A/N: This chapter, I will confess, does not contain any Andromache. It is a chapter with Priam, Hecuba and Achilles mostly, the part when Priam asks for Hectors body to be returned to him. I love this chapter, though perhaps not as much as the third one. But oh well, here I go. As always, reviews are much appreciated. And check out my other stories, particularly my Lord of the Rings Eowyn/Faramir one.
"Priam." a soft voice spoke, causing the wisened King to pause in his tracks, his hands ceasing to tie the ribbons on the cloak. He turned around to face Hecuba, his Queen. Though he had seen the grief in her eyes when Paris had told his dearest mother of the events that had happened to her eldest child, Priam was shocked to actually see how deeply it had affected her. Not a day had passed, yet she had aged years.
True, Priam still found himself breathtaken with her exquisite beauty that had caught his eye many a year ago, yet... it was hollow. She seemed a shell of the woman she was. Even her voice was broken. The call had not been the loud and fiery tone he was used to, but a ghost of what it once was. It broke his heart, First his son, now this? How much could one person stand? And the Gods... Priam could not help but have the smallest doubt in his mind. Had he not served them well enough?
"Yes?" Priam asked her softly, taking Hecuba's soft hands in his own calloused ones and looking towards his Queen. Tears trickled silently from her usually clear eyes, though now they had taken on a dulled sheen. This hurt Priam and the hurt ran deeper knowing that not one of his actions could cure the ones he loved of this unmoved grief. All of Troy was mourning, and for the first time in his long reign as King, he could not do a single thing. He did not even know if he cared for much any more.
"Where is it you go?" Hecuba questioned, her eyes moving over his lean body to fixate upon the cloak he wore. Her eyes widened slightly as she realized what it was her fool of a husband planned to do. "No... no!" she cried, wrapping her arms around him desperately. She shuddered with silent sobs, what little tears she had left all pouring out. Priam sighed and held her close to him, letting his eyes slip shut as he breathed her in. If he lost anymore...
"I must." Priam whispered in reply, his voice incapable of achieving any more volume. "I must have Hectors body returned. If nothing else, the pain of Andromache is too much. She needs to bury him, to let him go lest be eaten away by her grief."
"I have already lost my son!" Hecuba screamed, pulling her body away from Priam and letting vehemence slip into her words. "You would wish for me to lose my husband too?! Is this pain not enough of a burden that my foolish husband must go and place more upon my weakened heart!?" Her yells came loud and fast, and all Priam could do was to bow his head and look to the floor. No words she said could sway this decision he had made.
"He is dead Priam! No feat can bring him back and nothing will change what has happened!" Hecuba fell down to her knees, bringing her hands to her mouth as she felt all the grief come back up to the surface. Her range was over, leaving her devoid of anything but the cold that filled her very soul at the loss of her firstborn. No thing could ever fill this gap.
"Hecuba, I cannot change what has happened." Priam said, dropping to his knees with her. He needed for her to understand his reasons, to know what it was that he had to do. He needed to give his son this honour. He had fought and died for his country, they could at least show him a little respect in death. "Yet he is my son, and as long as there is a breath left in my body, I will fight for him. As I should have done when he fell."
In truth, Priam blamed himself. Who was King of Troy? Who was given the glories of victory? Was it Hector, Warrior? No. It was Priam, King. He was the father and the protector yet his son had fallen beneath him, before his very eyes. Hector had given himself so freely for Troy, and Priam did nothing but sit in his throne room, bartering with greedy old men prices of gold.
Hecuba looked up to her husband, leaning her palm against his cheek and wiping away the solitary tear that fell from his eyes with her thumb. No words she said would moe his decision, so she gave up. What else was there to fight for of not her family.
"Bring him back." she managed to whisper, pressing her lips firmly against Priams before rising to her feet. Priam followed after her, nodding his head in promise.
"Our son shall get the honour he deserves." he swore to her before turning on his heel and walking from the room, heading out to do his last duty as Hectors father......
Nothing stirred in the silent tent. Not a thing stirred, not even the wind moved the fabric back and forth as it did the others. A world apart, set away from the world by the grief within it.
It didn't help. As soon as Achilles had stopped the horses and dropped down to the sand, he realised it. This fight he had thought would leave him feeling something other than empty yet, if anything, it made him feel even more so. He had taken one look at the body of Hector and felt pain. Not at the wounds that stung as they were mingled with the sand beneath him. Not by the tears that burnt at his eyes, nor even the headache that he felt.
He had seen her. What her name was, Achilles could only guess. She was beautiful, though not in the way that Helen was. A more subtle beauty, less flashy yet no less radiant. Her dark was a wave of dark silk, tumbling over her fair face. He would have called her nightingale, for she was as dark as the night and as exotic as the stars that sparkled above him. Still wonderful was she, even in the grief that she was suffering. Tears made her eyes glimmer and brought color to her ashen face. But it was still grief, and Achilles had caused that.
All his life, he had not cared. Men, women... they were all obstacles in his race for glory and recognition. But that morning, for the first time in his long and sinful life, Achilles had felt remorse. To see that woman and child in such pain, because of his actions... They was no reason for guilt. After all, had Hector not taken from him such a loved thing? Surely this woman would have known what she was marrying? But all the reasoning fell onto deaf ears and no words could ease the guilt he felt at having taken away the sun.
