A/N: Is it horrible of me to say that the last chapter was really fun to write? Ah, what can I say; drama becomes me. At any rate, this chapter was pretty fun, too, but in a different way.

I'll shut up now and let you read.

Chapter Ten
Condemned
o0o

The mere thought of her rooms was confining and constraining, and so she walked into the gardens at the same fast, furious pace she had when she left the audience chamber. At one point, she turned a corner and found Metis. The girl looked about ready to speak, but Andromache held a hand up to stop her and continued on to the gardens; she did not have the patience, nor effort, to speak to anyone, let alone someone who would wish to show concern: it was far easier to be angry than to let the fear and grief take hold.

She was in the very back of the garden, pacing furiously, when he found her. Her head jerked up and saw him, and she shook her head with a sigh. Hector looked as if it was difficult to not succumb to a fit of anger. Andromache could not, despite this, bring herself to fear him: it was Hector, how could she fear him, even if he was angry?

She did not, however, acknowledge any of this. She simply whirled around and walked a few steps in the opposite direction.

"You agreed to them," he said, sounding furious. "You agreed to those terms!"

Andromache whirled around. "I had no choice, Hector!" she snapped. "What was I to do? Demand that he give me all of my freedoms? Had I not agreed to those terms, the betrothal would have been broken, and Mytilene would have declared war before their prince had even left our city!"

"Perhaps it would be best if the betrothal was broken!"

"Tell me, oh mighty Prince of Troy," she snarled, trembling in fury, "what should I have done? Thebe cannot survive a war with Mytilene!"

"I have spoken with your brother." Anger like she had never seen from him before seemed to radiate from him, and it made her want to sob even as she wanted to scream at him. "Thebe's army is not so weak as you make it out to be."

"If we declare war on Mytilene, we will not survive, and would you like to know why? Because Mytilene has wanted to destroy us ever since Queen Ophelia's time!" Andromache was beyond furious; her voice was loud enough that the only thing that kept their argument from reaching everyone else's ears was that they were so far into the gardens. "When she, a woman, helped King Obelix to defeat them, they were humiliated! Matters did not benefit from the fact that Obelix himself killed the heir to the Mytilian throne! They swore vengeance on us years ago! This is not a contest of wills, Prince of Troy! To the Mytilians, this is honor!"

"Damn honor!" Hector roared, and it was enough to make Andromache's mouth clamp shut. It was then that she realized that she needed to scream and yell at him, because that was the only thing keeping the tears at bay. Somehow, she managed to push them away, though it took an effort of will that she did not know she possessed. He looked at her, then with an angry sound shoved his fingers through his unruly curls.

"At this moment," she said, voice trembling, "I am the only thing that is standing between Thebe and utter devastation." Hector turned back to her; his anger seemed to be gone now. Andromache began to lose her battle with her tears as she said, "And I am a very weak defense."

Hector came over to her, cupping her face gently as the tears began to fall. He wiped them away with his thumbs, and her eyes slid closed. She crumpled as he gathered her to him, and shamelessly sobbed into his chest.

He let her cry, smoothing her hair and making no attempts to shush her or soothe her with false words and empty promises. She appreciated it more than words could tell, she simply didn't know how to convey it to him. Eventually her tears began to slow, and he pressed his lips to her temple.

"I am not angry with you, love," he murmured. "I am angry with what you have been forced to. I am angry that you are not receiving what you deserve."

"Please don't be angry on my behalf." She looked up at him with a slight sniffle. "There is enough anger on my behalf to last me several lifetimes."

He kissed her then, and it made her blood pound in her veins furiously, her breath come up short in her lungs, and her bones melt. Just when she thought that she would lose her mind, he pulled away and led her over to the wall, where he sat, leaning his back against the stone. She sat next to him, and he pulled her to him, encircling her protectively.

Andromache didn't let herself think. She simply sat there, feeling safe for one of the last times in her life. She did not want to think about the next two days, the last she would spend in Thebe. She did not want to think of what would happen as soon as she was outside the protection of her home and family. A few more tears slipped from under her eyelids, and she sniffled and gave a watery laugh. "Your clothing will be very wet," she warned.

"Pay it no mind," he murmured. They sat in silence for a few moments more, then he said hesitantly, "Andromache…"

When he didn't continue, she lifted her head and looked at him. "What is it?"

"I am trying to find the words," he explained, and she smiled and laid her head back on his chest.

"Say anything you like to me," she told him.

"Andromache, were I to ensure the safety of Thebe…"

"Yes?"

"Would you end the betrothal?"

