A/N: I was going to do the funeral chapter all in one big chunk but I got writers block for Andromaches feelings. So it is going to be in two parts. Paris and Helen, then Andromache and the funeral. But as I haven't updated for so long, I thought I would give you something. So here goes, say goodbye to beloved Hector. sniff Well the first part at least. And the Gods will be in here. I just love the Gods so much; they are so cool and deserve more airtime after Wolfgang Peterson cheated them out of it in Troy. The italics are the Gods, Bold Italics are a flashback.

No sound echoed through the large hall, save for the light footfalls of a single person. You can tell a lot about a person by the way they carry themselves as they walk. A King walked with the air of authority and power. A warrior, with grace and eloquence, hand in hand with death. But this person... this cloaked person who stopped before the wooden steps... He walked with the air of pain and heartbreak.

Chocolaty brown orbs glanced up the smooth wooden stairs to the pyre above them. Paris gave a small sigh before taking the first step up them, each second getting closer to the only man he had ever loved. He dreaded looking to Hector, not wanting to see his dearest brother broken and dead. Even though he had witnessed it with his own eyes, a small part of Paris still wished that he had been fooled. Rather a fool than heartbroken.

Glimmers of happier times flashed before young Paris' eyes, making them wet with tears. So strange how one so full of life and usually so talkative could be so silent and lifeless when happiness was needed the most. Paris could not find any words to say, only tears to cry. How much he missed Hector. It hurt so much, that Paris could not bear it. It was as if someone had cut a part of him away and left it open to bleed. Hector had always been there, Paris could remember nothing else. Sweet lullabies of softly crooned words sounded in his mind, sung by a strong voice. No images came with this particular memory, yet Paris remembered it fondly. Every night Hector would come and sing to him. Paris was but a small infant, yet he remembered that.

As Paris reached the top, he had to clasp a hand over his mouth to stop screaming out with the pain and rage. His brother. Dead. Such pain stung him more than any he had ever known in his short life. And his life had been short, as Hectors had been. This should not have happened, and it was all his fault. Troy had lost its heir and Prince because of Paris' stupidity and need for everything he wanted.

'Paris you are such a spoilt little Prince! You do not know the hardship of loss or not having!'

He couldn't remember who had said those words to him but they stuck out in his mind now. They were right, whoever they were. He had always got what he wanted, and never had to deal with any of the consequences. All his life, whenever he had wanted, Hector had made sure that he had got it. Perhaps it was wrong of Paris to ask for everything, and perhaps Hector was wrong to give it all. He was a like a father to him, though Paris loved his own. But Priam favored Hector and that was never hidden from Paris. He knew it, just as clearly as he knew Hector would die for him. And he had.

"This shouldn't be." Paris whispered, leaning over his brother to place a kiss on his brow. Hector was still royal and noble, even in death his body was strong and proud. The young, fair Paris felt so much guilt at this moment, so much he wished he could take his own life and be laying there on the funeral pyre.

He hated Helen. He hated the woman he loved for her intoxicating beauty and the rapture he gave every time her body was close to his. She had enchanted him with her exquisite grace and made him want her so badly. So badly he had snuck he back to Troy. So badly that he has risked this war on Troy. The war that killed Hector. He had killed Hector, Paris realized with a choked sob.

And for a time, that was all there was in the golden hall. The broken sobs echoed around the walls hauntingly, even Hades feeling for the people of Troy.

"This is hard on the boy." Hades said, circling Paris. His dark eyes viewed the scene with the merest hint of compassion in his expression. He raised a long and slender hand to stop his companion from speaking for a moment. "Such is the circle of life and death. Aphrodite, you know I cannot change this. Even if I wished to, I simply cannot."

Aphrodite gave a sigh, nodding her fair head with grief. She was dying inside, slowly as Paris did. When he hurt, she hurt. She had foolishly thought that she could stop his pain, to fill his heart and mind with thoughts of Helen. Many said that the Goddess was in love with Paris. Perhaps they were true. She fought so hard for Paris and Helen, and Helen was such a likeness to herself... But it had not worked. Paris rejected her sweet embraces and shunned them for the cold grip of heartbreak. He hated Helen, and that broke Aphrodite's heart even more.