So now he sat, separated from all others in his own melanchonic world. Nothing but a bronzed blade for company as a constant reminder that this was his life. War was what he was, and he could feel nothing more than this.
But something stirred now. For so long Achilles had sat alone that he did not hear it at first, his ears dulled to any noise. But the rustling did not cease to stop and Achilles lifted his head towards the entrance, seeing a cloaked figure enter his makeshift home. The person pulled down his hood, looking to Achilles with both respect and disgust, though the latter showed through the most.
"Who are you?" Achilles questioned with a frown, not recognising the mans greyed hair and noble features. He was surely of importance, yet not from the Greeks. If Achilles knew nothing, he would guess at a King, yet this was not Menelaus nor Agamemnon. So that left only...
Achilles was taken aback as Priam dropped to his knees and took Achilles' hands of murder in his own, bringing them to his lips and kissing them briefly. Small hints of curiousity was in his eyes as he watched the King. This is how Agamemnon should treat him, yet he was offered nothing but the unwanted spoils of war for all the work.
"I have endured what no one on this earth has endured before. I have kissed the hands of the man that murdered my son." Priam said, looking to Achilles with nothing less than the pained look of a man whose time was coming.
"Priam." Achilles said, the single word breaking the blackened heart of coal inside a killers chest. The King nodded and Achilles moved to help him to his feet, not wanting the respect now it was offered to him. "How did you get in here old King?" he questioned. Priam smiled, though it was bitter and without mirth.
"I know my country better than the Greeks." he replied, sitting down on a chair opposite to the bed Achilles had seated himself on.
"You're a brave man. If Agamemnon knew you were here, he'd have your head on a spit." Achilles said, trying his best to keep up the harsh facade Priam had seen him put on. Again, Priam smiled bitterly, though this was shorter and soon turned to a look of grief.
"Do you think that death frightens me now?" he asked the warrior. "I watched my eldest son die, watched you drag him away behind your chariot." His gaze was too much for Achilles, and for the first time in his life he had to run his head away and break the stare. He had to. "Give him back to me. He deserves the honour of a proper burial, you know that. Give him to me." Priam continued, his voice reduced to a beg which was something no King should have to suffer.
The response from Achilles was automatic, the same plea he had been giving himself in an attempt to save himself from this despair. "He killed Patroclus." came the empty words.
"He thought it was you." Priam countered without a moments pause. If nothing else, then Achilles had to gove the man honour for his pure stubborness. "How many cousins have you killed? How many sons and fathers and brothers and husbands? How many brave Achilles?" When Achilles gave no reply, Priam continued, determined to get through to Achilles. "I knew your father. He died before his time. But he was lucky not to live long enough to see his son fall."
There was silence for a few moments, in which Achilles could only hear the sound of the two people breathing. Achilles did not respond because he couldn't. There was nothing to he could say for Priam, nor himself.
"You've taken everything from me. My eldest son, heir to my throne, defender of my kingdom. I cannot change what has happened, it was the will of the Gods. But give me this small mercy." Priam whispered, failing to hold back his tears as they spilled over onto his paled skin. Achilles' face was unreadable.
"I loved my boy from the moment he opened his eyes till the moment you closed them." With this, Priams voice failed to be strong and noble. Everything else was tripped away and there was no noble King, or a strong Warrior. There was only a broken man and the one who broke him. "Let me wash his body, and say the prayers. Let me place two coins on his eys for the boat man."
Achilles just sat in silence, saying nothing to Priam who seemed perfectly fine to wait an age if it meant a chance to honour his sons memory. Finally, Achilles managed to find his voice again.
"If I let you walk out of here, if I let you take him... It doesn't change anything. You are still my enemy in the morning." Achilles said to the old man.
"And you are still my enemy tonight. But even enemies can show respect." Priam replied to him, earning a solitary nod from Achilles. They both got to their feet, and Achilles regarded the old man with respect and gratitude.
"I admire your courage old man. If the King leading this army was half of you, I would rest easy fighting on his side. You are a better King that the one leading this army, I can say this without hesitation." Achilles said, moving over to the tent entrance. "Meet me outside in a moment."
Achilles looked to the body of Hector before him, bending down to rest at his side on his knees. He stuck the torchlight into the sand beside him, merely taking in Hector. Unlike the other men he had killed, the Trojan Prince was still noble and dignified, even in his death. His face was strongly set and proud, body still forceful even if the chariot and horses had broken it.
He brought his hand to his eyes, rubbing them a few times and taking a deep breath. Another, and another. To a passerby, who knew nothing of the deep pain that had settled within Achilles' heart, it would look as if the golden haired man was recovering after a challenging fight. And it had been challenging. Hector was not just a match physically, but Achilles had not counted on the pain he felt mentally.
To even his own surprise, Achilles' hand was wet with unspilt tears. He sniffed them back before picking up the blanket and beginning to wrap up Hectors body. "We will meet again brother." he spoke as he worked, sure that this would be the face there to welcome him when he fell to the underworld....
A/N: And here I am going to end it. Reviews would be absolutely fabulous. This is the second to last chapter and the next one will be, sadly, the ending installment. It will be Hectors funeral, and I will be doing the emotions of all the characters, though Andromaches will dominate the chapter.