Andromache smiled, but did not move herself. Rather, she said without hesitation, "In an instant, and I would never look back." She clutched at the cotton covering his chest with one delicate fist, and he covered her hand with his own.

"Perhaps you should return," he commented after a few more moments.

"No," she said quietly. "Please, let's stay a bit longer." After an instant's hesitation, she added, "I don't think I can face them."

In response to this, he wrapped his arms about her tighter and pressed his lips to her hair. "When I was younger," she murmured, her eyes growing heavy, "and my brothers were still young enough to play, we would pretend that I had to be rescued from… oh, from various things. Many of them were not far from what is facing us now. I never realized what the repercussions would truly be."

"Which is as it should be," Hector pointed out. "Children should be protected from the folly that is adulthood."

"I would hardly call it folly. As a whole, at least. Though adults are more likely to commit such less-than-intelligent acts."

They lapsed into silence again as Andromache struggled to keep herself awake. She lost the battle fairly quickly, and was asleep within moments.

o0o

When Andromache opened her eyes, it was dawn, and she was in her own bed. She laid there for several moments, watching the new sunlight as it played over the floor, slowly making its way across her room. Then she heaved a sigh and sat up, staring around her room for another moment or so, before climbing to her feet and bathing herself in a bath that Metis had already prepared for her.

The morning was late when she finally emerged from her rooms, clothed in plain white cotton. She was completely unadorned, though she was still pink from scrubbing; this day, she simply wanted to hide. She wandered into the gardens more out of habit than by choice, and was more than a little surprised when her niece nearly bowled her over.

"Where were you?" Nerissa demanded. "You said you would be at the festival last night."

"I am sorry, Nerissa," she said quietly. "I fell asleep, I never meant to miss it."

The girl glared at her and said, "It's all right. Mother is waiting for me, so I have to go, but you still have to make it up to me."

"I will try." The girl was running back to the palace, where Callidora stood waiting, before Andromache had finished saying the words. In truth, she wasn't sure if she was the proper person for the children to be spending time with, and thus it was with very little regret that she watched her niece go.

Within moments, she had slipped out the side entrance and was on the hilltop she had taken Hector to, before she had known who he was, before she had found herself in her situation. She sighed and settled herself on the grass, watching her city as its people slowly awoke, unaware that their very lives were in jeopardy.

She sighed and plucked a blade of grass, tying it in knots along its length. When she tied as many evenly-spaced knots as the length would allow, she set it in her lap and plucked another blade, giving it the same treatment and then tying it to the end of the other. When she had finished making the circle, she placed it delicately on her head, settling it over the veil as she had when she was a child. She reached out to begin making another one.

"I've been looking for you."

She looked up, and there stood Hector. Andromache smiled and gestured for him to sit beside her, which he did. "Have you, indeed?" she asked, her voice quiet. "I am honored."

He chuckled slightly, then reached up to brush the veil away from her face. "How are you?"

She sighed and looked back up at the city, watching as it slowly came alive. "Well enough," she murmured after a moment, looking back to the knotted blades of grass in her lap. "I never meant to cause such an uproar yesterday."

"You can hardly expect me to believe that you ever would intend such a thing," he commented.

They lapsed into silence. Andromache continued her knotting, a steady, continuous pattern that reassured her in its monotony. Cross, through, tighten. Cross, through, tighten. "Was it shameful of me?" she asked quietly, pausing in her movements.

"Was what shameful?" he murmured, toying with one of her curls.

Andromache turned to look at him. "I announced to the world that I am deficient, Hector," she said bluntly. "Women such as myself are often put to death for insolence, for all we never intend to be insolent, or relegated to the ranks of mistresses and whores."

His expression was slightly grieved, but also said that he strongly denied what she had said. "I am not completely naïve, Hector," she pointed out.

Hector sighed, adopting a rather grim expression and putting a hand to her hair. "You are not deficient," he said, quietly vehement. "What happened yesterday…" He shook his head and looked away, then returned his gaze to her. "If I could change it all for you, I would. You know that?"

"In some ways, yes," she answered, smiling sadly. "Though the timing in inconvenient for us both."

He laughed then, and said, "Indeed."

Yet another silence passed over them, and Andromache looked out over the city once more. "It is hardly a personal choice," she said quietly. "I have always, to some extent, wanted a family, and I have always gotten along well with children. Do they honestly think that I want to be like this? That it is intentional? The role of a woman is simple in theory: be silent and attractive, faithful to your husband, subservient to all men, and produce heirs. But has any man ever attempted this? We watch as the men in our lives run off to war, leaving us to wonder if they will return, for if they do not, they signal our doom. A woman may not rely on herself, but on the men in her life. Should those men not return, she is lost. We sit silently as we endure suppression and mistreatment. We hide any intelligence, for fear of dishonoring our men in some way. We watch as our husbands find their way into other women's beds. Yes, the role of a woman is simple, in theory. But how often is theory relevant to practicality?"