"I had wished you could, we both know this mans death should not be." Aphrodite whispered, her voice soft yet... broken. It was broken for Paris, for her fair Prince of Troy who knelt before his brother's body and sobbed. Hades turned to her, walking towards her with a sweep of his black cloak and coming to a stop a few steps in front of the Goddess.

"You care for this boy." he questioned, though there was no question about it. It was a statement, to which Aphrodite could only nod. "I had heard this. Yes, his time was not now, but this is the way it must be. War brings death. Prince or Peasant... Death cares not for titles. Death must be for life to continue. It is what life is created for. To end. These mortals are given death as a gift, and Hector made full use of it... For now, I must take my leave. Regards to Troy in this time."

And with that he was gone. Aphrodite was not long to follow, but for a short time, she stayed. She knelt beside Paris, enveloping him in her dark purple robes. He quietened a little, though he would not know why he did so. He would merely think the tears had dried up for now.

"Do you remember?" Paris asked Hector with the smallest of smiles as a memory came to mind. He did not know why it had, but it was an example of why he loved his brother so. "When we were young boys? And I stole Father's prize horse? I was so afraid... And you helped me. You always helped me."

"Hector! Hector!" The small cries of Paris echoed around the halls, followed by hurried little footsteps. Hector got up from his seat and walked out into the halls with a frown, looking up and down them. A small body slammed itself into him, wrapping themselves around his ankles. He looked down and found the little Paris attached to his legs. Tears stained his golden cheeks, and he was crying quietly.

"Paris, what is it?" Hector asked, bending down to scoop him up in his arms. Though Hector was only 6 years older than Paris and still young himself, he was a child no longer. While Paris was still scrawny and lithe, Hector was well defined and muscular. He practiced with the men, could ride the horses alone and could wield a sword as well any man in Troy.

"I...I..." Paris could not complete his sentence, he merely threw his small arms around Hectors neck and sobbed into his shoulder. Hector rubbed his back in a soothing manner, crooning soft words into his ear.

"It is alright, just tell me fair Prince." Hector smiled, knowing that this name always cheered Paris up. Even at a young age the girls loved him, and he loved to know that people loved him. He was quite proud of his looks, yet that was part of his charm.

"I stole Cirion." Paris confessed, scrunching up his eyes as he waited for Hectors harsh words about how Princes should behave and how this was a disappointment.

"What happened?" Hector sighed, walking into his room to set Paris down on the bed. He sat himself on a chair across from the bed, waiting for the young boy to explain.

"I w...went to the stables. The boys in the market, they were saying I could not ride him! And... and Adamai was there. She was laughing with them! So I went to the stables and got Cirion. I took him to the market boys, and then I got on him to show them that I can do it!"

Hector held back his laughter at little Paris' tale. Only Paris could be so foolish in his quest to impress the latest girl he liked.

"I did you know! I rode him, all by myself! But then one of the boys, they threw a rock. Cirion got scared and threw me off. I fell and hurt myself." Paris paused to hold out his cut palms and point to his scratched knees. "I do not know where he went, but he ran off and now Father will be so mad! Oh Hector, what am I going to do?" Paris paused once again, chewing his bottom lip in thought and then looked up to Hector.

"Do you love me brother? Would you fight for me?" Hector gave a sigh as he looked to Paris. Of course Paris knew the answer, and Hector knew why he asked.

"I will find Cirion for you Paris." Hector nodded, leaning over to kiss Paris' brow gently and then got to his feet. "Just stay out of trouble while I do." Paris smiled and hugged his brother tightly, catching even Hector off guard.

"I love you brother." Paris said, no lie in his voice as he looked up to Hector with a fondness only Hector could bring out in him. Hector smiled and ran a hand through Paris' hair, kissing him once more.

"I love you too, little Paris." he chuckled, and then walked out of the room to find the horse and save his brother, leaving Paris to gather himself.

Hector gave no answer, but Paris knew that his brother could hear him. Brushing a loose strand of hair from Hectors brow, Paris leant down to bestow a kiss upon it.

"I love you brother. More than I ever said." Paris managed to say, bringing a hand to the necklace that rested around his neck. It was not anything of major value, just a simple seashell chain. Paris had made it from the shells Hector collected for him on his trip to Thebe. It was not particularly good workmanship, but Paris wore it anyway, as a reminder of his brother's love.

