A/N: Well, my headaches are gone! It took a week to get rid of them, but it turns out that it started as a migraine, and then developed into a tension headache. Therefore, all of the migraine therapy did absolutely nothing for my head, and even made it worse at times. But we got some medicine for tension headaches and such, and we're all better.

On another note, I don't think I like the way this chapter came out. I really don't. It's too… jerky, if you will. It doesn't flow quite right, like the others did. Ah, well. Hopefully the next one will be better. Let me know what you think, and if something isn't quite right, let me know what it is so that I can try to fix it later.

Chapter Thirteen
Death of the Prince
o0o

When the noise finally managed to penetrate her clouded brain, Andromache realized that the sound she heard was the men cheering. At this realization, she broke away and hid her face in Hector's chest, armor or no, in a desperate attempt to hide her flaming cheeks. Several of them found this amusing, and she sighed heavily, the noise muffled by the bronze-plated leather that covered her companion's chest.

"They aren't mocking you, I assure you," Hector told her quietly.

"In my position, it's all the same," she muttered, and he laughed.

He pulled away, his face suddenly serious. "Would you rather ride with your brothers?"

Andromache opened her mouth to say that she had no preference, she was overjoyed to see them all, but Erastus came forward, mounted and grinning down at them. "She will ride with you, Prince of Troy. I trust this will not inconvenience anyone?"

Andromache glared up at him as Hector nodded deeply. "Not in the least," he replied.

"I can speak for myself," Andromache informed him.

"Yes, but to watch your reaction when I speak for you is amusing," he teased, and Andromache glared at him more as she followed Hector to where Eros stood.

Hector turned to her, and Andromache realized with a dull horror that they expected her to actually ride. She cast an apprehensive glance to the large beast, then looked at Hector with a skeptical expression. "Are you trying to kill me?"

He barely smothered a laugh, raising a hand to cover his mouth, though Andromache saw the smile anyway. She level a glare at him, as well, as he smoothed his amused expression and said, "Hardly. We haven't much time, and so we must travel by the fastest means available."

Andromache sighed, eyeing the horse anxiously. "Very well," she said, resigned. Hector gripped her waist and in one smooth, fluid movement, had her seated upon the horse, both of her legs draped over the animal's shoulder. He mounted behind her effortlessly, and she realized that he was much stronger - and more graceful - than she had realized.

Hector wrapped his arm around her waist, holding her to him firmly. "I doubt this will be comfortable," he warned.

"Do you truly think that my journey here was?" she asked, raising her brows skeptically.

He didn't reply, simply brushed his lips against her brow then called the men into formation. Erastus came up to ride beside them, Demos and Cohn rode behind them, and the soldiers filed behind them, riding in two straight columns. Hector tightened his grip on her and said, "Hold on. Tightly."

Andromache did as he said, but all the same was hardly prepared for the jolt that nearly sent her flying. She wrapped on arm around his waist and clung tightly, though Hector seemed to have no troubles in holding on to her.

The ride was a swift one; to all appearances, speed was of the essence, and they were nearly to Thebe by mid afternoon. The small convoy made a short stop not long after midday, and quickly resumed, the at a much more leisurely pace.

Seated upon the horse, with both legs draped over the horses shoulder and Hector holding her securely to him, Andromache thought back over the day's events, reviewing it all with a rather distant mind, as if she had been a spectator rather than a participant. She delicately fingered the bruise Corydon had left around her wrist, her head resting on Hector's shoulder. "Perhaps," she said after a moment, "you could explain to me how all of this came to pass."

She felt, rather than heard, Hector's light chuckle as he shifted his grip to hold the reins with his right hand, keeping his left firmly anchored around her waist. "Not long after you left, I went to your father and informed him that, should you allow it, I would have you as my wife. I specified that you had to allow it, and I offered all the protection of Troy's armies in return, should you give your consent. No dowry was necessary - in truth, I couldn't stand the thought of paying for you. Your father told me that he would like nothing more than to agree, but that you had already left for Mytilene. I immediately offered to rescue you, and after being assured that Thebe would be protected from blame as best as I could manage, he agreed. Your brothers," he laughed quietly, and Andromache couldn't suppress the responding smile. "They all insisted on coming, but we could only allow a few of them, and they had to wear Trojan armor, in order to prevent Thebe from suspicion. Does that answer your questions?"

