A/N: Okay, I didn't like the last chapter - since I wrote it, I'm a bit more critical than you kind people - so here we are! Perhaps, looking at it from another perspective, I should wait for more reviews to come in, but I can't bring myself to do it.

Ah, well. At least Corydon's dead! I didn't like him, and I created him…

Chapter Fourteen
Royal Welcome
o0o

Andromache sat in a daze for the rest of the day, habitually scrubbing her hands against the white cotton even after she had washed them completely clean of blood. Her family had remained with her, but they were all silent.

Her mood worried Erastus, but he knew better than to question it. A mad had died at her hands, accident or no, and he knew that she would terrorize herself with the knowledge for some time. This was not, however, his greatest concern at the moment: his sister's safety was beginning to take predominance over her health.

With this in mind, Erastus called a meeting with his siblings, Andromache excluded, and Prince Hector, and had not stepped delicately around the subject by any means.

"When you leave tomorrow, Prince Hector," he had said firmly, staring the slightly younger man down, "I expect you to ride hard and fast for Troy, and prepare your army swiftly. We both know that Mytilene is on the move as we speak."

Hector, it seemed, was as wise as the stories said, for he seemed to grasp Erastus' true concern instantly. "Your sister's well being and safety are my foremost concerns, I assure you. Nothing will befall her so long as I draw breath."

"A lovely promise, to be sure," Alexander said wearily. "I expect nothing less than what you have spoken here."

"To receive anything less would be a slight the Princess does not deserve," Hector replied evenly.

Erastus surveyed him carefully, watching the Trojan's face. He loves her, the Theban prince realized, and he almost laughed. He had never dared to hope for such a man for his sister, and now, there he sat, willing to bring war to his country for sake of Andromache. The commander of Thebe's armies grinned suddenly, reaching out a hand to the Trojan prince.

"If there is anyone I can trust to take care of her any better than I myself would, it's you, Hector of Troy," he said, very near to laughing. He clasped the Trojan's forearm heartily. "Look after her for us, and remember that she grew up with an unusual amount of freedom. She doesn't always know when she has crossed a line."

"A quality that drew me to her from the beginning," Hector assured him, and Erastus thought that he might burst for happiness.

My sister will be happy, and I won't have to kill her husband!

o0o

They left before dawn the next morning, with partings that were much happier than the first, for they all knew that Andromache would be happy in Troy, and within five days the convoy had reached the outskirts of Trojan territory. Over the course of those five days, Andromache had come to terms, in a way, with what had happened to Corydon. Her nightmares of the event had lessened, and the haunting idea that the blood on her green clothing had been a symbolic omen of Thebe's doom began to fade.

The morning of their arrival had been greeted warmly by the men, but Andromache herself could not stay the apprehension that clutched at her. After all, she was the youngest child of a weak nation's king, and nearly unable to bear children. Troy was a great nation, full of great people, and need a princess to aptly express that. In her own opinion, Andromache was a far cry from the great princess Troy needed.

The excitement would be difficult for anyone to miss, and despite her misgivings, she couldn't help but share ever-so-slightly in that excitement. After their midday stop, extra care had been taken to appearance, and Andromache had been placed on a horse her on her own, to ride beside Hector rather than with him. When she had expressed her suspicions that she would fall flat on her face before the whole of Troy, her betrothed had simply told her, "If you do, it will be nothing more than what I have done before the whole of Troy. They are a very forgiving people, love."

Andromache did not point out that the people of Troy knew and loved Hector from, essentially, the day of his birth, and would forgive him anything, whereas they did not even expect Andromache to appear. Rather, they still expected the Princess of Lampsacus to arrive at their gates.

Paris, on the other hand, had been slightly more aware of the fact that Hector was incomparable in the eyes of his people. "It's a sign of humility," the younger prince said, coming up beside her upon a horse of his own. "He doesn't know just how much they idolize him. Should you or I fall…" Paris sighed and shook his head comically. "May the gods have mercy on us."

Andromache giggled, but her nerves were in no way depleted. She would have liked to speak with her soon-to-be younger brother for a bit longer, in a desperate effort to calm herself (for he seemed to be adept at that), but at that moment the last of the men assembled, and Hector took his place beside her. Paris gave her a cheeky grin and navigated his horse so that he would head the procession.

It was hardly any time at all before they were at the gates, which were being opened as they approached. Andromache could hear the cheering and, as the gates were opened, she saw the falling petals and the dancing. She swallowed, suddenly very fearful of being paraded before these proud people, feeling like a dense country idiot next to their refinement. Thebe might have been economically strong, but there was no way her country could compete with Troy.

"If it helps," Hector murmured as they neared the gates, "I have always hated this part the most."

