A/N: This story is turning out to be much longer than I expected! I don't want to drag things on… Ah, well. There's nothing for it, I guess.

Anywho, the events in this chapter get a little… risqué, if you will, in their implications. I'll tell you right now, everything will stay true to the rating, simply because I find smut a bit gratuitous - it's all over the place, but is it really needed? I don't think it is. That, and I really don't think I could write it very well, and I don't want to ruin something good with a bad telling. So I won't be including any of that. Sorry if anyone's disappointed

Now, my second note: Donna Lynn, you're my new hero, because I was rather hoping someone would mention the plethora of fics containing anti-Andromache feelings coming from Hecuba. Here's my reasoning:

To put it simple, you're right: there are many stories in which Hecuba dislikes Andromache, and I very nearly took that disharmony out of the story for that reason. But I left in in there because it simply makes sense: Andromache was never supposed to ever see Troy, let alone marry the heir to the Trojan throne, and Hecuba is the queen of a very solid kingdom, which means that most upsets will disturb her - most upsets more than likely are accompanied by some sort of danger for her family, particularly Hector, since he's the one out there fighting.

Then, of course, there is the rather scandalous fact that Andromache simply may not bear her husband children. This sort of thing was steeped in controversy, particularly since the main role of a royal woman was to produce heirs for her husband. If Andromache had married Paris (shudder!), then the problem would not be so severe, but since she married Hector, heir to the throne, it's only natural for Hecuba to frown at her. True, Priam should, as well, but I didn't want both parents to hate her, particularly when Priam is involved in the story of Troy, as well as the story of Hector and Andromache, for longer than Hecuba is.

Now that I've gone on for about forever and a half, I'll leave you poor people alone now. Thanks for your patience.

Chapter Fifteen
Princess of Troy
o0o

Three days later, the wedding took place. It was a joyous affair, and the people welcomed her as Hector's wife, just as he had assured her that they would. Hecuba had not relented in her cold treatment of the Theban princess by the time the wedding had come, and she did not relent when Andromache became a Trojan princess.

Andromache had performed the rituals in a sort of haze, hardly believe how her luck had turned in the whole of things. She had gone from dreading marriage to welcoming it with open arms in less than a week, a rare feat in itself. When she had burned the chariot that she and Hector had arrived at the palace in, she felt absolutely no regrets, save for the loss of the pretty, green-dyed cotton that decorated the chariot.

At the banquet afterward, it seemed that everyone was vying for her attention, when all she wanted to do was hide away from the attention, dragging Hector along with her. She met more of her new husband's comrades, including Tecton and Lysander, both of whom were directly below Hector in the chain of command. Paris, however, had stolen her away not long afterward and flaunted her about, telling anyone who would listen that she was his new sister.

Out of them all, the only people she could count on for sanity were Hector (who was more often than not at the other side of the room, an ironic thing when it was his wedding to her that was being celebrated), Briseis (only barely, however, for the young woman was beyond overjoyed, such was her enthusiasm), and Priam. Perhaps Hecuba could have been counted among them, but the woman's apparent hatred towards Andromache had the newly made Trojan princess wondering whether to count the queen as an ally at all.

Priam welcomed her into his family warmly, insisting that he was now as much of a father to her as he was to his own children. Hecuba, of course, made no such gesture, though Andromache did her best to not think of it. She very quickly lost count of he people who offered their blessings and congratulations, contending for a chance to meet "the bride of Hector."

Andromache had finally managed to extricate herself from the latest group of people wishing to speak with her, and sat down rather heavily, paying very little heed to the delicate, pale blue and white silks that were her wedding garments. Within an instant, however, she found herself surrounded once more. For a panicked moment she had thought that she had more strangers to talk to, but calmed when she realized that it was only Paris and Briseis, with a few other vaguely familiar faces.

"You look overwhelmed, sister," Paris teased, and she gave him a mock glare.

