A/N: This took forever not because of school, but because I'm currently suffering from a six-day-long migraine headache. So if this chapter's a bit off, you know why, lol. But also, because of my headache, the next chapter may take even longer, because it's a big one - big turning point - and I want to do it right. It's hard to do that with a migraine. So be prepared for a bit of a wait; hopefully I'll make it worth your time!

Chapter Twelve
Goodbye and Deliverance
o0o

The gray light of false dawn blanketed Thebe when Andromache stepped into the square. An entire assembly was gathered to see her off, and in truth it was rather intimidating. The whole affair was difficult enough, she did not want it to take place under the eyes of every human being in the palace. She wore black linen and safely inconspicuous jewelry; anything that could have traced its roots to Thebe was tucked safely away.

All seven of her brothers stood in a line, their respective wives standing with them, and their children were still abed, at Andromache's request. Cloris and Paris stood with their respective envoys; their presence was, as far as the world knew, purely ceremonial, but both guests knew what was waiting for the only Princess of Thebe when she left her home.

Hector was no where to be seen, which she had expected. "I doubt my ability to stand there peacefully and not strike him down were he stands," he had told her earlier that morning, and she had believed him.

Secretly, however, she knew it would be easier to leave if she did not see him standing there, wanting her to stay.

She said her formal goodbyes to her father's advisors, all of whom were glowering fiercely at the Mytilian envoy, and then went and said goodbye to her guests. Paris did not speak, outside of wishing her a full and happy life, and Andromache could see that he liked this about as much as her brothers did. Had the situation not been so serious, it would have been amusing: young Paris of Troy, infamous for his womanizing ways, being found in a brotherly state of severe resentment over the princess that was nearly two years older than him and from another nation.

Cloris, however, was in tears. "It isn't fair," the younger girl said quietly.

"Very few things are."

"Everything has worked out for me," she protested. "Why can it not work out for you as well?"

Andromache forced a smile, hoping to appear calm. "We must take what the gods give us," she said, though she had never truly believed those words herself. "Othello has always been my rashest brother. Keep him in line for me."

Cloris nodded, and Andromache went to say goodbye to her brothers. They were all very steadfast about the situation: never once did they mention their loathing for her betrothed, nor their anger at the whole of Mytilene for dragging her away.

Not even their cooperation, however, made it easier to bear. It became more and more difficult to hold up appearances as she proceeded down the line; when she came to Erastus, who was last, it was very difficult to maintain her brave front, which become a more of a lie as the seconds passed.

She forced a smile for him, grabbing his hands. "Look after them all for me," she said. "I can't play mother anymore."

"Oh, you can play mother," he said, doing his best to tease her. His ploy didn't entirely work, and they were left with the mournful, forced humor that it typical of such solemn situations. "You simply can't play it as well as before."

"Don't poke fun," she admonished gently. Andromache hugged her brother fiercely. "This is for you, and for Thebe," she said so that only he could hear. "Protect her for me."

"Always."

She forced another smile for him and moved to say her farewells to her parents. Her mother was as staunchly avoiding tears as Andromache herself, and her father looked severely aggrieved. Their goodbyes were quiet and simple, and before she knew it her goodbyes were over, and there was nothing between her and departure.

She faced Corydon and his ambassadors calmly, and they looked back at her in much the same manner. Corydon gestured to a sedan chair, the sides of which had red silk curtains to hide her from curious eyes, particularly those belonging to men with less honorable intentions. She lifted her chin slightly, determined to not create any sort of scene, and took a step towards the sedan.

"Andromache!"

She whirled around, her heart leaping into her throat at the panicked tone in the young girl's voice. Eleni, with Lander not a step behind her, came barreling down the steps, tears on her cheeks and her dark hair flying out behind her. Immediately Andromache opened her arms to them, and the both of them combined nearly knocked her over.

She sighed heavily as she hugged them both. "It's all right," she said quietly.

