I'm not one for angst and whining but Adara has had a pretty rough go of things. Couldn't really overlook that in this chapter and pretend everything was fluffy bunnies and unicorns farting rainbows, so it had to be addressed. Let me know what you think

Disclaimer: I do not own Troy or any of the affiliated characters

Chapter 25: Almost is Never Enough

Nine days of mourning was too many. Adara quickly grew sick of the quiet palace and solemn faces she passed.

On her first day back, she had been looked after nonstop by her parents.

"We're so proud to see you embracing your studies," her mother cooed. Adara smiled and nodded, wondering what Daan had told them, but deciding not to say anything. If they really knew what she'd been doing with her studies, they would probably be acting differently.

"Daan told them you were with him the whole time," Helen explained to her the same day. "But he told Priam the truth."

"And you and Paris?"

Helen smiled. "I saw through the cover, and Paris knew something was off, but I said nothing to him."

Since the day after her arrival, the entire city of Troy had a pall of depression spread over it. The people could give their prince a proper burial, but the fact that they needed to was what pained them.

Adara had shared in too much sorrow recently, but there was no escaping it. Instead, she wore the mourning colors and walked through the halls with her head down, like she was supposed to.

Soon enough, though, she'd find herself at the western parapet, where she'd watch the Greek campfires and think. Those thoughts, though, were mostly there to help pass the time, as were her lessons with Daan, who was eager to know how the Ambrosia worked.

For a few days, she tried to watch the funeral games, but found she could not enjoy the events. Her eyes flew from face to face of the participants, scanning each and deciding which ones had strong jaws and half-grins, sandy hair and bright blue eyes...

It took two days before she learned she could spend the time allotted for games with Daan. After that, the remainder of the days went by quickly.

As was tradition, on the tenth day, there was a feast in Hector's honor. At the large table, she took the seat she'd sat at for all her life, and with a jolt in her chest, realized how quickly and drastically it all had changed since the last time she'd sat there.

Across the table was Helen, who caught her eye and gave Adara a brief smile before returning to her conversation with Paris. He was at his parent's left, but on Priam's right side, next to a miserable Andromache, was Hector's empty seat

Adara studied the beautiful woman, her features as forlorn as they had been all week. She did not sulk, but walked the palace halls as she always did. Except, now, her eyes were red and puffy, looking as if tears threatened to spill out at any minute. Adara knew Andromache's strength, but she had seen some others speak to her like they walked on egg shells, afraid that the simplest thing could send her over the edge.

She kept Astyanax with her, politely declining offers from nurses to relive her. She wanted him, her strongest connection to Hector, near her at all times.

Almost like she felt eyes on her, Andromache focused her attention. She stopped absentmindedly pushing her food around her plate and looked up, meeting Adara's gaze. She gave her a weak smile before making a helpless motion in the direction of Hector's seat.

In turn, Adara patted the empty seat next to her, the one that had belonged to her brother, showing Andromache she was not alone. The two shared forced, trembling smiles, then returned to their meals.

But Adara refused to eat any more. A sideways glance at her brother's empty chair reminded her of the last time she'd been there with him, and her stomach was filled with a bittersweet longing to laugh and jest with him once more.

Out of curiosity, she raised her eyes to where she knew Alanor was seated. His arm was in a sling and his face was covered in dark bruises and half-healed scratches. Now that he was a warrior instead of a love sick dog gazing at her - and perhaps because Carius was not there to joke about him - Adara could see that he was actually rather attractive.

But now, she knew, thoughts like that were pointless. She looked back down at her plate, ignoring the food, feeling the yearning sensation grow larger still as she thought of the comfort that could only come from her brother.

Or from Patroclus.

If she closed her eyes, she could almost feel the his arms wrap around her; almost see his eyes staring into hers; almost hear his deep, smooth voice telling her everything would be all right.

Almost. And that night, as the flames of the pyre lashed out against the sky, consuming another person she loved, almost was nowhere near enough.

During the burial the following morning, Adara thought about the almost she just wouldn't be able to live with.

She shook her head, trying to clear it. The moment belonged to Hector; she could pine away later. But every few seconds, thoughts returned, not helping her in any way.

She did make it through the burial with enough respect for Hector in show, gift, and thought, but as soon as the mass that was all the people of Troy started to thin, she admitted to herself what she'd know for over a week: She was sick.

She sighed and shook her head, wondering if Aphrodite pitied her or found it all very humorous.

Her thoughts were torn from self-pity at the sound of hoofbeats thundering towards the royal family.

"My King!" The rider yelled, out of breath. He pulled the reins for a skidding halt that sent dirt and sand into a cloud behind him and jumped off the horse before it had even stopped. He bowed and Priam waved for him to continue, sensing the urgency. "The Greeks! They've fled!" he announced, a wide grin beneath his flushed cheeks.

"Fled?" Priam repeated, voicing aloud Adara's confused thought. She knew Priam was thinking of Agamemnon, whose forfeit made no sense. Her thoughts focused on another Greek, the one she couldn't stop thinking about even when she tried.

He had left her. Perhaps not willingly, but he was gone now.

The messenger nodded. "The beach is clear. All the boats and the men are gone, except for the dead."

Adara's head snapped up, heart pounding.

"Dead?" Priam asked, waiting for him to elaborate.

"The plague, my King."

Still suspicious, Priam turned to Paris. "Let us see for ourselves. Our god Apollo may be with us still."

As Adara calmly walked from the scene with the rest of the women, she knew Apollo wasn't with her, and Aphrodite was certainly not sending her pity.

In her room, Adara could not resist the urge to collapse on her bed and wallow in misery. It was pathetic, she knew, but she just felt the need to run over everything in her mind, as if that would get it out of her head and cleanse her.

Carius was gone; Hector was gone; Patroclus was gone. Her family, her friends, her life - two months was all it had taken for everything to be flipped on its head and ripped away from her.

She jumped to her feet, unable to sit still, and walked into the hall to look out the nearest window at the city below. Torches blazed, illuminating the laughing faces of people as they danced around that stupid wooden horse, celebrating their victory over the Greeks.

Adara returned to her room and slammed the door shut, in no mood to hear the jubilant crowd and festivities. What was there to be happy about?

She paced around the room, disgusted with herself. What had she been expecting? She laughed without humor. She knew exactly what she'd wanted: If a love between a Greek and a Trojan could start a war, why couldn't another stop it? She had to lower her expectations - about war, life, love...men. He was gone. Whether he had gone willingly or had to be dragged to the ships by Achilles, Patroclus was gone, to his home in Phthia.

Unless he was one of the unlucky few to be struck by the plague. But she immediately dismissed the thought; the gods chose to save him, he could not have fallen into disfavor that quickly.

No, he was in Greece, where he should be. And that was why it never would have worked. With the exception of Paris and Helen - who had quite a few problems themselves - a Greek and a Trojan could never be together. Just as he didn't belong in her world, she did not belong in his.

Yet, all this thought, reason, and logic did nothing. Her chest still ached, and when she closed her eyes, his was the face she saw.

Thanks for reading! Constructive criticism is appreciated!