"Perhaps we should thrust you into an unknown environment in which everyone and their horse wants to meet and congratulate you," she countered. She gestured to the festivities surrounding them. "Do you truly believe that such extravagance is something I encounter often? I am from Thebe, Paris."

"You are the new wife of Troy's great Prince Hector. Naturally, you will be very well received," Briseis pointed out, and the older woman shot her a glare.

"'Well received,' and 'overwhelmed,' are two completely different things, cousin," she said flatly.

"As it is, that festival that took place during my stay was quite extravagant," the younger Prince of Troy pointed out.

"Yes, but I was not so near the center," she replied.

"Andromache, you are the center," Briseis countered, rolling her eyes.

"Hardly. Hector is the center of this insanity," Andromache argued. "As it is, being so near the center disturbs me."

"Oh, come now, surely we aren't that frightening?" Paris teased, and she straightened indignantly.

"Stop toying with me," she cried. "For the past three days the only familiar faces I have seen are direct relatives of yours. Everyone else here is a complete stranger to me, and yet they all seem to wish to smother me with greetings!"

They laughed, and Andromache lifted her eyes to the ceiling in exasperation with a heavy sigh. "I surrender," she said, holding up her hands.

Paris looked at her oddly as the others laughed, a strange smirk on his face. She eyed him warily. "I am not so naïve as to think that that look is an innocent one, Paris," she said.

He stood and grabbed her hands, hauling her abruptly to her feet. Andromache gave a small cry, giving him a look with mixed incense and shock, only to nearly stumble as he began dragging her through the crowds.

"You, sister dearest," he said, tossing a mischievous look over his shoulder to her, "have been stalling. The bride must venture to her husband's chambers at some point, you know."

She opened her mouth to point out the unfairness of this accusation, with the reasoning that she had been speaking with him, as was expected, and that he had approached her, as her defense, but instead found herself being shoved just as suddenly as she had been jerked to her feet; Hector only barely caught her, as much taken by surprise as Andromache herself. She glared at Paris as he bowed elegantly to them and left.

Andromache straightened, smoothing her silks as she regained her composure. The men surrounding her husband were all highly amused, she could see plainly, though at least they attempted at hiding it, despite that they were very bad at shielding their mirth. "Princess," one of them said with a deep nod of his head. Andromache couldn't seem to recall his name, and so she simply nodded in return.

"We have been selfish, my lady," the one she remembered to be Lysander said, a smile not unlike Paris' across his face. "You may have your husband now, Princess, we will cease our monopolizing of his time."

Andromache sighed, realizing that she would be teased to no end, as Hector gave them a warning look. But then she smiled, deciding to play along. "Oh, it is of no consequence," she said lightly. "Hector is an important man, I can hardly expect to have him to myself at all times."

"Oh, believe me, Princess," another man - Tecton, was it? - said. "We have been selfish, indeed. The Prince is free for your disposal."

"Now that I am apparently released from my obligations," Hector interjected, "I believe I will take my leave."

He offered Andromache a hand, which she took, and he led her from the large hall into the darker, and much quieter, corridor, which Hector immediately . As soon as they were out of hearing range, Andromache said to him matter-of-factly, "Paris is your brother when he does things like that."

That got a laugh from him. "So I assume you only claim him when he is behaving himself, then?"

"You assume correctly," she replied as he led her down the halls. "Perhaps when I have had further influence I may claim him when he misbehaves. However, until that time comes, you must be the one to speak for him, given that he has lived with you all his life."

"Perhaps the blame for his poor manners are to be placed at my feet, then," he said, walking to a large, heavy door and pulling it open for her.

Andromache entered the room before him, suddenly very anxious: she knew what happened next, she was by no means untutored on that idea. Her mother, in fact, had spoken to her on the subject not a year ago, a few weeks after her betrothal had been officially announced. The idea had severely shaken her at the time, and though she was not nearly so afraid now, she couldn't quell the jolt of anxiety as her stomach turned to butterflies.