"No it isn't," Lander said, stepping back and glaring at Corydon furiously. Eleni simply hugged her aunt tighter.

"Yes, Lander, it is," Andromache insisted, gently taking the young man's chin in her hand and forcing him to look at her. "I chose this."

"But-"

"I never spent enough time with either of you, and now it's too late," she said quietly. "But I have a task for you."

"Anything," Eleni said with a thick voice, pulling away and wiping her eyes. Lander nodded in agreement.

"Look after your cousins for me. Make sure your father and your uncles smile. Be courteous to our guests for me for the remainder of their stay. Can you do those things for me?"

Both nodded, and she hugged them once more before turning to leave once more.

"Wait!" Lander said, grabbing her hand. "Wait. I'm sorry, for yesterday-"

"Think nothing of it." She smiled and squeezed his hand. "I'm sure you will make us all very proud." Then she turned to Eleni, who had managed to gain control of her tears, even if it was only scarcely. "And you, my dear, will be one of the greatest princesses Thebe has ever seen, I'm sure." She gripped one of Eleni's hands in one of her own, and one of Lander's in her other, and said, "Look after everyone for me. I expect you to take my place. You are the only ones old enough to understand."

Lander looked away with an abrupt, angry nod of agreement, and his sister nodded in a much saddened manner. Andromache kissed them both, then turned and went to where Corydon stood waiting for her. He helped her into the sedan, a perfunctory, obligatory gesture, and she arranged herself with a delicate pride that she had resolved herself to. Corydon himself reached over her, without a word, and lowered the red silk hangings.

Instantly her view of her family and court was obscured, and the falling of the gossamer material seemed to hold a sense of finality. With a lurch that made Andromache cling to the side of the sedan, the Mytilian slaves raised the seat and began walking forward.

o0o

As soon as she became used to the motion of the sedan, Andromache had let herself sleep, and when she awoke at midday, they were halfway to Antandrus, from which they would depart by sea to the island of Lesbos, on which Mytilene was located. Mytilian control extended over more than simply the island of Lesbos, however; this she knew from historical and political lessons from her father and brothers.

During the war between Thebe and Adramytium, called by Thebans the Trade Disputes, Antandrus had fallen victim to raids from Adramytium, who had been in desperate need for supplies. When Adramytium was forced to retreat and begin peace arrangements, they left Antandrus a weak nation, susceptible to attack, and Mytilene had taken advantage. Antandrus was soon under Mytilian control, and Adramytium had made alliances with the belligerent Mytilians out of fear as they made alliances with Thebe to prevent further war.

Andromache knew this well, and she also knew a few - though hardly enough to get by - of Mytilene's customs and practices. She had begun to question her knowledge, given that she had never had any idea of the child-bearing law. When she heard the chinking of chains and the occasional crack of a whip, however, her stomach sank: perhaps she had not been wrong about all of the practices, after all.

The fields of wheat were still in places, for the day was windless, but where it was not still it was being harvested by slaves. There were long strings of them, many of whom were joined by chains attached to collars around the necks. The sun had burned them, severely in many cases, and well nigh all of them were dehydrated. The over keepers, with their red robes and skins of water, held whips in their hands and had blades at their waists, and all were on horses, giving them the advantage of height as well. One of them raised his whip and struck a man in the back: the slave winced, but did not pause in his movements, and Andromache flung herself back in horror.

Such treatment was acceptable? The very idea was horrendous, and made her innards twist with fury. Slaves or not, they were still human beings! She snatched up one of the pillows that cushioned the her sedan and began twisting the silk with a viciousness to rival any warrior. She could hardly bring herself to care for the delicate material's ruin: it was Mytilian silk, and she, despite her marriage to the Mytilian Prince, would never be a Mytilian.

It was not long before they lurched to a stop, and Andromache was nearly thrown into the wooden end of the sedan as she was flung forward. The sedan was lowered, and she flung the curtains aside and was out before anyone had the chance to offer her aid.

Corydon saw the look on her face and smirked in amusement. "How are you, my dear? Well, I trust?"

