A/N: The title of this chapter refers to the fact that it's Andromache's fifth day in Troy. I thought I'd put that in there, just in case. A little clarification.

Dunthonwen, I agree, I think it's something you have to have experience to write, and I (fortunately) do not have it. I mean, if you can write it, more power to you. But I can't, lol.

Chapter Sixteen
The Fifth Day
o0o

Andromache did not see much of her husband that day, but reasoned herself into not begrudging Priam and the council the monopolization of Hector. Whether by accident of design, she had married a very important man, and had done so willingly: as eldest prince of Troy and commander of Troy's armies (though, he had informed her, a newly made commander), he had duties that had to be placed before time with his wife.

Even so, she found herself frowning when he did not return by the time for evening meal came. Paris and Briseis had kept her entertained for a good majority of her time, enough time that she was far behind on her unpacking, but no amount of amusement could conceal the fact that she had not seen Hector since that morning. Or, perhaps, it was that no amount of amusement could conceal what this meant. If Hector was spending entire days in such meetings, then the threat was greater than he had led her to believe, and she knew it.

Not, however, that she allowed herself complaint. She forced a smile all through the meal, and even spared enough conscious thought to be kind to Hecuba. Andromache did her very best to be as polite as possible to the Queen of Troy, hoping to at least let the woman know that the Princess held no ill will towards her. If Hecuba saw this, it was more than Andromache could tell.

As the sun set that evening, Andromache set herself to her unpacking. Dark-colored cotton clothing the bottom drawer, light-colored in the next drawer. Dark-colored silks draped over the left side of the bar, darkest on bottom and lightest on top, and light-colored silks draped over the right side, darkest to lightest. Cotton veils went in the drawer above the light-colored cotton, and silk veils went in the top drawer. Jewelry pieces went to their respective places in a jewelry armoire that had been given to her as a wedding gift, and scrolls went in a bin next to it. Feminine bandages, in different shades so as to not be seen through the thin fabric of her clothing, were placed with their respective color coordinates in drawers. Formal sandals went in the bottom of the armoire, and casual ones on the floor next to it. Her scented waters, cosmetics, bath oils, and things of that ilk, though few, were arranged logically on the vanity, a large, polished sheet of metal serving as her mirror.

All that was left in her trunks were the gifts from the Theban royal family, and Theban court, to Hector and the Trojan royalty: wedding gifts. Those she would have sent to their respective recipients in the morning, as she did not wish to disturb people as they settled into their homes for the night.

Her task finished, Andromache realized belatedly that she should have gone about it at a slower pace: now that she was done, she had nothing to distract her. Wonderful, Andromache, she thought sardonically, looking up at her neatly arranged armoire from her position on the floor. With a heavy sigh she stood, wincing as her knees protested at being straightened after kneeling for so long.

She perfected the bed, which she had made and remade at least three times over in her task of arranging the rooms to her satisfaction. When she was convinced that the pillows could not be arranged any more proportionately, she went to the balcony, leaning on the stone railing and staring out over the city as light after light was extinguished. In the distance, the glitter of the ocean was one great expanse, and in the silence she heard the gentle crashing of the waves on the shore.

The night was eerily calm: an odd sort of subdued silence covered the city. Even the wind, which she had learned was a constant companion of Troy, was calm, a gentle breeze that swept cool air from the ocean through the streets and houses. She bit her lip, wrapping her hands about her elbows in order to hide their shaking. It was the calm before the fury, she knew, and she feared it.

These people will hate me, she thought, looking out of the city in the fading light. And they will have every reason to do so.

She heard the door open, but could not bring herself to turn. What have I done to these people? I should never have let him bring me here.

Hector came up behind her, placing his hands on her shoulders and pressing his lips to her hair. "Fretting again?"

"Of course not," she replied. Her voice was light, but the words had been an automatic response.

"Liar," he countered, a slight smile in his voice.

She turned around to face him. "You forget, I have always been given more freedom than most women. I know what happens during meetings with councils and kings. The longer they are, the worse the situation. You were there all day."

She stepped past him, re-entering the room as she wrapped her arms about herself. Hector stepped forward to be even with the pillars, watching her as she turned and leaned against the desk, her arms about her middle tightly. "If the situation were really so uncertain, we would be evacuating the city," he told her.

She sighed and gave him a slightly disappointed look. "Hector, I am hardly stupid. It would take a force far greater than Mytilene's to give cause for evacuation. Even then, it is doubtful; why leave the protection of the city and its walls behind?"