She threw him a quick smile, but somehow she felt that it didn't quite create the desired affect. Anything that she might have said in response, however, was very quickly lost as they entered the gates and the cheering nearly doubled in volume. Andromache looked up at the gates, feeling very small in comparison, but quickly returned her gaze to the people as they proceeded, out of fear that she would fall off her horse due to staring at the gates.

The streets were lined with armed soldiers and towns people alike, though it was only the civilian citizens that clapped and cheered. Petals fell from the rooftops, on which stood even more people, who joyfully flung the delicate flowers out onto their returning princes, courtiers, and soldiers. The younger children ran along with the convoy, carefully avoiding the hooves of the animals as they jumped and ran, celebrating their princes' return.

Andromache felt rather overwhelmed by it all, and when some of the young women began waving at her, she didn't know what to think, let alone what to do. So she simply smiled and nodded to them, occasionally giving a small wave in return, particularly to the younger children. The older women, however, were not quite so warm in their welcome: many pointed blatantly, disapproving looks on their faces: her green silks gave her away as a Theban, and they were not expecting a Theban. Perhaps they though Thebe below them?

The thought was a vexing one, but Andromache refused to show it. Rather, she simply smiled up at them kindly, praying to come across as the princess her people had known her as, rather than the aloof princess that many of these people would expect.

Her nerves were no better when they arrived at the palace, which was also lined with clapping people, though these were more sedate in their welcome, leading Andromache to believe that they were courtiers and the like. Hector and Paris dismounted very nearly in unison, and immediately Hector came to help Andromache from her seat upon the horse. When her feet touched the ground, he leaned closer to her slightly and murmured, "It only becomes easier from here on." She gave him a smile, but she knew better: meeting King Priam, and his wife, Queen Hecuba, would be, quite possibly, the most difficult thing about this day.

Hector, however, expected them to welcome her implicitly, despite the fact that she was bringing war to their country. Perhaps he was right, but somehow she could not bring herself to truly believe it. They ascended the steps to the palace in the same procession that they had been in when they entered the city, and the polite patter of clapping courtiers accompanied them.

Priam smiled warmly at his sons as they approached, embracing Paris and kissing each cheek. Her heart was in her throat as the king greeted his oldest son next, who then reached back and took her hand, gently pulling her forward.

"Father," he said, as Andromache took his place before Priam, "this is Andromache."

There was a slight hint of confusion in the king's eyes as he glanced to his son. "Andromache of Thebe?"

She looked down, anxious and more than a little afraid, and swallowed slightly, attempting to slow her pulse, make her breathing less difficult, and return her heart to its normal place in her chest all at once.

"Well, my dear," Priam said, and she looked up at him as he took each of her hands in greeting, "I must say that none of the rumors are true: you are much more beautiful than your brothers."

That surprised a small laugh from her, and Priam smiled and kissed each of her cheeks. "Welcome to Troy, Princess Andromache." He surveyed her for a moment, then said, "Come. There are more introductions to be made, and you must be exhausted."

She looked back at Hector as Priam turned, taking her with him by holding on to one of her hands. Her betrothed simply smiled and nodded, gesturing for her to follow his father, and she did so, albeit rather nervously.

There were many more people waiting inside, and standing foremost was a regal woman who looked terribly forbidding to Andromache, particularly in her anxious state. The woman was beautiful, naturally, and held herself in a very noble manner, but the way she seemed to glare at the world was rather intimidating to the Theban princess.

"Dearest wife," Priam said, bringing Andromache forward, "this is Princess Andromache of Thebe."

Rather than the warm welcome she had received from Priam, the woman who was the Queen of Troy simply arched one proud brow. "I had been led to believe that we would be greeting Cloris of Lampsacus."

Andromache looked at the stone floor, feeling very small, but Priam simply patted her hand gently as Hector came up on her other side. "Lampsacus ended the marriage agreement, and it was of no consequence," Hector informed his mother lightly, but Andromache was no fool: she saw the protective look in his expression.

"And we," Priam added, "are happy to welcome Andromache as our daughter."

Queen Hecuba smirked slightly, giving Andromache the slight feeling that she was not at all welcome by the Queen of Troy. She gave the woman a tentative smile, preparing for the worst, but Hector took her hand. "Come," he said quietly. "There are others you must meet."

Andromache nodded deeply to the queen, and to Priam, as Hector gently towed her away. "I had forgotten how my mother can be," he said apologetically in her ear as he led her across the room.

She forced a smile for him, hoping to assure him that she was not at all worried, when in fact she was terribly worried. Hecuba would not have been easy to win over even if she had been the planned bride; being the unplanned bride, Andromache would have a difficult time indeed of winning Hecuba's respect.