Andromache cast him a glance and an embarrassed smile. "I apologize," she murmured. "I should not have spoken so."

"No, I prefer your honesty," Hector replied.

"I speak not for myself, naturally, but for all women." She gave a wry smirk. "Clearly I have not watched my husband find his way to other women's beds, since I am not married as of yet."

"But your betrothed-"

"Let us not speak of it," she said, more like a request than a statement.

"Of course."

She hesitated for a moment, then asked, "Would I be subject to the same punishments in Troy that I will in Mytilene?"

"Never," he said passionately, and Andromache thought she heard a trace of anger in his words. "Never would you be faced with such severe injustices."

Andromache smiled. "That is a reassuring thought. The gods smile on the future princesses of Troy, Cloris and whoever your brother may marry."

"Indeed," he replied, and his voice was inscrutable.

She leaned forward and plucked a wildflower. It was white and small but long and delicate. Andromache simply looked at it for a moment, gently brushing her finger against the silkiness of each petal. Then she gathered the grass wreathes gently and stood, and Hector stood with her. "I have two days remaining in my home," she commented. "I should like to spend at least one with my family." Andromache took his hand and placed the flower in the center of his large palm. "For you," she murmured. She cupped his cheek in her other hand and, feeling bold, gently pressed her lips to his.

"Thank you," she said quietly when she pulled away. "For everything."

She started to turn, but he grabbed her arm. "I do not believe this is goodbye yet, Andromache," he said quietly, and she smiled.

"No," she agreed. "We still have tomorrow."

o0o

"Chase! Chase, chase, chase, chase!"

Andreas remembered the game his aunt had taught him perfectly, and wanted desperately for her to play with him. She sighed heavily and said teasingly, "Oh, very well, Andreas. Would you like to be the marker, or shall I?"

"Chase!"

"You, then, I would assume." She got to her feet and said, "Is everyone playing?"

The resulting clamor was humorous as five children jumped to their feet and began pleading that they be allowed to play, as well. Alexander's oldest two stood also, albeit more sedately, willing to play such childish games for sake of their aunt.

It had made her want to cry, the fact that her oldest niece and nephew were old enough to understand what had taken place at the meeting the day before. But she forced it away and laughed at the eagerness of the younger children, and said, "Very well then! Andreas is our marker, is everyone ready?"

The unanimous "Yes!" was resounding, inducing Andromache to laugh again. "Then, go!"

There was a volley of delighted shrieks as all eight players each ran in different directions. Andromache's brothers, as well as their wives, watched from the side, Cohn's young wife cradling their newborn daughter gently. As Andreas caught his "victims," they fell to the ground in exaggerated fashions, wailing at their defeat.

"No!" cried Alexander's oldest daughter in mock anguish, who had thirteen years to her name and was a stage player at heart. "He has defeated me!"

Andreas' next target was his aunt, who "fell" easily. She simply stopped, stared at him for a moment, then dropped to the ground in a dead "faint." Andreas giggled in the insane way that young children do and dashed away to find his next victim.

Andromache rolled to her side, propping her head on her hand and her elbow in the grass. "Really, the lack of concern is galling," she said with an exaggerated sigh.

"Perhaps you should be relieved that he is not playing the game in the proper manner," Erastus suggested, and Andromache leveled a light glare at him.

"We," she informed him, "do not play the game as you barbarians do."

"We have told you," Demos reminded her, "that it is a training tool, not a game."

"And how many times was I the one to ensure you did not get an infection from the wounds caused by this 'training tool?'"

"It is not meant to be easy, sister," Cohn teased, taking his daughter from his wife.

"Barbarians," she shot at them.

"Weakling."

"Brutes."

"Weedling."

"Unintelligent thugs," she countered, then added. "'Weedling,' isn't a word."

"It is now."

Andromache was about to answer when Alexander's youngest, a four-year-old girl named Aure, bowled into her. She cried out in surprise as her brothers all laughed.

Sitting beside her husband, Megara had held a perpetual slight frown throughout the day, and Erastus was beginning to grow concerned. "Tell me, love," he said quietly so only she could hear, "what is it that troubles you?"

Megara scowled, looking down at her hands. "I do not understand," she said harshly, but quietly, "why every man from here to Greece was invited to watch your sister be verbally lashed by that rat of a prince and his rat ambassadors."