His smile was small, and slightly bitter. "I never meant to imply stupidity. I was trying for reassurance."

"I don't want reassurance. Perhaps my brothers should have warned you: reassurance has never had the desired affect on me. Typically, it makes me want to scream," she informed him. "I want the truth, Hector."

He considered her for a moment, then stepped into the main part of the room, slowly walking toward her. "The main concern was not only the approaching attack," he told her. "The King of Lampsacus received the message from his daughter. The termination of the betrothal. He had the messenger killed, and sent the head back to Cloris in silk wrapping, after the limbs were speared to his gate."

Her hand moved of its own accord, reaching up to cover her mouth, but she made no other reaction. Hector continued.

"He is furious, and not with Troy. He has disowned his daughter and declared war on Thebe."

Andromache's eyes slid closed as she fought for equilibrium. This was unexpected, and unwanted. After all that she had done in attempt to save Thebe from war, the elopement of the Princess of Lampsacus destroyed all that Andromache had struggled for. She reopened her eyes to find Hector in front of her, and she forced steadiness into her demeanor. "Lampsacus and Thebe are evenly matched militarily," she said, forcing her words to be even and confident. "I have no fear for that. Even if I did, my brother is a good commander and has a strong sense of battle coordination, and wields the love and loyalty of the men. That gives Thebe an advantage."

Hector reached up and rested his hand on her neck, his thumb brushing her cheek. "It's all right to be frightened," he said quietly.

Her eyes slid closed once again, and when she opened them, there was a slight sheen that had not been there before. She gave him the ghost of a smile. "No it isn't," she said quietly.

He sighed and turned from her, wandering toward where a fire blazed in the hearth. After a moment, she asked, "Is that all that was discussed?" she asked, almost conversationally.

"King Damen himself leads the Mytilian army. His younger brother, the one member of the Mytilian royal family that isn't insane, has been missing for years now. There are rumors that men loyal to the old ways of Mytilene are searching for him in order to place him on the throne."

"So should this younger brother be placed on the throne, we would have a chance at negotiations. Correct?" Her voice was direct, a sober tone that she only took when discussing politics and war with her father and brothers.

"Yes. Unfortunately, many wonder if he is even alive. It's entirely plausible that Damen had him killed."

"To protect his throne. He knows his rule is in jeopardy." She straightened, feeling the discussion make her feel slightly better. It was solid, something she could count on and something she knew of, and it gave her information. The last was most vital to her: if her husband was to be fighting, she wanted to know as much of the situation as she could. "Could that be used against him?"

"Not by us, no. Only by his own people."

"As I feared."

Hector turned to her with a small smile, walking over to her and pulling her to him. Andromache went into his arms gratefully, appreciating the comfort despite her apparent confidence. "You sound very much like my fathers councilors, only with added intelligence," he murmured. She didn't reply, and his voice was almost frighteningly grave as he said, "Thirty-five thousand Mytilian soldiers march on Troy as we speak. Our own men number twenty-five thousand. The odds are against us."

"Troy has the finest archers in the world," she pointed out, to reassure herself as much as him. "Not only this, but Troy has horsemen, also a distinct advantage, and the men fight for a leader whom they love, and who will fight with them. The Mytilian king will sit in a tent and give orders, letting the men do the killing and dieing for him."

"I was wrong," he said with a low chuckle. "You would make a wonderful general as well."

That got a small laugh from her, and she straightened. "Let us speak of something else," she murmured. "You already worry more than you should."

He raised a brow. "And you do not?"

Andromache threw him a smile and went over to her armoire, gathering her sleeping clothes. "Your brother," she said, closing the armoire doors and turning to face him with a teasingly annoyed look, "very nearly asked for death today."

"What did he do this time?" Hector asked with a roll of his eyes, and Andromache hid a smile as she stepped behind a screen to change. It was a move more out of habit than modesty (modesty was, in truth, no longer practical, given that he had seen everything), and she said from behind the wooden screen, "Briseis and I were on the receiving end of a dropped water skin this afternoon. We had an argument over who was going to kill him."

"That sounds very much like something Paris would do. You must learn to always look up," Hector said, grinning at her as she stepped out from behind the screen.

"Habit," she explained, though there was no question in his bearing, gesturing to the screen.