Her goodbye to Hector, leaving her home and family, the slaves, it all built into one single emotion until she could hardly find what to do with it. Andromache marched over to where Corydon stood and slammed the now-ruined pillow into his chest as hard as she could.

"I am not well, and more than likely will not be well until I'm dead," she hissed dangerously. "Nor am I your dear, as we both well know. I do not want to be here, and you do not want me to be here, so let us simply stop to rest the servants and continue on with our little play-act, shall we?"

He smirked at her again. "Bold words from a weak princess."

"The last time you said those words to me, I told you that not even the gods would save you from me should you hurt my country, my family, or my people," she said, glaring at him with a sort of noble, proud anger. "Those words still hold true, Prince of Mytilene."

Corydon merely smirked at her, for he knew the truths of the matter just as well as she: Andromache had no power anymore. What power should could have would be given to her by Corydon, and she was sure that he would give her absolutely none, and then take away what little she had left.

This did not, however, diminish her staunch defense of her home and people. If anything, she it only strengthened her resolve: she had nothing left but her dignity, but by the gods she would ensure that Thebe and her loved ones had more than blasted dignity, or else the gods themselves would pay. And so, when her gaze did not lessen in its infuriated pride and defense, Corydon's face darkened.

He reached out and grabbed her wrist, gripping viciously; Andromache swore that her bones touched each other, but she refused to show pain. "Listen to me, Princess," he hissed at her quietly. "You no longer have those fools you have for brothers to protect you, nor that imbecile of a father to defend you. You are mine now, and will behave appropriately."

"So long as you do the same in return," she said between clenched teeth.

Corydon flung her away, directly into the armored chest of a soldier who had been standing behind her. "To Antandrus!" he snarled, and immediately the convoy prepared to leave.

Andromache was taken to the sedan and placed in it, the curtains drawn to hide her from the world, and the world from her. Even then, however, she refused to let the tears fall, and simply snatched up another pillow and attacked its silk coverings just as she had the first pillow.

Perhaps she could not attack the Prince of Mytilene, but she could victimize the pillows all she wanted.

o0o

The sun was setting as they reached Antandrus. There were no walls around the city: the largest structure was the small palace in the center, which was the place Andromache was taken to directly. Her fury having subsided, for the greatest part, she allowed Corydon to help her out. Immediately she was passed to another soldier.

"Take her to the women's quarters. I must deliver the commands to the men stationed at

Adramytium," Corydon said.

"Yes, my lord," the soldier said, and immediately he began dragging Andromache up the wide, tall steps. Roughly halfway up, there was a young girl on her knees, brushing the dirt off the stones. She was about ten, and very clearly a slave, and she looked up at Andromache, the Theban princess very nearly cried out: the little salve girl, abused and undernourished, looked very similar to little Nerissa.

Shaken to the core, Andromache didn't fight in the least as she was taken to the women's chambers and pushed into a room. It was plain, with high-set windows and simplistic furnishings; there was absolutely nothing extravagant about it.

At that moment, Andromache couldn't find it in her to care. She was upset, shaken, angry, and tired, and wanted nothing more than to curl up and sleep forever. Better yet, go to sleep, wake up, and realize that the whole affair was one very long nightmare.

But if had been a nightmare, or even a dream, would you have met Hector? a hauntingly beautiful voice whispered in the back of her mind. It was an odd voice, a female one that she had never heard before, and it was as frightening as it was beautiful. Andromache pushed the thought away and, after taking off her sandals, crawled onto the neat, tidy little bed and fell dead asleep.

o0o

When she awoke, it was dark out; Andromache suspected that it was very early morning. She rolled over, hoping for sleep to return, but when it did not come, she sighed and sat up.

The room was very plain; simplistic. It was almost quaint, in some ways, with its sparse furnishings and white cotton sheets. The wood of the furniture was plain, and rather rough, and the bowl and pitcher, both made of clay, looked as if they had each seen better days. The whole thing was neat, and while it may not have been extravagant, the attention to detail placement-wise was something very few people could appreciate. Andromache, being very particular about everything she owned having its own place and order, was one of those who could value it.