"I will watch her for you. I will keep them safe, until my body is struck down." Paris promised, his eyes filled with Andromache and Astyanax. "I will follow in your steed as best I can." He gently placed the seashell necklace over Hectors hands, kissing Hectors fair brow for the last time. With a sigh, he turned away, getting up from his spot next to the beloved Prince of Troy.

"Be brave. Live. For me." He could hear in his ear, sure it was Hector. With a small smile, Paris nodded, pushing away what grief he felt. He had to be a Prince now. For them all. For Troy.

"I will Hector. I will."

Unknown to the young Prince of Troy, he was not alone. Yes the Gods may have been there with him as a presence he could only feel, but there was another. A slender figure, cloaked in black robes of the most beautiful silks watched as Paris turned away from his brother and walked down the steps. No movement came from the person until Paris was gone from the hall, his footsteps dying down to an echo.

Once the person was sure there was no more trace of Paris to be seen, they stepped out from the dark shadows, into the light. A perfect and flawless hand was brought to their hood, pulling it back and revealing such wondrous beauty that it seemed unfair the mortals could gaze upon it. Lady Helen stopped before the steps of the funeral pyre, looking to the smooth wood with clear blue eyes of precious crystal. One might wonder what such a being was doing in this dark hall. A flawless beauty such as hers should be in the light, worshipped by all. But Helen knew what she was doing here. All too well fair Helen knew why she was here in this death filled hall instead of in her large and luxurious room where she should be. Because Paris was here. A small look of disgust crossed her perfect complexion as that name came to her mind. Not that she did not love Paris, for she did. Helen loved many fine things, and Paris was her finest. He awed her, worshipped her like the Goddess he believed her to be. To him she was more than a pretty trinket, unlike that fool Menelaus. He had not treated her with the wonder that Paris did. And he was a beauty to match hers.

But he was so foolish and young. She had offered him comfort and sweet words in this time, yet he had rejected her. She would awake and find her bed cold only to hear the sounds of Paris outside with his bow and arrows. Could he not see that Hector was dead and gone? He should be turning to her, giving her all he had. But no. He stayed in the cold with thoughts of grief and sorrow. Mourning did no good, yet he continued to do it. Helen hurt too, but he did not see that. All he cared about was the man who was lying dead on this cold wooden pyre, ready to be burnt the next morning.

Helen had watched Paris leave tonight. He said nothing, as always, and walked out of the room. She had risen to her feet and followed after him silently, watching as Paris mourned over his dead brother's body. In that second, when Paris was recounting a tale of his youth, Helen realized that no peace would come to her until she also confronted the dead Hector.

So she walked up the steps that Paris had just walked down, stopping in the same spot as him and bending down to kneel beside the body of Hector. She brought a hand to his forehead, trailing her fingers across the tanned skin. A small glimpse of creamy white caught her eyes and drew her gaze down to the necklace Paris had left there.

"He loves you," she whispered in her soft and light voice, picking up the seashell chain and holding it within her palm. "And it is a love I cannot compare with, no matter how much I try." Helen looked to the necklace in her hand, something unexpected occurring. A tear fell from her eyes, splashing against the shells and covering them with salty water. She had not even realized that tears had been brimming in her eyes, and she brought a hand to her face to wipe them away with a slight look of surprise.

Helen smiled softly as she replaced the necklace where her beloved had left it, looking to Hector in silence. All this time she had been thinking about herself, and how badly she felt, that she had not considered what pain it was to lose someone so dear to her. And she knew now, for she had lost a small part of Paris when Hector died. His love for his brother was so strong, so bright that even in death it still shone.

She was right, Paris and Hectors love was something that no-one could compare to, and she did not want to anymore. War had hardened the people, even herself. She came to Troy like a polished gem, smooth and sparkling yet all this fighting had hardened her and left her cold like a roughly cut diamond.

"You are a true Prince." Helen said to Hector, kissing her fingers then placing them over his lips. "I thank you. For loving him as you did. I know it will make him strong." She stayed there a moment more, gazing upon Hector. He was fair too, though perhaps not beautiful like Paris was. But noble and strong, a handsome man, even when death had claimed his body. "Andromache is a lucky woman to have had your love."

And then she left, sliding away gracefully and leaving no clue of her being there but the faint smell of lilies that accompanied Fair Helen wherever she went.