A/N: Hello to everyone! Sorry it took so long for me to get this to you. The real world hit, and it hit hard; I'm still on crunch time, as a matter of fact. But I'll do my best to keep the updates coming steadily, I promise!

However, I must report that the days of two updates a week are gone for a long while. :sigh:

Chapter Seventeen
War Comes to Troy
o0o

Andromache tugged open the doors and ushered her cousin inside, and was about to follow when a voice called, "Princess!"

She turned and saw the guard from earlier coming toward her. "The people are in their homes, Your Highness," he told her. "There were casualties in the panic, but not many. Peace has been restored." He didn't add it, but they both thought the words, 'For now.'

"Thank you," she told him. "But I believe we are going to have to set up a set system for them to follow. Such mindless panic will only cause unneeded deaths. Such deaths are horrible during peace, but worse during war." He bowed and left, and Andromache slipped into her chambers.

She and Briseis sat on the bed, not speaking a word as they held on to each other's hands tightly, struggling to block out the sounds of battle. With the riot quieted, the battle noises were by no means smothered. Andromache forced herself to maintain a calm outward appearance even as she clutched Briseis' hand. She had never really seen battle before, but knew how to prepare a home for returning soldiers after one. But nor had she heard a battle before. Now that she had, she was of the opinion that hearing was far, far worse than seeing.

She could hear the clash of thousands of weapons, shields, and men, and the screams as soldiers were wounded and killed. If this were not horrid enough, she didn't know to whom the screams belonged. It could have been anyone down there dying, Mytilians, Trojans, Hector…

"Do you fear for him?" Briseis asked suddenly, her voice quiet.

Andromache looked up at her, moving her gaze from her lap to the younger woman's face. "More than anything," she replied.

"You don't show it," Briseis commented.

"I can't," Andromache replied. "I couldn't in Thebe, I can't here. Fear is an emotion that women are not allowed to show, and wives most of all." Briseis fell silent, holding Andromache's hand in both of hers.

The next few hours were the longest she had ever experience in her life. All she could hear were the sounds of battle, a great chorus of clashing weapons and dying men that plagued her as nothing else could. Worse, she knew that even if she had known of a way to block out the noise, she wouldn't do it.

That noise, even as it tormented her, was her only link to her husband. As she sat there on the bed that they shared, clutching the hands of her husband's cousin, she knew one of those screams could have belonged to him. This thought terrified her more than anything ever had before, and she fought against it with all that she could. Hector will return.

Slowly, the sounds began to dissipate, but it was such a slow process that Andromache thought that it was simply a hopeful imagination on her part. But then Briseis' hands tightened, and she said, "It's lessening."

Andromache closed her eyes and sighed in an odd sort of relief. Whether Troy had won or lost this battle was still to be determined - as was Hector's well being. She was by no means no longer afraid. But a heavy weight seemed to be lifted with the knowledge that it was nearly over.

"Come," she said, standing. "We can wait for them at the steps."

Briseis nodded, and together they slowly walked the corridors, listening to the fading sounds of battle as they made their way to the steps at the main entrance. Before a long time had passed, they stood alone on the steps, staring out towards the city. Soon, Paris joined them.

"It's over for now," he told the two women.

Briseis nodded, but Andromache made no response. "Is there any news of Hector?" Briseis asked quietly as the King and Queen began to make their way toward them.

"None," Paris said just as quietly, casting a glance at Andromache. "We lost sight of him."

Andromache did not move, nor did she speak. She simply stared, waiting, stubbornly ignoring the concerned glances that Paris and Briseis gave her. Paris reached out and grabbed her free hand, and he and Briseis stood on either side of her almost protectively as Priam and Hecuba stepped to be even with them. Hecuba sent Andromache a disapproving glance, one which the recipient did not acknowledge. Paris, however, sent his mother a look, and she arched her brow at him before facing forward.

Standing there as the sun began to sink lower, Andromache felt as though the day had been several years long. She kept her mind carefully blank as they waited, not wishing to dwell on all the horrible things, as she knew her mind would do. Her face was bland and emotionless, and at her side, Paris' expression was grim - he had seen that bland mask before, and the circumstances had been less than favorable. He had hoped that he would never see it again.

It was at least another hour before the commanders of the army began their weary trek up the steps. Their walk was a slow, heavy one, indicating both weariness of mind and body. Hector, in the middle of the small crowd, met her gaze as they finally mounted the last step. He glanced to his parents and gave the a short nod in greeting, then went to where his wife stood, protected on either side by his brother and cousin. He held out a hand to her, and Andromache sent a grateful look to both Paris and Briseis before reclaiming her hands and slipping her hand into Hector's.