She stood, feeling oddly calm, and went over to the armoire, opening it to find several different dresses, all made of the same gauzy cotton material. Leaving the dresser open, she removed her black clothing gave herself a quick sponge bath before slipping into a royal blue dress and pinning the matching cotton veil to her hair. That completed, closed the armoire doors and folded her black dress, then placed it gently on the bed, which she had already made.

Andromache padded silently to the entrance, not bothering with her sandals, and tugged open the heavy door. A guard standing on the other side instantly straightened to peer at her cautiously. "I only wish to pray," she said quietly.

Oddly, the guard smiled at her. "Remain out of sight and stay quiet. Should the others discover you, we will both find ourselves in trouble."

She frowned at him, confused, but he gestured her on. "The temples are within the palace, which is convenient for us both. That way."

"Thank you," she replied, heading in the direction he had indicated and more confused than ever.

She put the encounter from her mind and wandered the breezy corridor vacantly, feeling oddly detached from everything surrounding her. She found the temples easily: the entrances were in one large, rectangular chamber, and each doorway led to a small shrine dedicated to each of the twelve ruling gods and goddesses; hardly appropriate, but the gods would have their vengeance one way or another.

Andromache found the temple dedicated to Athena and entered silently. There were no priestess, which was odd, but she wasn't about to complain; she wanted her privacy. Andromache went directly to where the statue of the goddess stood and stared serenely up at it.

Some part of her questioned the gods' sanity at times - after all, what sane being, god or no, would so torment the beings they guided? To Andromache, the relationship was very much like a parent-child relationship, and so the gods' cruelty perplexed her to no end.

There was a loud shout from the outer chamber, and she turned to see figures running - no, sprinting - past the entrance. She bit her lip and slowly made her way back toward the entrance, keeping to the shadows as they ran and shouted to each other. They all were men, and all wore armor; an attack, perhaps? She didn't know, and didn't care to fine out.

Andromache reached out and unhooked the hanging of thin burgundy cotton that covered the doorway to the temple. As soon as it appeared to be safe to move the curtain without the risk of drawing attention to herself, she lowered the hanging, then turned in the now-dimmed light and returned to where the altar stood, kneeling before it and staring up at the statue.

It was not long before the sounds of battle were heard in the distance, but she ignored them - only the guard, who had seemed kind, knew she was at the temple, and she couldn't not bring herself to care over any immediate danger.

I realize I am not the most faithful of subject, she said inwardly to the goddess with the hopes that Athena would hear her mental prayer. And I realize that I often question your ways, and the ways of your peers. But now I say that my faith will not be shaken should you deliver me from my plight. I know that only the faithless make such promises in order for prayers to be granted, but we both know that I have always attempted to never do such a thing. I ask you now to save me from my fate that I myself have crafted: only Athena, goddess of wisdom and justice, as well as war, has the ability to pull me from the depths without creating more havoc.

There were battle sounds from the outer chamber, and Andromache let her eyes slide closed, refusing to turn, let alone to run. Come to my aid, as you came to my ancestor's. As Ophelia needed you, so I need you-

The sound of an armored body hitting the stone floor caused her to whip around with a frightened gasp, her hands flying out to steady herself. Two men in armor she had never seen before were at the entrance, and one of them was dragging an unconscious man away. They certainly were not Theban, but then, she had not seen the armor of any cities other than Thebe, Mytilene, and now Antandrus, which was a variant of Mytilian armor.

A tinge of fear ignited, and Andromache slid herself away slightly, putting more space between herself and the two men. One of them held out a hand, as if to stop her.

"Princess!"

The affect was instantaneous: Andromache jumped to her feet, crying, "No!" as the two armored men jerked the friendly guard from earlier into the temple, holding a knife to his throat.