"For the most part," she answered. "Is my father demanding a bride price?"

"He told me that he would require one only if you wish it. I will pay any price that is demanded."

"Nonsense," she murmured. "We will demand no such thing, particularly when you refuse dowry."

He shifted his grip again, and with his now-free right hand picked up her bruised wrist. "He hurt you?"

"I brought it upon myself," she said quietly. Hector's sigh was tense, and Andromache knew that he felt quite differently about her bruise. "It holds no importance anymore," she told him in the same quiet voice, freeing her wrist from his grasp and placing the reins in his right hand, covering his hands with her own smaller ones.

"What happens next?" she asked him, lifting her head and leaning back slightly so that she could look at him properly. His eyes continuously scanned the area surrounding them, and she knew that he was watching for potential threats. She bit back a sigh.

"Would you come to Troy?"

"Do you truly have to ask?"

He smiled slightly, but kept his eyes on their surroundings. "I thought I would be polite." Then he sighed. "What we do next depends entirely on Corydon and oldest brother, who has recently become king after the assassination of his elderly father. Their father was belligerent, but for all his warmongering, those two sons of his are worse. I suspect they will march into Thebe seeing red and demanding blood."

Andromache paled considerably, and her hand tightened over his. "Thebe cannot-"

"I will be there to correct the aim of their anger," he informed her gently. "Thebe will have no connection to your abduction."

She was silent for a moment, contemplating this. "You would bring war to Troy for me?" she asked quietly, her tone carefully masked of emotion. No woman is worth a war, she thought. Myself least of all. "I want you to consider before answering. You are heir to the throne of a great nation. I am the youngest child of a militarily weak nation, and nearly unable to bear children. Bearing you an heir would be difficult and lengthy at best, and I am not physically strong. A lack of an heir would frighten the people, you know this as well as I. Am I what Troy needs? Am I worth the war that will develop?"

"Troy is stronger than you think, love," he said, tightening his grip on her waist. "Your father said the same thing, though I believe it pained him more to utter the words. However, I believe that you are exactly what Troy needs."

She snorted, a completely unladylike sound that would have earned her a reprimand from a nursemaid when she was younger. "Somehow I find it difficult to believe you," she said wryly.

"You do now, but I believe in Troy you will see that I am correct."

"As you say," she said with a slight shrug, resting her head on his shoulder once more. "My brothers have been behaving very well, I'll have you know," she said after a moment's silence. "They have yet to make an attempt at gutting you."

"I have been wondering if I needed to take further precautions," he murmured teasingly.

"I believe they are simply relieved that I won't be spending my life in Mytilene," she said.

"Possibly," he murmured. "Look."

Andromache turned, lifting her head from his shoulder and peering in the direction he indicated. There, not an hour's ride away, stood Thebe, and Andromache let out a sigh of relief.

o0o

They had been received with cheers and adulations abound, and her family had been nearly in tears, despite their broad smiles. Just when she was beginning to feel that her cheeks would break from so much smiling, Andromache had found time to herself, reacquainting herself with the home she thought she would never see again.

It had only been two days, but she still felt as if she had been gone ages. As she sat out in the gardens that evening, silently surveying her sanctuary, she wondered if she truly would have survived in Mytilene. Physically, perhaps, but emotionally? Knowing that she could have, at least, developed a slight friendship with her husband would have made everything easier to bear. But knowing that her husband loathed her… No, she would not have survived in Mytilene.

"We will be leaving for Troy soon," a voice said behind her, and she turned as Hector walked toward her. "Everything now depends on timing."

"Is our situation truly so precarious?" she asked, turning back to watch the gardens once more.

"It may be. There are certain risks I am simply unwilling to take right now."

"Risks," Andromache repeated. She sighed. "Why is it that we humans must wallow in our own folly? We cross and vex and irritate each other to no end, and then sit and wish for nothing but peace."