She followed him into the dimly lit corridor, and soon enough they were in their chambers. As soon as the door was closed behind them, he made to loosen the straps of his armor. Still blandly silent, Andromache moved to help him, causing him to look up at her in slight surprise. She ignored his look, continuing to work at the straps until he could remove the armor, and she stepped away and went to sit on the bed.

Andromache watched, wordless and bland, as he tiredly rinsed his face and lower arms. His hands and arms were blood-stained, and she knew as well as he did that the blood was not his. She could tell by his expression that this bothered him, but it was an odd comfort for her. It was horrible that he had to resort to killing, but Andromache would rather have him rinse others' blood off his hands than attend his funeral. It was a cruel thought, and she knew it, but she couldn't make herself deny the truth of it.

He paused and looked at her for a moment as she stood. And then, very suddenly, he was before her, pressing his face into her neck and holding on to her tightly. Andromache returned his embrace fiercely, knotting her fingers in his hair. "I don't think you realize just how reassuring it was to me when you walked up those steps," she whispered, her voice thick with the tears she had been fighting the entire day. "I was so afraid."

Hector pulled away, smoother her hair with one hand as he said, "I must speak with Father and his council." He looked very reluctant to leave, and, what unnerved her the most, his eyes were haunted. "Wait for me?"

Andromache nodded, grabbing his other hand and hoping that she was being reassuring. "Always."

A sudden thud at the door to their chambers caused Andromache to jump. Hector sighed, bracing his forehead on her shoulder for a moment before going to the door. Andromache looked down at her hands, smoothing her clothing absently as her husband spoke with their visitor.

She didn't know what to think. It had been unspeakably horrible, listening to the battle. She had never seen a battle, nor heard one, only prepared a home for returning soldiers. Andromache hardly knew how to take everything - the horrors, the terror of the people, the haunted look in her husband's eyes, she had no earthly idea how to take these with equanimity and correct them. She had no control, and was deathly afraid.

Perhaps I should let the Mytilians take me, she thought rather mournfully. They would leave Troy then, and perhaps all these wrongs would correct themselves.

She bit her lip and fisted her hands gently. They would be corrected for Troy, and Hector, but not in the same way they would be corrected for her: Andromache would be dead, she knew. Damen would keep her as a slave, if he kept her at all, and she would die before she served that man. If she did give herself to the Mytilians, she would smuggle a poison with her and commit suicide as soon as peace with Troy was assured.

"Andromache."

She looked up at him, snapped from her reverie. "Yes?"

"My mother wishes to see you."

She nodded, smoothing her clothes nervously. "Did they say what this was about?"

"No, I'm afraid not." He slid an arm around her shoulders as they each walked out of the room, holding her close to his side as they made their way down the corridor.

Andromache bit her lip nervously, reviewing her encounters with the Queen of Troy over the past few days. Their numbers were few, and she had maintained her best behavior during each of them. Then why had Hecuba asked for her presence? She had the awful feeling that it was not to apologize for past attitudes towards her.

When they reached the meeting hall, Hector stopped, pressed his lips to her hair, then left, and Andromache carried on alone. Soon, she found herself standing before the door to Hecuba's chambers, and she bit her lip fiercely before raising the large bronze ring that hung on the door and letting it fall on the heavy wood. The noise, though expected, made her jump slightly, and Andromache did her best to calm her nerves, casting a glance over her shoulder. Perhaps it was nothing! She had worked herself into a fuss for what was probably nothing of consequence.

Somehow, she didn't quite believe herself.

The door opened, and a servant bowed to her as she entered. Queen Hecuba stood, regarding her mercilessly. Andromache bowed her head deeply. "You sent for me, my Queen?"

"I did," she said, walking towards her with a sort of cold, hardened grace. "I wished to speak to you about your behavior."

Andromache bowed her head, lowering her eyes and clasping her hands before her, doing her very best to appear subservient - this was about what had happened that morning, when the signal had sounded. She was in no mood for conflict, and wanted to avoid it at all costs; if acting meek and lowly would prevent an argument, then she would do so. Still, she couldn't help but feel a stab of irritation at the injustice of the Queen's words; surely one mistake after five days was not worthy of reproach?

"I realize," Hecuba said imperiously, "that you had a great deal of freedoms in Thebe. I would like to remind you now that this is not Thebe. You have an image in which you are held, and you must uphold this image. Not only this, but your behavior must reflect the house of Troy. Your behavior today, when the signal came, was inappropriate. And then, you proceeded to hide in the palace rather than go to the pavilion."

