He had never imagined a future with Hector. Priam's first-born had been groomed for the throne ever since birth. Paris had never dared to hope for such a status. He had always known and understood the path that was set out for him. Marry well and establish or strengthen ties from the royal family for the sake of Troy. Yes, he had rebelled on occasion, wanting the freedom to make his own choices. But he knew that it was his duty and he never truly intended to shirk from his responsibility.
But then he met Helen.
Her beauty struck him by surprise. He had heard all of the rumors. Rumors of the most beautiful woman to walk the earth. But Paris was a prince. He saw stunning women pass by the palace on a daily basis. Princesses, noblewomen, and even serving maids. Rarely was a prince of Troy surrounded by plain-faced females.
Even so, Helen had an allure to her that surpassed all others. Every step she took made Paris want to follow her. When she spoke, he was entranced by her sultry voice and couldn't tear his gaze away from her red, red lips. She was a paradox. She acted like a young girl but played Paris like an experienced temptress. She made him feel powerful and strong, but innocent and naive.
He didn't know what his path was now. All he knew was that Helen was his present and future. They were going to start a family and raise strong and handsome children.
Paris turned down the hall that would lead him to Hector's private chambers. He was bringing a tonic that would increase Andromache's strength. He worried about her health; she was only eating the barest of what she needed and she still had not left her rooms. The door was ajar and he was about to knock when he heard her gentle voice cooing to her baby.
"There, there, dearest."
"Da!" Astyanax's cry brought a smile to Paris' face, a rare occurrence in these times. "Dadadada!"
"Daddy is not here right now, dear. I do not believe he will be coming home for a while. " She faltered and corrected herself. "I do not believe he will come home," Andromache's voice broke a little as she voiced her greatest fear for the first time. She took a deep breath, letting it out in a shuddering gasp. "Would you like to hear a story about daddy?"
She started to spin a tale about her first meeting with her husband, how she had rejected him when he treated her like she was helpless. Paris remembered it all too well. Hector had wandered into his chambers, morose and despairing about this beautiful girl he met who hated him for no reason at all. Paris had urged him to forget about her; there were so many other girls who would kill to be acquainted with the crown prince of Troy.
But still Hector stubbornly pursued her. For more than two years, he tried to woo her, much to her annoyance and Paris' frustration. Then one dark and stormy night,, he sat outside of her house and fell sick. Upon finding him shivering, she was taken by true love and brought him soup where he then professed his undying gratitude for her and she agreed to allow him to court her.
At least, that's how Hector had told it.
Andromache clarified in her story that Hector had been drunk out of his mind and could only babble in incoherent sentences about opposites and ice and fire and true love being the strongest thing in the world. She had angrily told him to take the soup and go back to the palace. He had begun stumbling away when he tripped on the road and landed hard on the ground. Andromache ran to her father, a noble in King Priam's court, and told him that Prince Hector needed an escort back to the palace.
The next day, a penitent Hector re-appeared on her doorstep. He apologized and asked for one last chance. And she refused him again.
Over the next few months, they saw each other on a regular basis. He would awkwardly avoid making eye-contact with her, staring at the ground whenever she walked past. She tried to keep things casual and friendly, but Hector seemed determined to stay away from her. Surprisingly, she felt the loss of his presence very strongly. She missed talking to him, missed laughing at all the crazy things he would do to impress her.
One day, King Priam hosted an elaborate dinner for the wealthier nobles (noticeably ones with daughters) and Andromache arrived to find that her place was right to the right of Hector's own setting. As she approached her designated chair, Hector jumped up to pull it out for her, all the while not looking up from the tiled floor. She thanked him with a shy smile, to which he nodded, again without raising his head.
King Priam noticed the scene with amusement and Andromache looked away and blushed. She perched gingerly on the edge of her seat as she waited for the food to arrive, intent on cleaning her fingernails. It was a nasty habit that she'd never broken and her father slapped at her wrists when he saw her.
Properly reprimanded, she had nothing else to do than stare at her hands. Ignoring meaningful looks from her mother and exasperated looks from her father, she tried to relax and promised herself that she would enjoy this evening and not let one pouting prince ruin her night.
Halfway through the banquet, she was failing miserably.
She glanced at Hector, but he was staring determinedly at the small eel sprawled haphazardly across his plate. She hesitated before deciding that even awkward conversation was better than their self-imposed silence. She turned to Hector, idly wondering how fascinating a piece of eel could be.