Erastus sighed as he watched Andromache struggle against five young children, all tickling her mercilessly. She let out a shriek and gasped out to her brothers, many of whom were still laughing, "This is not amusing!"

"It was Andromache's idea, love," he murmured, in no mood for laughing at the moment. "She wanted to gain their respect by announcing it to everyone at once. Not only this, but she has managed to find the only way to cut gossip in half."

"There was no need," Megara grated out, clenching her fists, "for the blasted envoys from Lampsacus and Troy to be there."

"Ask Andromache why they were in attendance," he said dryly. "It was by her request." He took his wife's hand, gently unclenching her fist. "Come now, she only has two days left with us. Let us at least pretend to be happy. For her."

Andromache had absolutely no knowledge of this as it took place: she was too busy struggling to breathe as her nieces and nephew piled on top of her without remorse. "I surrender!" she cried, very near to suffocating thanks to her laughter. "I surrender, let me breathe!"

The children relented, though it took some coaxing to get the younger ones off. She giggled a little, then flopped back. "I do believe that I am finished, my friends," she said rather breathlessly. She sat back up and stood. "I am going to go speak with your parents for now. Continue playing if you will."

As Andromache made her way over to where her siblings sat, she her Andreas yell, "Chase!" and the replying shrieks as the other children ran from him.

"Andromache, dearest, I do believe you have been bested," Demos teased.

She let out a short laugh and said, "I would like to see you pit yourself against seven children, five of which are completely merciless, and come out unscathed."

"You see, sister, we have the knowledge to not enter such a contest. No one would come out of that unscathed."

"And you call me the weakling," she muttered good-humouredly. "Cowards."

"We prefer the term 'cautious,' to 'cowardly,'" Talos said, ruffling her hair.

"Many cowards do," she said brightly.

"Excuse me, Princess?"

They all turned to see a servant standing a few yards away. "The King would like to see you, Princess," he said softly.

Andromache stood and nodded. "Excuse me," she said to her family, following the servant into the palace. Her father was waiting for her on a pavilion, and her mother was with him. the servant gestured for her to step out onto the marquee, and she nodded her thanks as she stepped out to greet her father.

"Andromache," Eetion said in greeting, smiling as he enfolded his daughter in a hug. "Come, sit with us."

Andromache followed her father to where Anatola sat, placing herself across from her parents. "How are you this morning, dearest?" Anatola asked as Andromache reached for a cup that was filled with water.

"Well enough, all permitting," she answered nonchalantly, as if nothing drastic had happened.

"Andromache…"

It was clear that her father was having some difficulty articulating his thoughts, and so she said, "You wish to speak to me about yesterday?"

"We do," Anatola replied. "But before you state yourself, I have a question."

"I may have an answer."

"Why so many people, Andromache?" Anatola asked, reaching for her daughter's hand. Andromache took it; her mother's fingers were icy. "Why did you let them all come?"

She sighed. "I did not expect many to understand. In fact, I believe many of my brothers are angry with me for it. My initial goal had been to establish myself as a person worth reckoning. Should something go wrong, I would like for the world to see us as a strong nation, however militarily weak we may be." She did not add her second reason for the presence of the Trojan envoy.

She had thought long and hard on the subject of inviting the foreign emissaries to the meeting, and in the end had allowed a personal choice to rule her decision: in some odd way, she owed it to Hector. Or, at least, that was her view. She had questioned herself over and over on the wisdom of the decision; why on earth would she owe Hector such an explanation?

She never found an answer to her question, and out of fear of that answer could have been, did not dwell on it longer. She extended the invitation to the Trojans and, to be fair, the emissaries from Lampsacus. She did not dare think on it longer.

"A noble thought," Eetion told her. "But why? Why did you accept it?"

"I did what I had to do," she said, her voice gentle but firm.

"We could have let him declare war, Andromache," Eetion said.

She shook her head. "Not in good conscience. Even if we could have withstood a war with Mytilene, the cost would be too great." She gently set the cup back on the stone table and folded her hands in her lap. "I refuse to let my people suffer while there is still something I might do to prevent it," she said evenly.

Anatola leaned backward to rest on the back of her chair, admitting defeat. Eetion sighed and looked at his lap. "Very well," he said grimly, looking back up at her. "But I want you to come to me should anything, anything, alter your decision. If there is a way you will change your mind and save yourself from this, I will do all that I can to ensure that Thebe remains the home you will die to protect."

Andromache smiled and took her father's hand. "Should anything bring my determination to question, I will inform you," she promised. Then she kissed her parents goodbye and left for her chambers.

She had lied. Her determination had been brought to question days ago, before everything had taken such a drastic turn for the worse. But such was the price she paid for falling for the Prince of Troy.