"The Mytilians want power," he said, standing behind her and slipping his hands onto her shoulders. "You know this as well as I. Peace is an inconvenience to them."

"I don't want to cause a war," she said quietly. "In fact, it was what I attempted to avoid."

"You have cause nothing," he said firmly. "The tension between Troy and Mytilene has never been insignificant; this is simply the breaking point reached now rather than tomorrow."

Andromache sighed and stood, turning to him with the ghost of a smile. "We leave tomorrow?"

"I hope to."

"You don't think we will?"

Hector surveyed her face for a moment, simply watching her. Then he forced a small smile for her and said, "You need your rest. I suggest you take it."

Andromache frowned, disliking the avoidance of her question; were things really so set against them? She gripped his hand, hoping to be reassuring, then left.

In her chambers, she changed and brushed her hair out, letting Metis go about her own tasks. Andromache frowned when a thud on her door announced that someone wanted to see her.

She stood, setting the expensive ivory comb down on the vanity table and went over to the door, tugging the heavy wood open. Erastus stood there, looking anxious, and Andromache pulled the door open wider. "Come in. Did you want anything?"

"No," he said, stepping into her rooms. He held something that looked suspiciously like a dagger in his hand; Andromache did her best not to consider why he had it.

"Is there something I can do for you?" she asked, frowning in concern.

"Yes, actually." He held out his hand, offering the thing to her, and she saw that it was, indeed, a dagger. A well made one, too, with elegant designs carved into the bronze of the hilt. "You can take this."

Andromache took a step away, holding up her hands as if to ward it off. "I don't want it."

"Andromache, please." Erastus was truly concerned, pleading with his eyes for her to take the weapon. "For my sake. Keep it with you, under your clothes, at all times. Please."

She shook her head, staring at the weapon with wide eyes. "I don't want it," she repeated.

"I want you to have it for your safety. Andromache, just-" He broke off and looked away, and she saw that he wasn't simply concerned: he was frightened for her. "Take it," he pleaded, looking back to her. "Please."

He really was frightened; she could see it in his eyes. Andromache lowered her hands with a sigh. "Will it reassure you?"

"Yes."

Andromache stared at the blade apprehensively, then reached out to take it. Erastus sighed with relief. "Keep it attached to your calf, under your clothing," he told her as she took the blade. "It will serve you well, should you need it." Then he added with a small smile, "If it helps, that is the same blade Queen Ophelia held when she defended her family against the first assassin sent to kill them."

Andromache forced a smile for him. "I will wear it. For you."

He hugged her tightly. "Thank you," he whispered.

"Think nothing of it," she said, hugging him in return, then pulling away and shoving him gently toward the door. "Go spend time with your family."

Erastus grinned at her and kissed her brow, then left. When he was gone, Andromache looked down at the bronze dagger he had given her. I pray I will never have use of this, she thought mournfully.

o0o

The Mytilian envoy arrived before dawn, and so the Trojans and Andromache were forced to forestall their departure. Dressed in silk robes dyed a deep green, a dye for which Thebe was well known, and gold jewelry, including a wreath-like circlet made of entwined gold and silver, Andromache sat under the bright mid morning sun, watching as the Mytilians assembled before her.

They were at the square that the festivities had been held in during the first night of the festival. Her brothers stood on the tier above her, just as they had during the festival, their wives seated before them, and her parents sat on the highest tier. Andromache struggled to maintain an impassive outer visage, determined to face whatever she was given with dignity. Corydon was there, and through the anger, she could see that he was also humiliated. This was no surprise: anyone would have been humiliated to find his bride stolen right from under his nose.

It was not Corydon's enraged expression that frightened her, however: Damen, newly crowned King of Mytilene, oldest brother of Corydon, held a look that promised blood and tears; the most horrifying part of it was that he seemed to enjoy the thought.

