Six more chapters, and an epilogue
Title: Beloved ~ Chapter Fifty
Author: Sel selene_vidae
Pairing: Apollo/Paris, Hector/Paris
Summary: What if all that we believed to have been true - was not?
Rating: PG13-NC17.
Disclaimer: These characters belong to history, to myth, to legend. I make absolutely no money from this and live off on my reviewers' love.. *flutters eyelashes prettily* Some dialogue taken directly from film but twisted to suit my needs. Some descriptions taken from the first draft of the movie's screenplay.
Feedback: Help a fellow author out and pretty please comment on this fic...
Previous Chapters: Prologue, Chapter One, Chapter Two, Chapter Three Chapter Four, Chapter Five, Chapter Six, Chapter Seven, Chapter Eight, Chapter Nine, Chapter Ten, Chapter Eleven, Chapter Twelve, Chapter Thirteen, Chapter Fourteen, Chapter Fifteen, Chapter Sixteen, Chapter Seventeen, Chapter Eighteen, Chapter Nineteen, Chapter Twenty, Chapter Twenty-one, Chapter Twenty-two, Chapter Twenty-three, Chapter Twenty-four, Chapter Twenty-five, Chapter Twenty-six, Chapter Twenty-seven, Chapter Twenty-eight, Chapter Twenty-nine, Chapter Thirty, Chapter Thirty-one, Chapter Thirty-two, Chapter Thirty-three, Chapter Thirty-four, Chapter Thirty-five, Chapter Thirty-six, Chapter Thirty-seven, Chapter Thirty-eight, Chapter Thirty-nine, Chapter Forty, Chapter Forty-one, Chapter Forty-two, Chapter Forty-three, Chapter Forty-four, Chapter Forty-five, Chapter Forty-six, Chapter Forty-seven, Chapter Forty-eight, Chapter Forty-nine
Manip courtesy of my lovey, punk_pony
Dedicated to all those who have been waiting.
Chapter Fifty
Polites paced relentlessly, back and forth, back and forth, Antiphus leaning against the wall and watching his younger brother pace, back and forth, back and forth. Pammon’s jaw twitched, clenching and unclenching his hands every so often as he sought to think and not think.
“What do you see?”
Helenus did not turn away from his perusal of the stars as he answered his brother, “Nothing. Everything.”
Hipponous was not discouraged by the cryptic answer, merely tilting his head back to look at the stars they had all grown up under, the same stars they had vowed to catch for sweethearts, heard their mother and nurses tell stories of. These stars saw them sleep in their beds, lose their naïve innocence gladly, mourn comrades and loved ones with silent tears.
“And what do you see, Hipponous?”
“Stars.”
The smile on Helenus’ face, as tinged as it was with sadness, was highly welcome. “You do not see the secrets of the Heavens.”
It was a statement, not a question, but Hipponous answered all the same. “That is your gift, Helenus, not mine. I see what everyone else sees. The stars of our childhood, the stars of our adulthood.”
“The stars of our past, present and future.”
“What do you see of Troy’s future, Helenus?”
Helenus’ smile was a beacon in the darkness of shadows that surrounded them. “It lives on.”
“Quiet. Someone is approaching,” Deiphobus hissed, his brothers falling silent at his command.
“Open the gates,” the present Heir of Troy ordered. The guards at the gate hesitated only briefly before the great wooden gates began to swing open, nary a sound as a gap was created for a wagon to pass through.
“Father!” Antiphus cried out, recognizing his aged father’s figure, moving forward and forgetting he was still injured. Hipponous caught him before he could fall as the rest of their brothers rushed forward.
“Father! We were worried that you were not coming back.”
Priam held his hand out, Deiphobus taking it and helping his father down. “I made a promise to your mother,” the aged King whispered.
“What promise?”
A gnarled hand came to rest atop a cloth-covered form, blue eyes bright with unshed tears.
There were no further questions, their eyes drawn to the remains of Troy’s greatest warrior - the body of their brother. Deiphobus lifted his hand to draw back the sheet but found he could not do so, the memory of his older brother teaching him how to hold a sword coming to mind. He turned away and said quietly, “Bring his body to the temple of Zeus. Have the body prepared for the funeral pyre. Tell them no one is allowed to see the body till the last day of the games.”