"Andromache, I would like you to meet my dearest cousin, Briseis."

She looked up to see a young woman, apparently the same age as Paris, beaming at them with such an infectious happiness that Andromache couldn't help the slight upward turn of the corners of her mouth. The girl was a pretty thing, with long, dark brown curls and sparkling brown - almost hazel, a rare shade - eyes. The young woman reached out and grabbed Andromache's hand.

"And I had thought my cousin's heart indomitable!" she said. "Welcome to Troy, and know that I already think of you as a cousin. If you are dear to Hector, then you are worthy indeed."

Andromache smiled, part out of true pleasure and part out of relief, and returned the younger woman's grip. "Whether or not I am worthy will soon be decided, I fear," she said wryly, finding her voice for the first time since setting foot in Troy. "However, if I am a cousin to you, know that you are the same to me. Thank you for making me feel welcome."

"Think nothing of it," Briseis said, dragging Andromache away. "Even if you don't think you are worthy, I say you are. Hector is the best judge of character I know."

With the cheerful and talkative Briseis as her guide, it was difficult for Andromache to hold on to her anxiety for long. No matter how hard she tried, however, she knew that there was no possibility of her remembering all of the names that came her way. In fact, by the time everything had calmed down enough for her departure, her head whirled with unfamiliar names and titles, each one remaining in her memory only briefly.

"I will never remember them all," she confessed to Briseis as the younger woman showed her to where Andromache would be staying until the wedding.

Briseis waved her confession away. "There is no need to, I assure you," she said, tossing a rather mischievous grin over her shoulder. "Call them all 'friend.' If they look to be a sibling of Hector and Paris, call them 'cousin.' Or rather, for you, 'brother' or 'sister.' Or even 'sibling,' I would suppose. That's what I do, and they seem to accept it easily enough."

"A fair plan," Andromache admitted.

"Here we are. This room isn't far from mine, so if you need anything, I'm simply a few rooms away." She pointed and said, "Three doors that way."

"Thank you," Andromache replied, genuinely grateful to her newfound friend. She turned to enter her rooms, but Briseis stopped her.

"You'll be good for him, I know it," the younger girl said. "And he loves you. I can see it. In perfect honesty, I could hardly care less if we were supposed to greet the Princess of Lampsacus rather than you. In fact, I don't think I would have liked her as much as I like you."

The day's events nearly overwhelmed her when Briseis said those words, and Andromache looked to the ceiling, fighting back tears. I did not cry nearly so much before I met Hector, she thought, slightly disgruntled, as she turned back to Briseis with a smile. "I don't think you realize just how much those words mean to me at this moment."

"I mean them," Briseis said with an insistent expression. Then she smiled and squeezed Andromache's hand. "You and I shall speak later. For now, however, we must both prepare ourselves for this welcome banquet."

The younger girl turned and left then, and Andromache entered her room sedately. It was moderately sized, though not quite so large as her rooms at her home in Thebe. Andromache didn't mind the decrease in size, and found all of the trunks containing her possessions were already waiting for her.

Andromache opened the trunks contained her clothing, and she bit her lip as she surveyed the contents of each trunk . To wear green, the color derived from a native Theban dye, thus making green a representative of Thebe, could possibly be seen as insulting to her new family. However, she was not yet married to Hector, and thus the Trojans were not yet her family, and so to wear blue, a color that seemed to represent Troy, could be seen as abrupt and presumptuous. Instead, she opted for a violet shade in her choice of clothing. Violet being a very rare, and thus very expensive, color, she chose silver jewelry in order to temper the extravagance of her clothing.

Nothing about her appearance was assuming, nor offending, and she took great pains to make it that way. Metis, who had accompanied her mistress to Troy, artfully pinned her hair in place, for which Andromache was grateful - she had never had the ability to master her hair as Metis did. Her eyes were lined delicately with kohl, and the end result was satisfactory; she was no comparison to Aphrodite, or even to her sisters in Thebe, but she was passable.

She stood at the window for quite a while, waiting to be called to the banquet as she gazed out over the gardens and a small portion of the city. Andromache sighed, thinking of her own home. Thebe was no where near so grand as Troy; Hector's confidence in his country's ability to defeat Mytilene was not ill-founded. But Thebe was still her home, the country she had nearly sold herself into slavery to protect.

Her eyes narrowed, surveying the horizon. The Mytilians were coming for her, she knew. She had killed their prince, and they had been humiliated by the oldest prince of Troy. She shuddered, thinking of the day Corydon had met his end. She had kept the dagger, at her brother's insistence, but had refused to touch it since the incident. In fact, Andromache had difficulty maintaining her composure any time the youngest prince of Mytilene was mentioned. She had killed a man, and even if he had been cruel, she could not banish the guilt.