He had changed as well, wearing naught but a wrap that hung from his hips. With a small frown, she went over to where he stood and delicately fingered a scar that was placed on the upper portion of his abdomen, toward the center. It was a stark reminder to the life he led, and not for the first time, it crossed her mind that she had married a man who would acquire many scars in life. She shuddered, thinking of the circumstances that would cause such marks. He caught her hand, bringing her out of her reverie.

"Tell me," he said, drawing her over to the bed and sitting her firmly down onto it, "what stories did my dear brother and cousin taint you with today? I must correct the errors."

She laughed, but the haunting feeling did not leave.

o0o

The halls were oddly empty as she wandered through her Theban home. Where was Erastus? Alexander? They were supposed to be in meetings with their father and the council, to prepare for the attack from Lampsacus. She was wearing the blue of Troy, but her necklace was fashioned into the shape of a flower native to Thebe.

She turned to the hall that led to the throne room, a small bubble a fear welling up within her and growing, until she was very afraid, nearly terrified. Where was her family? They were needed! Where was everyone else, for that matter? Did they not know that Thebe was in danger?

Andromache entered the throne room, frightened and alone. What she saw, however, made her want to scream. Blood covered the floor, and the bodies a few servants, slaves, and soldiers littered the floor. She raised shaking hands to her mouth, then turned and fled.

She turned a corner and suddenly realized that she was now in the palace of Troy. Her hands were shaking violently from the sight she had seen, and as she walked she came across the entrance to a balcony. She didn't want to go out there, but no matter how fiercely she told her feet to take her away, they took her onto the balcony instead. As bad as the scene in Thebe had been, this was worse: thousands of Trojan soldiers were lying on the battlefield outside of Troy, and Mytilian soldiers were battering the gates, slowly breaking them away.

Women and children screamed, running as men grabbed whatever they could use for weapons and brought them to bear, ready to fight against the invaders to the death. Where is Hector? she thought wildly. Hector commands the finest army in the east, Troy will never fall so long as he protects her.

Then she realized that the only way that Troy would fall would be if Hector were dead…

Andromache's eyes snapped open, but she didn't move: she didn't want to disturb Hector, who was sleeping soundly beside her, his arm draped across her waist. But even as she laid there, her husband's protective presence beside her, her heartbeat refused to slow and her breathing refused to become even. She very carefully slid out of bed and went over to her armoire, pulling out a simple cotton dress and, wishing to leave Hector in peace, stole silently from their chambers.

The smaller balcony overlooking the gardens was more or less private, and so Andromache found herself there, leaning on the railing, facing east, as she did her best to calm herself. That dream had disturbed her a great deal, and had seemed terribly solid. She closed her eyes tightly, doing her very best to banish the images from her mind.

How long she stood there, she couldn't tell. All she really knew was that, as she stood on the balcony at the railing, there were footsteps behind her, and her husband was saying, "I was looking for you."

She turned, giving him a forced smile. He didn't take it, and walked over to her wordlessly and stood next to her, placing a hand at the small of her back. "Is everything all right?"

"It was only a dream, and I didn't want to wake you," she replied.

"That isn't precisely what I asked," he pointed out.

There was a moment of silence before she spoke. "I'm afraid," she said quietly. "Afraid for my family, Thebe, Troy." She looked at him. "You. This is one of the few times in my life in which I have no control." Andromache looked down, folding her hands about each other.

Hector drew in a deep breath and slipped his arm about her shoulders, pulling her to his embrace. Andromache closed her eyes and braced her forehead on his shoulder as he said, "You need not fear for Troy. I will protect her for you. You need not worry for me, because I have more than enough men to watch my back for me. As for Thebe and your family, I'm hoping to send at least three battalions to Thebe today, for protection."

Andromache nodded, her fears only barely less than they had been. They stood there for several moments as she forced herself to calm. Then Hector said, "When the Mytilians come, I ask you to stay here rather than go to the walls."

Andromache lifted her head to look at him. She knew of the observing platforms, complete with canopies to guard against the blazing sun, that were positioned at four points along the wall surrounding Troy, one platform for each major direction. It was customary for the royal family and court to go to such platforms and either observe training or watch battles.

"You know that you could order me to," she pointed out, and he scowled at her.

"You are my wife, not an unfeeling piece of property," Hector replied flatly

"Many men would argue," she said quietly, brushing her fingers against his cheek absently. "I will do as you ask."

He sighed in relief. "Thank you."