“The games?” Polites echoed.
“The funeral games.”
“We are to hold the funeral games?”
“As our traditions dictate, Pammon, twelve days of funeral games. Twelve days of…”
Peace.
Deiphobus trailed off, unwilling to use that word when it was bought with their brother’s blood, their brother’s life.
Hipponous turned to their father, who had not spoken even once during the time the orders were being given. “Father? What happened?”
“Did you see Achilles?”
Fierce scowls alighted on the faces of Antiphus and Polites at Helenus’ soft query. “Yes, did you see the bastard that murdered Hector?”
“How did you retrieve Hector’s body?”
“How did you escape the Greek camp unharmed?”
“Father?”
“Father?”
“That is enough.”
They turned to look at Deiphobus, seeing another brown-haired warrior for a moment before the clouds parted and the moon shone bright once again, illuminating the strong, bearded jaw, the hooked nose, the partly-healing split lip from some ignored superficial wound.
“You will stop badgering Father with all these questions.”
“But we need to know,” Pammon sought to explain, the others nodding slowly in agreement.
“You do not need to know tonight.”
Their eyes did not leave Deiphobus’ form as he wrapped an arm around stooped shoulders, pace unhurried and slow as he helped their father make for the palace. This was not the Deiphobus they knew - brash and hot tempered, always the first into the heat of battle and always the one unwilling to leave the thick of it.
“I do not understand,” Pammon murmured, eyes on their retreating backs.
Helenus only wrapped his cloak more firmly around himself and began to follow in his brother and father’s wake.
“Helenus?”
The prophet stopped, turning around to say, “Deiphobus is the eldest now.”
“I know that. We know that. It is not something easily forgotten.”
“Another thing not easily forgotten is how Hector was eldest first,” Helenus said, coming to stand before the stretcher that bore his brother’s body, held aloft by several guards. “Hector taught us all how to be the men we are, by lesson and by example. Deiphobus takes the latter to heart.”
“Helenus…”
Hipponous took one last look at the stars above them before clapping his hand on Antiphus’ shoulder and saying, “Come, brothers. It has been a long, long day. We deserve some rest. Troy will call on us again and we need our strength to answer Her.”
Voice carried by the night’s air, he continued, “Tomorrow, we will receive our answers and encounter more questions. Tomorrow, we will participate in the funeral games. Tomorrow, we will honor our brother’s widow and his son. But for tonight, we enter Hypnos’ realm in the embrace of our loved ones.”
***
The temple was dark, the only light coming from the torches. It was silent, as well, the priests and acolytes having long left after their prayers ran out of words and their words ran out of meaning. The smell of incense hung heavy in the air, a carpet of palpable grief filling every nook and cranny.
Paris’ nose twitched in protest and he was overcome with an urge to sneeze, his hand clamping over his mouth to keep himself from doing so. He refused to sneeze. He would not.
When the urge passed, he continued on his way, his steps slow and not deliberate by any means, but measured by hesitance and the ache inside him that grew with each step closer to the great altar before the statue of Zeus.
There was a still figure atop it, atop a bier no one but the priests and acolytes would see until it came to light the funeral pyre twelve days from now. No one needed to see the body to know that Hector was dead. All of Troy wept from that knowledge.
As did he.
All he needed to take was one more step, just one and he would be standing in front of Hector. His Hector...but not.
Not anymore.
His eyes fluttered shut when he took that final step, hands reaching out to touch cold stone, fingers brushing against an even colder hand.
Paris’ mouth formed an “o” of surprise, eyes opening as he gazed upon the one man he loved more than he thought ever possible.
Hector looked like he was sleeping. Just sleeping. His eyes were closed, beard neatly trimmed and all wounds cleaned. He looked perfectly well and that made it hurt more than ever, his heart beating in this staccato rhythm that Hector’s heart would never echo again.
He reached out and caressed the beloved, familiar face, lingering over pale lips, a bearded jaw, the slight bump on an otherwise perfectly arched nose.