She drew in a shaking breath as she watched the wind play with the clothing of those surrounded her. The hand on her shoulder tightened, and she closed her eyes briefly. Hector's position at her side, with his arm around her shoulders and his hand resting on her right shoulder, was a very possessive one, and it sent a message that the Mytilians could not have missed. It reassured her even as it caused her more fear, given that it made it clear that Hector had "abducted" her. There was absolutely nothing she could do to protect them anymore, and it left Andromache feeling helpless, a feeling she did not welcome.

"Eetion!" Damen snapped, standing in the middle of the square and looking furiously up at her father. "I demand an explanation as to why my brother's wife is sitting there!" His finger jabbed towards Andromache, who flinched almost imperceptibly. Is this what I have brought us to?

Hector's grip on her shoulder tightened reassuringly as he replied, "The princess is not your brother's wife, and never was. King Eetion had nothing to do with this."

Damen, an attractive man made unattractive by his perpetual look of scorn, scoffed. "You expect me to believe that the mighty Hector has lowered himself to abduction?"

"Believe what you will, but know that the Thebans had nothing to do with this."

"Then perhaps it is you I should kill!" Corydon snarled, and Damen held out his hand to stop his brother as Andromache flinched once more.

"This is not between Mytilene and Thebe," Hector said firmly, and Andromache began to believe why men would follow him even under the threat of death. "This is between Prince Corydon and myself. Let us settle it between us, and let that be the end of things."

Damen looked as if he was going to refuse, but Corydon grabbed his brother's shoulder and muttered something to him. Andromache's hand flew up to cover Hector's, and he sighed. "I knew it would come to this," he said, almost to himself, and Andromache lifted her chin slightly, forcing herself to maintain a calm aura. Please, let no one I love be harmed in this.

Damen sighed and looked back up at Hector. "Very well, Prince of Troy. Settle this."

Hector squeezed her shoulder, then slid his hand away reluctantly as he began his decent. Andromache moved perceptibly for the first time, turning her head to look at him as he walked down the steps to the square. Her hands, folded in her lap, clenched around each other painfully, her nails digging into the soft flesh of her palm viciously.

Hector went to take his sword from Paris, who stood to the side with the rest of the Trojan envoy; the Theban court stood directly across from them, on the other side. Corydon drew his blade, and a strange sort of panic filled her. Andromache jumped to her feet.

"Wait!" she cried, and everyone in attendance stared at her. "Wait, please…" She started down the steps, half stumbling on the first step, even as Erastus hissed, "Andromache, what are you doing?"

"If I return-" She couldn't seem to get her mouth to work properly! Her hands were shaking violently, and it seemed as though her insides had turned to snakes. The fear that clutched at her was an odd sort of fear, a near terror, and she couldn't quite tell what was causing it. "If I return with you, without argument, will you swear not to hurt him?"

"What?" Damen demanded, starting at her in disbelief.

"Andromache-"

"Please, I'll return with you," she said to Corydon. "I- I'll go, but don't- Please, don't-"

"'Don't' what, Princess?" he asked, his voice low and deadly. "'Please, don't,' what? Kill him?" He laughed quietly, a wholly humorless sound, and Andromache took a small step away from him, paling. "Oh, believe me, Princess, I will kill him. But not before-" his hand shot out, grabbing her throat tightly, and she gasped, her hands flying to his wrists, "I kill you."

"Corydon!" Damen snapped as several of her brothers jumped to their feet.

His grip on her neck tightened, and he jerked her for emphasis as he snarled, "Any closer, and you'll all wish she was dead!"

Andromache struggled against the much stronger man, grasping at his wrist even as he drew her closer to him - to gain a better grip, she guessed. She let go of his wrist with one hand as her lungs began to scream from lack of air, and brought her calf up and grasped at it desperately with her free hand. After what seemed like hours, and as her blood began to roar in her ears fiercely, she found the dagger Erastus had given her and brought it up, clenched in her now-weak fist.

Corydon released her neck, and Andromache nearly collapsed as a rush of fresh air filled her lungs. His hand closed over her wrist, twisting the knife toward her rather than himself, and she gasped with pain as he twisted her limb brutally. Andromache jerked back, and though his grip on her didn't ease by even the smallest amount, her wrist was able to twist back to its normal position, with the blade facing Corydon. Something happened then, something that none of them would ever have foreseen: though the floor was smooth and clean, Corydon stumbled, and fell into her, landing not only on herself, but on the blade.