Andromache's head flew up at that. "Hector asked me not to," she said with a frown.

That seemed to be bothersome to Hecuba, though Andromache could not see why. What did it matter to Hecuba if her son didn't wish for his wife to go to the wall? "I see," the woman said. "At any rate, your behavior was deplorable at best. I would expect better from a Princess of Troy." Her gaze was piercing, and Andromache looked down once more. "You may go now."

She bowed and left, fleeing while doing her best to make it look as though she was not fleeing. As she made her way back toward her rooms, she frowned to herself. Why did Hector not want her to go to the wall? Andromache could think of no reason - no obvious one, at least. Still, she could hardly keep herself from wondering. She wanted to ask him, but his exhausted and troubled state stayed her words; he needed support, not questions.

She waited for an hour after her words with Hecuba, changing into her sleeping clothes and sitting on the edge of the bed, her posture perfect and her hands folded in her lap. She had been so afraid, terrified that he had been slain, and not really believing that he had survived until she had touched him. Her fear was assuaged, but not for long, she knew. Unfortunately, though her fear was extinguished, her long, torturous day was not yet over.

When her husband returned, she was at his side almost instantly, guiding him to the bed and sitting him down on it, taking her place beside him. Andromache frowned gently and tenderly touched the skin of his cheek, near a cut that had not been there before. Her hand was shaking when she pulled it away.

"There will be more," he told her quietly.

"I know." She smiled gently at him. "They say that such things testify to a life well-lived."

Hector looked at her his expression bland, though his eyes were not so haunted as they were before. "What is it?" she asked softly, more than slightly distressed.

He shook his head. "Nothing," he said, looking at the wall.

"Liar."

Hector jerked his head around to look at her, then smiled slightly. "Should I have known better?"

"Naturally," she replied airily. "I have had many years experience extricating the information I want from stubborn men. I have-"

"Seven brothers," he finished for her. "I remember."

"So do you wish to tell me now, or after I'm through with you?"

He smiled, but it quickly faded. "War," he said. "Needless deaths. It never fails to amaze me that men resort to it."

This was my doing. She cupped his cheek, and he met her eyes once more. "I love you," she said quietly. "More than anything."

o0o

Andromache did not sleep well that night. Her mind whirled with thoughts of the war in her waking moments, and when she slept, she was plagued by the same dream: she was on the wall, facing the west and standing on the western pavilion. Troy's army was assembled before the wall, the archers standing on the wall, and a great army, far greater than any number she had ever seen, stood opposite them. Hector and Paris, each on horses, were at the front of the army, and seven chariots came out from the main part of the other army. Every time the dream returned, she felt such a harrowing sense of dread that she forced herself to wake.

Instead, she watched her husband sleep. He was lying on his side, facing her, with his back toward the balcony. His arm was draped over her waist, and he very peaceful, enough so that it wrenched at her heart. She bit her lip and very gently rested her hand on his chest, over his heart.

"You should be sleeping," he said, causing her to start.

"As should you," she pointed out. "I'm sorry if I woke you."

"You didn't." He opened his eyes and looked at her. "Today was difficult, wasn't it?"

She looked at her hands, rather than his eyes, and gave a sort of half shrug. "I can cope."

"That hardly answers my question."

Andromache looked at him again. She had no wish to burden him when he already had so much on his mind. At the same time, however, she knew that he would know if she were lying. "Very," she answered. "There's nothing for it. The sounds of battle cannot be smothered, and there will be no negotiations. I can cope."

"If there is anything I can do-"

"You have done more than enough," she assured him. "Get your rest. You need it."

o0o

The next day was no easier. If anything it was worse - her husband's reactions to battle, as well as the sounds coming from the plains surrounding Troy, which seemed even more vicious than the day before, fiercer and much less forgiving, combined to send Andromache's nerves over the edge. To remove the sting, she and Briseis had ventured out into the city itself, in order to see the people.

In Thebe, during the very few wars that had occurred in Andromache's lifetime, those who had remained in the city, mainly women, had left the palace and mingled directly with the people in order to reassure them. Though she had been fairly young, she remembered going down to the city with her mother and Alexander's new wife, who had been rather young at the time. They had spoken with the people, reassuring them that Thebe was in no danger of being conquered. As a wife herself and princess of a new nation, Andromache felt that the same actions could be applied to Troy, despite its greatness.

"You did this in Thebe often?" Briseis asked. They were walking down the nearly-empty streets with their arms looped together. Their clothing was simple, but elegant, and Andromache wore no jewelry - Briseis wore a circlet over her veil to hold it in place.