Paris felt like shaking him, telling him to wake up because there was still so much to be done, so much to be said. He wanted to say ---
“Not yet. Not yet. There are still so many more nights to spend together under the gaze of the moon and her stars, so many more kisses to exchange, so many more moments of love to come to pass.”
And it took all his strength not to throw himself on top of the cold, hard body and weep all over again.
Instead, he closed his eyes and was lost to an onslaught of memories, of words and touches and looks that passed between two people who had a world of their own making, a world now lost to the embers of what remained in the wake of blood spilt and tears shed.
“I am not your brother and you are not mine. I came to here to tell you one thing and one thing alone. Stop this useless pretending and go home to whatever hill or hut or forest you belong in… Because you do not belong in Troy. You do not belong with us.”
…warm arms holding him tight, rocking him as the last of tears dried and his sobs faded and all that was left was Hector holding him tight, rocking him...
“Come, Paris. I will take you back to the palace and to your rooms.”
“Women are worth far more than their child-rearing skills, but they should be respected for them nonetheless. And I do not want to hear anymore slurs against Paris regarding his connection with children - it is a wonderful ability to have.”
…brown eyes like his own speaking as words did and the spark of what must have been hope flaring inside of him, rivaling the confusion that ebbed away…
“Paris, it is Hector. We are brothers, are we not?"
“Why not? You spend all your time with Andromache, or our sisters, or by yourself. Do you not wish for a change in company?”
…seeing Troy through Hector’s eyes and loving every moment of it for this was the Troy his brother loved and fought for, the Troy he loved but would come to love even more now…
“I found it years ago. I was riding one day and for some reason decided to let my horse lead me. He led me here. I can tell you truthfully that he received my utmost thanks in the form of a large pile of sweet oats.”
…a hidden place that was theirs and no one else’s and the smile that lit his face outshone even the sun above them, a smile that came from knowing Hector not only trusted him but wanted to share this secret with him and only him…
“To protect you. To safeguard you. To comfort you. To hold you. To defend you.”
“No, I speak the truth. That is why you must be careful. There are many people out there who care nothing for who you are. All they want is what you look like. You need someone who will look past your beauty, and see the beauty that is inside you.”
“That is how special you are, Paris.”
“You could never be damned. You are mine, Paris. Mine. I knew it even before you were born and I see it more clearly now. The gods can hate us for all I care but they will never understand what we have.”
…nothing would compare to how right it felt, how Hector healed all his hurts in ways that should not have been possible but made sense in all the ways that did…
“Go to sleep. I will guard your dreams, brother.”
“This is the only promise I can give. Until the last beat of this heart, Paris. Until it’s last beat. I do not know who hurt you so deeply that you are so frightened of being loved that you balk at every chance you get but I do know that I am different. And if I ever meet this person, he will have a lot to answer for.”
…he would never be able to say anything to match the sheer poetry of those words and could only hope that Hector saw it in his eyes, in every beat of his heart, in the kisses and touches and the all-encompassing love he gave freely when he said he no longer would after a painful heartbreak…
“Fighting for honor, for respect, for love. Those are never silly reasons.”
“The first time I kissed you, the first time I held you, the first time I took you - I knew that there would be an end to it, but going home to Troy will not be that end. I swear it on my life.”
…fear of fragile promises turning into the unwavering faith he had for Hector - only, always Hector…
“If you only looked around you, you would see that Troy loves you and loves you well. Do not fear isolation, Paris. You will always have a champion.”
“You are not alone. Never alone."
..and he never asked himself again what promises Hector could keep…
“I thought you were dead and I hoped with everything in me that you were not. I am responsible for the death of thousands and I killed hundreds with my own hands and all I could think of was you. All I could think of was you. When I first discovered your capture, I almost charged out of Troy to bring you home. I would have. I would have.”
…Hector was human, too, and that terrified him because he did not want to lose Hector. He especially did not want to lose Hector because of him…
“I love you.”
…the last three words he never said, but Hector heard all the same…
“I love you.”
Wiping his eyes with the back of his hand, he said again, “I love you. Do you hear me?”