"My lord? How have you been? You seem to have been quite busy this last week," Andromache cringed. It was a weak attempt and she berated herself for her lack of creativity.
"Yes," Hector replied. His gaze never left the limp, unappetizing-looking piece of meat in front of him.
Delightful. Even eels were more fascinating than her conversation.
She scowled and stabbed angrily at her own food. Oh, so the brute didn't even deign to grace her with a complete sentence. What a perfect gentleman. She speared the grapes on her plate and imagined that she was stabbing a much more sensitive body part. Her mother looked over at her with concern, but Andromache was past caring.
She managed to avoid him when the lords and ladies got up to dance. Amid the young and desperate twirlers, she made sure that he never had the chance to be her partner.
But then her parents, her ever caring and loving parents, stepped in.
And that's how Andromache found herself glaring over Hector's broad shoulder.
If Andromache wasn't fuming so much, she would've found the whole encounter very awkward. Hector's silence only exacerbated her already dark mood and her scowl quickly morphed into barely disguised tears of anger.
Her nose began to run and she sniffed as discreetly as possible. That drew Hector's attention.
"My lady, is everything alright?"
How dare he? "I'm fine," she bit out.
He pulled away and held her shoulders still even as she tried to turn around and hide her face. "You're crying," he said.
"I'm not," she insisted, letting go of his hand so she could wipe her face. It came back streaked with tears and kohl. She gave a little gasp and tried to wipe it on her dress. Without a second of hesitation, Hector grabbed her fingers.
She looked up at him in shock. He blushed and said, "Forgive my presumption, my lady. I did not want you to ruin your dress."
She stared, mouth open wide in what she was sure was an attractive look. Then she shoved him. She placed both her palms flat against his chest and pushed as hard as she could.
He stumbled backward and almost knocked over another happy couple.
The nerve of him! To be so gracious and polite when he had no right to do so. What was he getting out of by being so kind?
"Wha- what was that for?"
"You! You make me so angry! And I strongly dislike you!" she pushed him again, "First you ignore me, and then you care whether I soil my attire. I will never understand you!"
Hector's confusion slowly gave way to his own anger. "Well, I never asked you to! You made it perfectly clear that you want no part in my life. So don't be offended when you aren't!" He hissed.
Andromache turned on her heel and pushed through the staring dance partners. Once she was free of the crowd, she broke into a run. She felt more tears come to her eyes and tried to blink them away. She didn't understand why she was so upset, why his words are injured her so. And yet her chest was aching and her shoulders sagged from the weight of his brutal truths.
She was startled out of her misery when a gentle hand clasped at her arm. She whirled around to demand some privacy, only to discover that she was facing the crown prince of Troy. They stared at each other, the silence growing into a large, awkward thing between them.
"I'm sorry, my lady, for my careless words. I never meant to shame you or hurt you. If there is any way I can make amends, you only need to ask." Hector waited for a reply, and when none seemed forthcoming, he bowed and turned to leave.
"Why have you been avoiding my company?" Andromache blurted out, the words spilling from her unbidden. She immediately regretted how ignorant she sounded. She had rejected him; there was no reason he would still want her attentions.
"I didn't think you wanted my company," Hector replied, "Is that not so?"
"I don't know what I want, prince. But I miss your...conversation," she ended lamely.
Instead of laughing at the flush spreading all over her face, Hector invited her to sit with him in the large foyer. There, with the company of two stony-faced guards, they proceeded to discuss his riding, her tricks to avoid lyre lessons, the weather, the endless hounding from mothers to find a match.
When the page ran up, Andromache was laughing so hard that her sides were aching and her tears were no longer shed in sadness. Hector was grinning delightedly as he watched her. Loath to disturb the happy scene, the page cleared his throat apologetically, "Prince Hector, your mother requires your presence in the great hall."
Ever the dutiful son, Hector stood to return to the many commitments that a future king has. "My lady, would you accept an invitation to converse again? In the near future, perhaps?"
Andromache could only smile and nod.
At the end of her story, Astyanax was sleeping peacefully. She smoothed his sparse hair back, looking for her husband in his small features. She found it in his aristocratic nose and dark eyes and she promised never to forget.
A/N: It's been so crazy long, I can't believe it! I've kind of been lost in this story; I don't know where I want to go with it. I've been trying different POVs but I don't think I'm writing them very well. Let me know what you guys think, or what you want to see more of! Much love to all my readers. Thank you all so much.