"I went into the city often, yes," she replied rather absently, surveying their surroundings curiously. "Wars were very rare, only one occurred during my time there. Raiders and bandits were more common, and even those were sparse. One of the luxuries of being a relatively inconspicuous nation."

Briseis sighed. "Troy isn't under attack constantly, but the army is in motion constantly. The people outside the city walls are attacked by raiders more often than any of us like."

Andromache frowned gently as she craned her neck to see further down the dusty street. "Outside the walls?"

"Yes," Briseis replied. "If all the Trojans were to live within the city walls, there would be no room to breathe. Besides, all of our farms are outside the walls."

"That makes much more sense than it doesn't," she murmured, realizing that, coming from such a small nation, she was at a distinct disadvantage as to knowing the inner workings of a city. She stopped, placing a hand on Briseis' arm as she looked over at a stall that was open despite the marked lack of available customers.

The woman who stood there would have been very pretty, with her black curls, olive skin, and warm, cinnamon brown eyes, but for her evident exhaustion. Her posture was suffering, as if she slim shoulders bore the weight of the world, and her eyes were guarded and wary. She was small, nearly as small as Andromache, which was a rare thing indeed, though it seemed rather unnatural for this woman. A small girl clung to her leg, looking forlornly about the streets. The sight was a haunting one.

Andromache offered an affable smile as she approached, giving a small wave to the little girl, who shyly waved back. "Good afternoon," she said as the woman stared at her, looking very much as if she were unsure what to make of the situation. "How are you faring this day?"

"Well enough," the woman said, looking guarded. "I could be faring much better, but such is the will of the gods."

Andromache's smile turned wry. "The gods are volatile. Perhaps we should depend on ourselves for our day-to-day happiness?"

"If you say, Princess."

She looked away from the older woman's piercing cinnamon gaze. "I hadn't thought you recognized me." Briseis slipped her hand into her cousin's, squeezing the Princess's hand reassuringly.

"It would be difficult to not recognize the woman who stole the heart of the great Prince Hector."

Andromache looked at her, her gaze assessing. What was this woman thinking? More than likely, she was thinking that Andromache was naught but a spoiled child who had never faced hardship in her life. For the most part, if that was what the woman was truly thinking, her thoughts were right. The Trojan Princess knew that she had led an easy life thus far as well as she knew anything. True, certain events in her life had been difficult, but she had hardly known true hardship.

"The woman who also brought war to your country?" Andromache asked bluntly, her face unreadable.

The woman shifted, reaching down to take the little girl's hand. "Near as I can tell, Your Highness," she said, "you had very little to do with it. We constantly hear rumors from the Big Hill about Mytilene and what that imbecile king of theirs has done recently. It's no surprise that His Highness finally declared war. The only surprise is that this is all over a woman."

"And an unworthy one at that," Andromache muttered. She was about to ask the woman a question when she spoke, interrupting her.

"I wouldn't let the others hear you call yourself unworthy," the woman commented, her eyes piercing in a way that her words were not.

"Why is that?" Andromache asked, almost cautiously.

"Because our husbands, sons, fathers, and brothers are out there fighting," she replied. "Because the people need to have faith in their royalty. How can they have faith in their royalty if that royalty doesn't have faith in themselves?"

"I see your point," Andromache said fairly. There was a sudden, dramatic increase in the constant sound of battle, and she winced visibly before saying. "I will do my best to improve. But, if it helps…" She gave the woman a rather bitter smile. "My husband is out there fighting as well."

The woman nodded, conceding Andromache her point.

o0o

Perhaps the most difficult thing was, once again, waiting after the battle sounds had stopped. The tension, already pushing them all very near to breaking point, seemed twofold during that time. Andromache found that it was slightly easier to bear when she wasn't under the eyes of the entire court. Therefore, she risked the wrath of her new family and remained in her rooms as she waited for her husband to return.

She had plenty of time to wait. It was quite possibly one of the most difficult things she'd done, and all she could do for it was pace, hoping and praying to any listening deity that her husband was alive and well. There was nothing else she could do. Visiting the people had only helped to a certain extent; after her conversation with the stall woman, her mood had taken on a definite gravity.

Paris had said that things were easier when one could actually see the events one was hearing, and she no longer doubted this assertion in the least. Listening, she had no way of knowing, no way of assuring herself… all she had was a haunting noise that disturbed her even when she could no longer hear it.

Did Hector realize what he was asking of her by requesting that she not go to the wall? Perhaps he didn't, which was a perfectly reasonable assumption; how many battles would he, who had been a soldier nearly all his life, have watched, let alone listened to? She bit her lip fiercely, but knew that she couldn't endure another day like the past two.