His fingers were clutching tightly enough onto Hector’s tunic that there would be creases there no amount of smoothing down would erase. “I do not care if you are in the Elysian Fields being fed grapes and olives by well-endowed nymphs and dryads ---”
Paris bent down and brushed warm lips against cold ones, almost feeling the last lingering traces of warmth left there just for him.
“ --- I love you, Hector of Troy, Champion and Beloved of Paris.”
He did not need to hear Hector’s reply to know how much he was loved. He could hear it with every beat of his own heart.
I love you, Paris of Troy, Brother and Beloved of Hector.
***
“It is almost over.”
“It seems we have won.”
“How sweet Victory is.”
“Athena would know. Victory is often her companion, is she not?” Aphrodite slyly remarked, raising a fine golden eyebrow.
The grey-eyed goddess narrowed her gaze, the control within her voice a ruse to the roiling tempest of emotions within. “I would be careful about what I was implying, Aphrodite. We may be allies in this but I feel no true affection for you.”
“Do you feel any affection for anyone, Athena? Or do you not know how to?” Aphrodite asked in a bored tone. “Although that would explain Pallas’ untimely demise…”
Athena’s grey eyes flashed but before she could act, Hera raised a fair hand, “We should be celebrating, not squabbling. Twelve days from now, Troy will fall and we would have gained our vengeance on Apollo.”
“And his catamite.”
“There is no need to bicker now when we are so close to achieving our goals.”
Athena shot one last venom-filled glance at Aphrodite before an impassive expression once again settled over her features.
“I must commend you on your choice of Champion, Athena. Odysseus of Ithaca is a clever, cunning man.”
“He will not fail me,” was all the goddess of Wisdom said. But she then added, “We should really give our thanks to Thetis.”
“Thetis?”
“Her son killed the Champion of Troy and without Hector…”
“Troy falls.”
The laughter came unbidden but was sweet all the same, each goddess filled with a vindictive pleasure from having finally succeeded.
“Apollo’s poor catamite weeps over the loss of his brother now.”
“He weeps over the loss of his lover and a thick cock to fill him at night, you mean,” the goddess of Love said spitefully, turning her nose down at the man-boy she would have once considered being her Chosen.
Hera waved her hand and a basin of water appeared before them, the water swirling until an image formed, and there, inside the Trojan’s city, in the temple of Zeus, Paris mourned Hector.
“Look how sad the princeling is. Look at those fat tear drops sliding down that lovely face,” Aphrodite pointed out with malicious glee, rubbing her hands delightedly together. “Oh, how I wish I could only make him cry even more.”
Athena snorted. “He cries for the foolishness of his brother. A brother who died for no reason other than the cowardice of one who claimed to love him. See how Love weakens us.”
“You say that because I spurn you.”
“I say that because it is truth. Look at the great Hector, Tamer of Horses now. Dead and gutted because of a so-called eternal love for his own brother ---”
“I did not expect hypocrisy to come from your lips, sister.”
“Brother.”
Ares walked towards them, dark eyes shadowed. “You make my skin crawl.”
His counterpart only stepped towards him, a shade of ebony like his own. They were alike, but not alike, mirror images of one another, but still different. They were War, together and apart.
Athena scoffed, “Who speaks hypocrisy now, brother? We make your skin crawl? Hector is dead because of war and you are War, brother. We both are. This is who we are and what we do and you, with your violence and bloodlust, make my skin crawl with your ridiculous judgments. You have killed as many as I have.”
“But I do not scorn their deaths!” Ares roared, eyes burning with the unbridled passion of war. He stepped forward and it was all Athena could do not to waver in the face of this tempest. “I celebrate them! I celebrate their victories and their triumphs, the battles they have fought and bled in! When they live, I celebrate. When they die, I celebrate.”
His voice dropping to silken, yet growled whisper, “But most of all, sister, I respect them. For everything they have done and everything they will no longer be able to, I respect them. For all your Wisdom and Love and Power,” a glance given to each of them with each word, “you know nothing of this.”
“Greatness is measured in deed and Hector?” Ares drew back, shoulders straightening as he remembered the strength of a man who lived and died with more greatness than anyone would ever be able to understand, even them.