She surveyed the room in a desperate attempt at calming herself. It was large, larger than her chambers in Thebe, but was much simpler in its decoration. This, of course, was to be expected: it was a well-known fact that men paid very little attention to décor. Despite this, it was cozy, and a fire had already been brought to flame on the hearth. One of her trunks sat in the corner, and she knew that the others would be brought later, to be unpacked and stored away.

Glancing around the room, it occurred to her that this was her new home. The idea wasn't so frightening as she had first believed it to be; though, to be fair, she had first thought of it when she had been betrothed to Corydon. Things were different now, as she was very clearly not in Mytilene, and she had very clearly not married Corydon. It was a debt, she realized, that she would never have the ability to repay; Hector had rescued her from a fate much worse than death.

Andromache wetted her lips and smoothed the silk of her clothing, nervous gestures that betrayed her nerves far more than her expression or bearing. She gave a small laugh, amused at her own anxiety, and said nervously, "Such a fuss. I must confess, such gestures are foreign to me. Although," she turned back around to face him, "I suppose any nation would celebrate the marriage of its protector and future ruler."

Hector slid the lock into place, and she jumped at the sudden noise. Andromache flattened her hands against her thighs and stared at the floor, inwardly scolding herself. Hector came toward her and took her by the elbow. "Come over here," he said, ushering her along gently. "The view is best at sunrise or sunset, but this will suffice for now."

He took her out onto the balcony and pointed out over the city, past the plains before the gates, to a great, glittering mass that seemed to be in constant movement. "That, my love, is the sea," he told her, settling his hands on her shoulders. "If it is quiet enough, you can hear it from here as well."

It was rather difficult to see, though she could make out the glitter of the moonlight on the surface of the water; hearing it was even more difficult, thanks to the celebrations that were still taking place. None of that, however, mattered to her at that moment; it was the intention of the gesture that she most appreciated.

Andromache turned to face him, sliding her hands - albeit slightly hesitantly - onto his chest and smiling warmly. "Thank you."

He smiled at her in return. "For what?"

She sighed and shook her head, walking off the balcony and into the room. Roughly halfway across the room she stopped and sighed once more, looking at the bolted door as her anxiety returned. But no matter how great her apprehension, she knew that she would not have left that room for anything. She reached up under the veil and pulled the two pins holding her hair in place out, walking over to a nearby desk and placing them there, then slid the veil from her hair as she turned around to face him.

They stood very near at opposite ends of the room, a situation that she found slightly disturbing; it was almost as if they were at odds with each other. She bit her lip as the butterflies in her stomach began to carry her innards away, but she took a step toward him despite it.

"Andromache," he said quietly, starting toward her a slow pace. She held the veil in both hands, gently fingering the edge nervously. "Are you afraid?"

"No."

He was before her now, and reached out to take the veil from her hands. He gave the material a cursory examination before letting it flutter to the ground, drifting on the air until it gently fell to the stone floor. He stepped closer, and Andromache felt her heart leap into her throat.

"Are you nervous?"

She smiled and looked to the ceiling with a small laugh, a gesture induced purely by nerves, for there was nothing amusing about the situation. Everything was poised in a sort of intense silence, pressing down on her, though, oddly, it pressed on her almost pleasantly. Andromache met his eyes again and said, "Very."

He smiled faintly, reaching up to gently smooth her curls. "Don't be."

o0o

"How did this happen?"

Andromache looked at him, shifting her weight back onto her left elbow, her limb sinking into the soft mattress, as the fingers of her right hand gently ran over a scar on his left arm, just below his shoulder. In all actuality there were two, each a bright pink, despite their apparent age, and nearly perfectly parallel to each other. The longest had to have been two inches, though it was difficult to tell in the odd sort of half-light that emanated from the fireplace.

"That," he said, "is directly related to Paris."

She smiled. "This should prove amusing," Andromache commented. "The two of you seem to be notorious." She pulled her right arm back to her side, digging it into the mattress as she placed her chin in her hands, watching Hector expectantly.

