmet from his head and shaking out his golden sandy hair. "Now you know who it is you are fighting!"
Hector waited for a moment, watching Achilles with the slightest hint of curiosity. He wondered what could drive a man to this. Such pain and blood lust. Hector fought yes, but he fought to protect and would rather spend an eternity in the arms of his beloved Andromache than be out on the plains, fighting for her sake. But Achilles... He was different. He seemed almost grateful to fight, as if it was his life. Perhaps it was Hector reasoned, and that made him feel worse for taking away something that made him human.
After a moment, Hector copied Achilles actions, and threw his helmet to the side. Oh Gods, he begged, let none of my family be driven to this, so broken.
"I thought it was you I was fighting." Hector called, raising his voice as much as he could without letting the people above him hear. They did not need to hear talks of revenge and death, Hector wanted to spare them that. It was enough they would watch this. "I wish it had been you. But I still gave the boy the honor..." His words were cut off by Achilles own spiteful ones.
"You gave him the honor of your sword!" he hissed in reply. To Achilles, that was no honor. Fighting had no honor, only the win. And deep down, Achilles knew. He knew that Hector was only doing exactly what he did every single day of his life. Achilles killed people, and unlike Hector, he could not say he had a reason. There was no reason for the murders he committed he did it for his own reasons. He had no family to fight for, to protect. Only glory to get.
It hurt. When he saw Patroclus, his dear Patroclus, laying dead there in the sand, it hurt so much Achilles felt as if Hectors sword had ripped through his own heart also. The blood that trickled down Patroclus' golden skin was like a river of poison, infecting him with grief of the likes he had never felt before. And he got angry. He felt, for once in his life and that feeling hurt him more than he could bear. All Achilles knew was the kill, and the fight. So deep down, he knew. Hector was not to blame here. Achilles let Patroclus fight, knew the consequences. Achilles shouldered this blame. He let the person he love be taken from him.
But that did nothing to quell the guilt and rage.
"Tonight, you won't have ears." Achilles promised. "You won't have a tongue, or eyes. You will wander the underworld blind, deaf and dumb and all of the dead will know. This is Hector! The fool who thought he killed the Great Achilles!!"
Hector soaked in Achilles words, wishing nothing more than for Andromache to be safely in her room. But he knew where she was. Even from here, with his back turned to the wall he knew. He could see her. Standing tall, Paris on one side, Priam on the other. Her heart was beating faster and faster with each second, the anticipation of the fight almost overcoming her. But no. She stayed calm, regal in every way. Her warm brown eyes watched her husband carefully, reaching for Priam's hand in her worry.
With one smooth motion, Hector drew his sword, the sound of the metal ringing out over all the land. Achilles already had his in hand, born ready for this.
Each movement Hector made, each attack was matched with an equally as skilled defense from Achilles. The man seemed calm, as if this was merely a boring routine that he did each day. Both men were just as talented as the other, graceful and quick.
Extraordinary fighting had been seen before, everyday that a battle was fought on the shores. But this was something else, something even the Gods would be in awe of. The prowess of each man was so extreme that it was almost hypnotic. Never in the world had two better men ever fought, and never would there ever be a battle like this. All their lives, all the training, each clash of weapons and battles led to this one moment. There was no wasted energy, no strike that went without a cause. The bronze blade struck against bronze, splitting air with deadly aim.
"Hush." Aphrodite soothed into Andromache's ear, though the woman could not hear her. The Goddess could feel the Princesses heart beat faster with each lunge, each clash of metal against metal. The sounds of War rang out over the plains, echoing across the vast and empty land, filled only with men and women, gathering to watch the beautiful ballet of death. The Goddess could see below her, two gods circling the fighters, their own despair showing in their eyes.
Pallas Athene watched Achilles, her sharp eyes never leaving his toned form, hands copying his motions as he lunged again and again for Hector.
Ares, God of War, he wore a smile on his face. So cruel and in love with this battle, it made Aphrodite turn away from the scene below her. He stood behind Hector, sword in hand as his own eyes watched the fight.
But which one would win? Aphrodite knew nothing of war, but even her naïve mind could see that this was hanging in the balance. All this fight depended on was the edge of a blade. Every single person, mortal or immortal held their breath as the warriors fought on, the same questions on all their minds. Which blade would sway this fight? Whose death would come today?
Lunge. Duck. Slash. Twist.