"Tell us why we shouldn't kill you right here, in this temple," one of the men hissed, causing Andromache to nearly faint.

"Cohn?"

The man jerked around to face her as the other looked up at her. The first removed his helmet and grinned at her rather sheepishly. "I'd forgotten you wouldn't recognize this," he said, gesturing to his strange armor.

Andromache didn't know what to think as the other man awkwardly removed his helmet, revealing himself to be Erastus. She had to sit, and her rump hit the stone hard. "Let him go," she said weakly.

"What?"

"He means no harm. In fact," she swallowed, attempting to regain her equilibrium, and turned to the guard, who had been released and was rubbing his throat, glaring at her brothers. "You may join us. You have no love for these people, and you were kind to me when I needed it most. We will protect you in Thebe."

The man bowed to her elegantly. "Mytilene is currently under the rule of cowards. Soon, however, it will not be. I would like to be there to watch the change. But know that Thebe will be one of the first cities to receive our allegiance was the change it made."

She nodded. "Very well. You're free to go. Just be sure that no one else finds you."

"I would not waste the gift of mercy you, my lady, have bestowed upon me," he said, and with that he was gone. Andromache stood slowly, her attention back on her brothers.

"If I wake up now, and discover you aren't real, I will throw myself from the battlements," she said solemnly, and they both laughed. Erastus came over and hugged her tightly, and Andromache felt tears prickle her eyes.

"I should hope we're real!" Erastus said, releasing his hold and stepping away as Cohn tugged her into a hug.

"Yes, it was be daunting to be found imaginary," Cohn agreed.

"But," she stammered, her mind struggling to catch up. "That isn't Theban armor."

"No," Erastus agreed. "It was your betrothed's idea."

"What?"

"She needs the full explanation from him, I think," Cohn said to his older brother, who nodded.

"Indeed."

"I still don't understa-"

"Come, dearest sister," Erastus interrupted, taking her elbow and leading her out of the temple. "You will understand all in hardly a moment."

"How did you know where to find me?" she demanded as her brothers escorted her to… wherever their destination might have been. "How did you get here? And why are you wearing strange armor?"

"We told you," Cohn said patiently. "It was your betrothed's idea. He felt that his country had less risk in performing a rescue. The only way we were allowed to come was if we wore his country's armor."

"There are two problems in this story you have fed me," she said stubbornly. She counted them off on her fingers. "First, my betrothed would never have arranged a rescue for me, and second, that isn't Mytilian armor."

Erastus sighed. "No, dearest. Not Corydon." They were at the top of the grand steps on the outside of the palace, looking to the west, with the sun behind them. Erastus pointed down to the base of the steps were a worn figure stood, speaking to a man she didn't recognize. "Your betrothed."

The exhausted figured turned to look up at them, as he knew he was being spoken of, and it was then that Andromache nearly fainted. Hector smiled up at her, a tired sort of smile, as she numbly began her decent.

"But…" She was having difficulty forming all her questions into actual words. "How?" she finally managed to get out.

"Not long after you left," he told her, "I realized that you were being very selfish."

"But I don't-"

He held up a hand to stop her and continued. "You were perfectly willing to give everything up for everyone else. Perfectly willing to take the fall for us all. But you would let no one take the fall for you. Well," he stepped up to meet her, smiling gently at her and brushing her curls gently away from her face, "I have decided, Princess, that I am not going to allow you to be selfish. You give everything up for others, and now I will give it up for you. And, before you say anything, there is absolutely nothing you can say to stop me, and I have not broken my promise."

Andromache was still feeling incredibly thick, and could only blink up at him. "Promise?"

"You made me promise not to challenge the Mytilian rat." Hector shrugged simply. "I haven't. I'm simply stealing his bride away."

There was absolutely nothing to say to that, which was just as well, since Andromache couldn't find anything to say anyway. Instead she grinned up at him like a fool and wrapped her arms about his neck, then pressed her lips to his without a care in the world as to who saw.