She nodded and leaned into him once more. "You are quite possibly one of the oddest men I have ever met," she told him, her voice muffled by the cotton of this clothing. "My father and brothers always treated their wives with respect, but the general idea is that women are property. You, my love, are a minority."

"I believe it takes a certain about of self-assurance to treat women with respect. A man who lacks that will treat his wife with disrespect," he explained. "Not only this, but women are physically weaker, and thus deserve a man's protection. As it is, we depend on women more than you depend on us."

"Do you, indeed?" she asked, lifting her head and looking at him with a raised brow.

"We do," he informed her. "In many ways."

She opened her mouth to ask in what ways, exactly, when a loud, hollow dong! resounded through the air, a sound she would learn to dread with her entire being. Hector stepped away from her, suddenly grim, and moved around her to look out over city. Andromache watched him as he stared for maybe an instant, and then very quickly pressed a kiss to her lips before walking purposefully away. Shaking now, her fears returning, she looked out over the city and saw a great mass. She realized with a dull horror that the flashes she saw were from shields, helms, spears, and blades.

The reaction to the warning had been instantaneous and immense. Screams came up from the city as people scattered, terrified. Out on the plain, the men who had been adding sharpened logs to the defenses ran to their positions as the frightened civilians ran, fleeing for their lives. The army was well-trained and handled the emergency well, but the civilians were nearly all in a mindless panic that caused more harm than good.

She reached out and braced herself against the railing, nearly crumpling as she was swamped with the nearly overwhelming urge to fall to the floor in tears. This is my fault! her mind cried in anguish. This is my doing!

Andromache straightened and, seeing the chaos that the city had become, set her expression and ran through the palace, her skirts bunched in her hands. When she finally emerged at the steps that led to the city, she dashed past Hecuba, and knew she would feel the consequences of it later. Suddenly she was jerked to a stop.

"Your Highness, no," a male voice said firmly. Andromache glared into the face of a palace guardsman, ripping her arm from his grasp.

"The people are nearly mindless," she snapped. "They need help, and since no one else will do it, I will."

"You are not to leave the palace without His Highness the Prince," the guard retorted. "It's the Queen's orders."

An unfamiliar fury washed over her, and she stomped her foot. "Then go help those people!" she shrieked at him, jabbing a finger at the city. "Take as many men as you need and go help them!"

The guard seemed to hesitate, but then nodded and murmured, "Princess," before rushing off, calling several other guards to him. Andromache watched them go, the screaming from the crowds loud even from that distance.

"Andromache!"

She turned and saw Briseis run towards her, her dark hair and veil flying. Looking at the younger woman's face and considering her tone of voice, Andromache realized that Briseis was afraid. Automatically she reached out a hand, gathering her skirts in the other, and Briseis latched onto her, clutching the Princess's hand.

"Where's Hector?" the younger woman asked, her voice indicating her frightened state.

"With the army. He left as soon as the signal started."

Briseis' eyes slid closed at this, her pained expression displaying nearly what Andromache felt inwardly. But Andromache was no fool, she knew that she needed to stay brave and maintain appearances, and so she tucked her fear away, carefully hiding the fact that her heart quailed at the noise and panic, and the large numbers of soldiers who were currently running at a full charge towards the city.

"Come with me," Andromache said, tugging Briseis along behind her. She led the way toward where Paris' chambers were and cried, "Paris!"

There was no response, and she paused, gazing around them. "Paris!"

"I'm here," a voice called out to them. The women turned and found Paris, looking much more grim than they were used to seeing him, standing at the end of the corridor. They went to him as he said, "Follow me, we're all to meet on the eastern pavilion."

Andromache skidded to a halt. "On the wall?"

"Yes," Paris answered. She shook her head.

"I can't," she informed them. "I promised Hector I wouldn't watch."

Briseis held onto Andromache's hand with both of her own, looking back and forth between Paris and the Princess. Paris adopted an even grimmer expression and said, "As you wish. But I will tell you now, listening is worse than seeing. Briseis? Pavilion or here?"

"I would rather not watch," the young woman said, her voice shaking slightly. "I will stay with Andromache."

"Very well." Paris reached out and embraced them both, then left.

Alone in the corridor, the two women watched as the younger Prince of Troy disappeared. Andromache forced herself to smile for Briseis. "Come. We will wait in my chambers."

Briseis nodded, and her cousin led the way to her and her husband's chambers.