She turned from the window, as if she could turn from her thoughts at the same time. The nightmares had all but ended, and she was safely contained within the walls of Troy; Hector had become her indomitable protector, shielding her from anything the Mytilians might attempt against her.

This did not, however, nullify the fact that men would die because of her presence in Troy. Fathers, sons, brothers, cousins, uncles, all would meet their doom because one woman, a lowly woman at that, was not in the city she should have been.

Andromache had lost count of the number of times Hector had insisted that she was not the reason Troy and Mytilene would be marching out onto the battle field to meet each other; she was simply a convenient scapegoat. The fragile alliance between Troy and Mytilene had always been in danger of being broken, simply because of the differences between the two countries and their beliefs.

This did not, however, assuage the guilt that she had already laid upon her shoulders.

A thud on her door announced that she had visitors, and Andromache sighed, composing herself and smoothing on a politely impassive look before going to the door and opening it. After finding that it was only Hector, she sigh slightly and let the mask fall away. "I was almost afraid that I would have yet another name to remember," she confessed as she slipped out of her room and into the corridor.

"I myself hardly remember them all, no one expects you to do so, least of all me," he assured her. "I have something to discuss with you."

She nodded and fell in step along side him, watching their surroundings carefully so that she would remember her way back. "Scouts have reported that the Mytilians are already on the march. They will send some by sea, I would assume. They will if they have any knowledge of war, at least. But most will come by land, from the southeast."

Andromache bit her lip and looked down. Hector stopped, placing a hand on her shoulder to stop her, and then raising her chin so that her eyes met his. "Their estimated time of arrival is in five days, perhaps even four. My father's council seems to think that the wedding should take place before they arrive, to ensure that Damen cannot claim you as his by right of his brother's death."

She frowned, admittedly confused. "The betrothal was ended when you came for me in Antandrus," she said, shaking her head slightly. "Mytilene holds no claim over me."

"Not officially, love," Hector replied. "It was never officially declared, and therefore compliance from all involved was not acquired. Should another country chose a side in this, they will see that we have committed the wrong, not Mytilene."

Andromache looked away with an aggravated sigh, pursing her lips slightly. "And who thought of that brilliant rule?" she demanded sardonically, looking back to him. "Clearly it was not someone who face a situation such as ours."

"I agree, but there's nothing for it. By all rights, Corydon's brother should be able to march in here and steal you away, just as I did."

"And there would be nothing you, nor Father, could do," she finished grimly. She sighed again, looking down the corridor. After a moment, she turned back to him with a fierce expression. "I won't go back," she said vehemently. "Make the wedding as soon as need be. I refuse to let Mytilene treat me as a stolen trinket." Unable to bring herself to care if they were observed, Andromache leaned her forehead against his shoulder, which was clad in blue-dyed cotton and gently laid her hand over where his heart was, her fingers splayed across his chest. "I am more than willing to renounce the traditional waiting period, and would have been even if we weren't so pressed for time. Though I doubt your mother will enjoy the idea."

Hector have a short, humorless laugh. "My mother," he murmured grimly. "She is not always the most welcoming, particularly towards women. I blame her lack of willing reception on my brother's penchant for bringing home too many women. I hadn't thought to warn you, I apologize."

Andromache laughed slightly, pulling away in order to look at him. "Clearly I do not know Paris as well as I thought. I feel no remorse at it, because this way I am allowed a bias in his favor. He is very much the wayward little brother I never had. As for warning me…" She sighed, delicately straightening his tunic. "Pay it no mind. I must learn to cope with such things on my own. I grew up very sheltered."

"And therefore I should have sheltered you from her," he persisted, but Andromache shook her head, amused.

"I must learn how to handle myself, but I can hardly learn when I am being protected. Not that I don't appreciate it, mind you. I simply feel that it shouldn't be offered in this matter."

"There's no arguing with you," he said wryly. He kissed her brow. "I'll see you tonight."

She nodded in reply. "Of course."

Andromache watched him go, her expression grim. They had a time constraint in their betrothal. Not that she could bring herself to mind - the purpose of a true betrothal was partially to get to know one another, and since she and Hector already knew each other so well, there really was no need for a true betrothal. However, the time constraint meant that the peaceful life she wished for was no closer to her grasp than it was before.

She sighed, thinking of the burden that must have fallen on Hector's shoulders. He had a wedding to participate in, under time constraints, and a city to protect directly after his marriage. She resolved to keep any problems she came across - particularly those involving Hecuba - to herself, so as not to burden him further.