The sunlight glinted from the glittery bronze of the weapons each man held as the fight dragged on. Time passed, people watched. The crows circled the makeshift arena as Hector tripped to the floor, falling against the hard dust with a thud.
Achilles stopped, looking down to the fallen Hector. The Trojan reached for his sword, starting to get back up before all the words had left the Myrmidons mouth.
"Get up Prince of Troy." he said calmly. "I will not let a stone rob me of my glory." Hector was up in a flash, attacking Achilles again. He grew tired, after so much fighting whereas Achilles seemed untouched by weariness. But Hector fought on.
Lunge. Duck. Slash. Twist.... Clang.
Everyone gasped as they looked to them both. What they saw was Hectors sword through Achilles side, the golden man frozen. Priam and Paris smiled, glee showing through their once feared faces as they realized that their Hector had done it. No-one actually saw the sword puncture his skin, the shield was obscuring that view. But they knew.
Priam opened his mouth to call out the words of triumph, but stopped at his youngest sons touch. Paris said nothing but he pointed back to Achilles, who had stepped back, twisting Hectors arm around and making him drop the sword. No blood stained his side, and the sword was now stuck in Achilles shield.
Hector did not miss a beat, lashing out to knock Achilles' own sword from his hand, and twisting out of Achilles' grip.
They danced the deadly dance of war, armed with broken spears. Each move that they made was not without reason, their energy going unwasted.
But it was not enough. Hector tired, his moves becoming less and less graceful, heavier. He knew his energy was fading fast, so he put his all into his moves. He charged, swinging with explosive fury at the man, putting all of his Trojan wrath into each blow.
Achilles parried each blow, the small smile creeping onto his lips as Hector fell back slightly, looking to him with awe and fear. The only mark Achilles had was one small nick that barely reached skin.
Achilles took the chance offered to him, raining down blow upon blow to Hector. Hector tried with all he could muster to block the various attacks, but his stamina was gone.
And in one moment, Troy's fate was sealed.
The spear went through the Armour of Troy, slicing into the flesh of Hector.
Hector gasped and looked up to Achilles as he dropped to his knees. There was no remorse on Achilles face, only triumph. With one swift movement, Achilles drew back the spear and dropped it to the floor, the end stained with royal blood that should never have been shed.
Andromache could not bear it, feeling the blade slice through her as it did her wonderful husband. She died. In that second, she died. No more. She could take no more. Falling to her knees, she brought her hands to her heart and gasped as she began to suffocate, unable to bear the grief that tore through her body.
"Andromache..." Kallistrata sighed, bending down beside her. The young girls eyes were full of tears for the prince, as was every single person on the wall.
Priam roared with the outrage of this all, as Achilles gripped the dead princes legs and pulled the ropes of the chariot he had brought.
"No." Andromache's broken voice spoke, barely more than a whisper under the shade of yelling the Trojans began. Her eyes could not, would not believe what they were seeing. A disrespect, insult to Hectors bright memory. How could Achilles do this? A murderer he was, a killer and everything that she hated about the Greeks, but this? Surely this was beyond even him? No obviously, as it was happening, as much as Andromache tried to close her eyes and pretend it wasn't.
Achilles wrapped the ropes around Hectors ankles, tying the bonds tightly, so tight they dug into his golden skin. And when this task was done, Achilles went back to the chariot, and got on, riding off without a moments pause.
Andromache turned, burying her head in Kallistrata's shoulder. She could not bear this, how could any wife bear this? Watching her husbands limp body be dragged through the golden sands, staining the already crimson plains with royal blood. Hectors strong body was broken by the time Achilles had completed the circuit around the Trojan wall.
"How dare he?" Paris breathed, the rage glinting in his obsidian eyes. His handsome face was screwed up in a visage of complete anger and he was deaf to anything but the sound of his own screams of fury. Surely now he would give the body back? Even if it had been desecrated like that, Priam could still give his son the proper rites.
But no. Achilles drew his horses away from Troy and began back to the Greek encampment, ignoring the cries of the people around him. Every second that Achilles grew smaller and smaller on the horizon ripped a part of Troy's heart away. Their Prince, their protector and great jewel was gone. Forever.
Perhaps it was the rage that kept the Trojans at the wall, making no move or sound apart from the broken sobs of Andromache as she lay torn in Kallistrata's arms. But all they could do in their grief was watch as the killer of Brave Hector drew his body further away.