Hector sighed slightly with a faint smile and toyed with one of her curls. "Father had a horse, a magnificent thing that had been a gift from-" He paused, frowning at her lock of hair. "Who was it from?" His eyes shifted to hers questioningly. "It wasn't from your father, was it?"

She shook her head. "It couldn't have been. Thebe couldn't have bred something intended for the Trojan stables."

He frowned at her. "Why?"

"None of the Theban horses have the makings of magnificence," she replied matter-of-factly, accompanied by a slight shrug.

He sighed, seemingly frustrated, and Andromache frowned. "What?" she asked.

Hector shook his head. "Nothing. Whoever it may have been from, Father had a horse that had been given to him as a gift. It was beautiful, but… spirited, if you will." Andromache covered her mouth with a hand, hiding her amused smile, already suspecting where the story was leading. "Paris was ten at the time, and desperate to prove himself, though I've never been able to deduce who he was trying to prove himself to. But to do it, he stole our father's prized, hardly manageable, horse and set off along the beach. It wasn't long before the beast threw him and ran for the hills."

"I would assume that you were the one Paris ran to?" she said, tilting her head slightly.

"I had always taken care of him before, and this would be no different. Let it suffice that my pace was much faster than my skills at the time warranted, and abrupt stops are never favorable under those circumstances."

She sighed, mock-disappointed. "Notice that you only summarize the segments that could have truly proved interesting."

"I don't wish to corrupt you so quickly," he countered; the look Andromache gave him was flat.

"I grew up with seven brothers, Hector. If I am to be corrupted, be assured that the task is already done."

"Then I don't wish to corrupt you further so quickly," he amended.

She smiled, holding back a laugh as she shifted to rest her head on his shoulder, a small bit of tiredness falling over her. "After being corrupted for so long, I am easily susceptible," Andromache replied, her voice quiet and her eyes closed.

"You sound tired," he commented.

Andromache propped herself up once more, raising one brow and giving him a look that said, 'And just why do you suppose that is?' Hector grinned shamelessly and gently lowered her head back to his shoulder. She sighed, content in a new sort of way, and was asleep within moments.

o0o

The blankets were drawn up over her shoulders and a gray, pre-dawn light filled the room when she next opened her eyes. She was also alone, but the warmth of the mattress next to her testified that she hadn't been that way for long. Andromache didn't move for a moment, simply blinking at the curtain that shielded the room from the balcony, perfectly willing to lie there for a bit longer. But the soft rustle of fabric drew her from her sleepy refuge, and she sat up, holding the blankets securely over her chest.

Hector caught her movement and looked over at her. "Did I wake you?"

"No," she replied, settling back against the pillows and drawing her knees up. "Even if you had, it was necessary. There are tasks that need to be completed."

"Indeed?" he inquired, coming over to the bed and sitting on the edge beside her. "And what tasks have you to complete?"

She sighed and ticked each task off on her fingers as she began, "First of all, I must unload all of my things from my trunks-"

"Is that not why servants are employed?"

Andromache sighed and said, "I can hardly move the trunks, and so, naturally, I will need their aid. But I will take everything out myself." The look he gave her was a laughingly questioning one, and she huffed. "They won't put everything in its proper place," she explained impatiently. "Everything must have an order, Hector, these things must be done in an organized manner. There is a place best suited for each item, and the item must be placed there. Unfortunately, it is rare that someone other than myself finds that best-suited place."

He raised his hands in a gesture of surrender that Andromache felt was slightly uncalled for: after all, she had hardly been attacking him, simply explaining. She frowned at him, but somehow, this only served to amuse him further, which perplexed her even as it became a slight irritant; just what was so entertaining? Before she could make her inquiries, however, he sobered - or rather, forced himself to not look so amused - and asked, "What else?"

Andromache gave him a look, but said, "I must present my father's gifts to your parents, though… A public appearance will not be required, will it?" She bit her lip, looking almost comically worried, though Hector managed to keep his amusement to himself.