With a gasp of pure horror, Andromache stumbled back as Corydon fell into her, staring at her with a shocked expression. He clawed at her shoulder in a struggle to stay upright, leaving a trail of blood on her clothing as he fell to the floor, dead.

The silence was absolute as Andromache stumbled back, horrified and terrified all at once. She looked down at her hands, which were shaking violently, covered in blood. Her clothing was very similar, the red turning to black against the dark, Theban green of her silks. What have I done?

"She killed him. The bitch killed him!"

Andromache jerked her head up, her mind still stunned with the horror of it all; she had forgotten about Damen. "I'll kill her for this, Eetion, mark my words! And after she's dead, I'll come after Thebe."

I am to be killed before Thebe, she thought vaguely, not hearing her father's response. Well, if he cannot find me, he cannot kill me. Therefore, he cannot hurt my people.

She looked over at Damen and said in an oddly high-pitched voice, "You may kill me. But if I am to die before my country, then you'll have to find me in order to extricate punishment." And then, she did exactly what her instincts had been telling her to do all along: she ran.

It was as if she could escape everything if she ran fast enough, and she ran as if she truly could. Andromache simply ran as hard and as fast as she could, her mind empty of all thoughts save the one that told her that, if she disappeared, she could save Thebe. By the time her stunned emotions had caught up with her, she was on a rise outside the city. She slowed to a halt, then fell to her knees, sobbing shamelessly.

She ignored the sounds of hoof beats, refusing to acknowledge them, though her tears did slow. Andromache looked up to watch the countryside as her pursuer slowed and dismounted even before stopping.

"I killed him," she said softly as they came up and knelt beside her. Realizing that it was Hector, she looked at him hopelessly.

"It's all right," he murmured vaguely.

"No, it isn't." She thrust her hands at him, palms up, showing him the blood that was smeared across her hand. "I killed him!"

Hector grabbed her face in both his hands, forcing her to look at him. "He fell," he said firmly, leaving no room for argument. "You were defending yourself against an unwarranted attack, and he fell." He kept his gaze locked on hers until she nodded slightly, yielding to the idea.

Once she made that small movement, he sighed and used the corner of his cloak, which was attached to the shoulders of his armor, to wipe her hands clean. Andromache looked down at her deep green silk and, seeing the blood stains covering it, wavered - the stains seemed almost symbolic, a sign that Theban blood would be spilt.

She closed her eyes and released a shuddering breath, fighting against the idea as Hector settled his cloak about her and gathered her into his arms, carrying her to the horse and placing her up there before mounting behind her.

They Mytilian dispatchers rode past them as they made their way back to the palace, rushing along at a furious pace. As she watched the rest of the Mytilian convoy leave the city, Andromache decided that she had not felt so small and helpless for many years.

Hector seemed to think that the blood that she had spilt had been a fluke, an accident. And perhaps it had been. Or, perhaps the gods themselves had caused Corydon to stumble into her blade. She certainly had not moved it toward him - she had not possessed the strength. But no matter what light you observed the situation in, a war had still been started, and the festival square of Thebe was no longer free of the taint of death.

Her family was waiting for her when they returned. Their grim expression spoke volumes, and Andromache simply hid her face, staring at the ground and doing her best to keep her gaze from the gore on her clothing - suddenly, the very smell made her stomach turn; she was afraid that if she were to look at it, she would truly become ill.

"I think it best if we leave for Troy as soon as possible," Hector said quietly, one arm around her shoulders protectively.

"I agree," Eetion said. He stepped forward, and Andromache felt his hand slip beneath her chin. "Dearest," he began, but when he saw the tears threatening to spill from her eyes, he sighed mournfully. "So much for you to bear," he murmured, then kissed her forehead. "None of this was your doing. It was inevitable, dearest. You simply delayed it for a while."

She didn't reply, merely allowed herself to be tugged along by her mother and Megara, toward her chambers.