"You will have to appear before the people at some time, yes, but it need not be today," he informed her, and she breathed a sigh of relief.

"After the fuss yesterday, I would rather let things calm before I step into the public eye." She inched a bit closer to him, asking, "Have you anything?"

"War planning," he answered simply.

Andromache bit her lip and looked down at her hands as they sat folded in her lap. Hector placed his hand under her chin and lifted her face to look at him once more. "This was not your doing," he said firmly.

She offered him a thin sort of smile, not convinced that his words were true. Were she in Mytilene, and Corydon still alive, there would be no war, and she knew this as well as he did. He constantly insisted that Troy and Mytilene had always had shaky relations, but they both knew that she, the former Princess of Thebe, had been the catalyst for the Mytilian hostilities.

Hector sighed heavily, lifting a hand to cup her cheek, and she scooted closer and pressed her lips to his.

o0o

"Tell me, cousin, have you always been so meticulous?"

Andromache looked up from the trunk she was emptying, a streak of dust across her slightly damp forehead. She propped one hand on her hip, jutting it out as she bit her lip and stared at the floor, considering her answer. "Yes," she replied after a moment. "For as long as I can remember. My brothers certainly never were, which left me cleaning up most of the messes we left behind. I suppose it stuck."

The younger woman sighed heavily, dropping several scrolls onto the nearby desk. Andromache winced as they fell to the wooden surface with several hollow thuds, wanting to run over and snatch them up to check for damages. Instead, she flattened her hands over her hips, pressing her palms against the navy blue-dyed cotton. "I am loath to say it, Andromache, but you've turned the simple task of unpacking into a two-day-long enterprise."

Andromache laughed at this comparison and went over to her cousin, taking Briseis' arm and saying, "Then we shall have a respite. Will Paris be with the council?"

"I would think not," Briseis replied with a slight frown. "Very rarely does he participate in such things, I would suspect that this is no different."

"Shall we seek him out, then?"

"Naturally," Briseis answered, looping her arm through Andromache's as they left the chambers, the heavy doors thudding shut behind them. "Paris, though his reputation is deplorable at best, is really quite loveable."

"Do not speak to me of Paris' reputation," Andromache said, holding up her free hand in a shielding manner. "In this case, I should prefer to remain ignorant and naïve."

"If that is your wish," Briseis said with a shrug. "But you do realize that you will hear of it. It is a favorite topic among many, because many fear that he will bring about the doom of Troy with his antics."

"I don't care," she said stubbornly. "He is my brother now, and my younger brother at that. No one will say any such things around me, I can assure you. My brothers leaned very early to not upset me."

"You won't dissolve into a fit of tears, will you?" Briseis asked, frowning slightly. "That seems rather unlike you."

Andromache gave her a mischievous smile. "No, no tears. Not from me, at least. My temper leaves much to be desired at times."

Briseis laughed. "That I can imagine!"

The pair was soon wandering the garden, only passively seeking out the younger Prince of Troy. "I must warn you," Briseis said as they wandered under a pavilion-like balcony, "Paris is not only notorious for his nocturnal activities. He is also known as a bit of a trickster."

"That seems like him," Andromache admitted. "He is rather young for his age, don't you think?"

"Yes, very young," the younger woman agreed, right before something large and filled with water fell directly in front of them, splashing their feet and surprising a gasp from Andromache and a shriek from Briseis.

Andromache looked down at the broken water skin and the wet stones. The bottom, front portion of her skirts was nearly as wet as the stones, and the same applied to her companion. With a dark look, she tilted her head back to look up at the balcony, only to see, as she had expected, Paris' grinning face peering back down at her. He waved and disappeared with a laugh.

"I am going to kill him," she said flatly, staring up at the now-vacant balcony.

"You can't kill him," Briseis protested, and Andromache looked at her with raised brows.

"And why not?" she asked.

"Because I am going to kill him."