“Hector is a hero a hundred times over, created by his circumstances and not merely his birth. Gloat all you wish but Hector will be remembered with both honor and glory. Can you say the same of yourselves?”
Author: Sel selene_vidae
Pairing: Apollo/Paris, Hector/Paris
Summary: What if all that we believed to have been true - was not?
Rating: PG13-NC17.
Disclaimer: These characters belong to history, to myth, to legend. I make absolutely no money from this and live off on my reviewers' love.. *flutters eyelashes prettily* Some dialogue taken directly from film but twisted to suit my needs. Some descriptions taken from the first draft of the movie's screenplay.
Feedback: Help a fellow author out and pretty please comment on this fic...
Previous Chapters: Prologue, Chapter One, Chapter Two, Chapter Three Chapter Four, Chapter Five, Chapter Six, Chapter Seven, Chapter Eight, Chapter Nine, Chapter Ten, Chapter Eleven, Chapter Twelve, Chapter Thirteen, Chapter Fourteen, Chapter Fifteen, Chapter Sixteen, Chapter Seventeen, Chapter Eighteen, Chapter Nineteen, Chapter Twenty, Chapter Twenty-one, Chapter Twenty-two, Chapter Twenty-three, Chapter Twenty-four, Chapter Twenty-five, Chapter Twenty-six, Chapter Twenty-seven, Chapter Twenty-eight, Chapter Twenty-nine, Chapter Thirty, Chapter Thirty-one, Chapter Thirty-two, Chapter Thirty-three, Chapter Thirty-four, Chapter Thirty-five, Chapter Thirty-six, Chapter Thirty-seven, Chapter Thirty-eight, Chapter Thirty-nine, Chapter Forty, Chapter Forty-one, Chapter Forty-two, Chapter Forty-three, Chapter Forty-four, Chapter Forty-five, Chapter Forty-six, Chapter Forty-seven, Chapter Forty-eight, Chapter Forty-nine
Manip courtesy of my lovey, punk_pony
Dedicated to all those who have been waiting.
Chapter Fifty
Polites paced relentlessly, back and forth, back and forth, Antiphus leaning against the wall and watching his younger brother pace, back and forth, back and forth. Pammon’s jaw twitched, clenching and unclenching his hands every so often as he sought to think and not think.
“What do you see?”
Helenus did not turn away from his perusal of the stars as he answered his brother, “Nothing. Everything.”
Hipponous was not discouraged by the cryptic answer, merely tilting his head back to look at the stars they had all grown up under, the same stars they had vowed to catch for sweethearts, heard their mother and nurses tell stories of. These stars saw them sleep in their beds, lose their naïve innocence gladly, mourn comrades and loved ones with silent tears.
“And what do you see, Hipponous?”
“Stars.”
The smile on Helenus’ face, as tinged as it was with sadness, was highly welcome. “You do not see the secrets of the Heavens.”
It was a statement, not a question, but Hipponous answered all the same. “That is your gift, Helenus, not mine. I see what everyone else sees. The stars of our childhood, the stars of our adulthood.”
“The stars of our past, present and future.”
“What do you see of Troy’s future, Helenus?”
Helenus’ smile was a beacon in the darkness of shadows that surrounded them. “It lives on.”
“Quiet. Someone is approaching,” Deiphobus hissed, his brothers falling silent at his command.
“Open the gates,” the present Heir of Troy ordered. The guards at the gate hesitated only briefly before the great wooden gates began to swing open, nary a sound as a gap was created for a wagon to pass through.
“Father!” Antiphus cried out, recognizing his aged father’s figure, moving forward and forgetting he was still injured. Hipponous caught him before he could fall as the rest of their brothers rushed forward.
“Father! We were worried that you were not coming back.”
Priam held his hand out, Deiphobus taking it and helping his father down. “I made a promise to your mother,” the aged King whispered.
“What promise?”
A gnarled hand came to rest atop a cloth-covered form, blue eyes bright with unshed tears.
There were no further questions, their eyes drawn to the remains of Troy’s greatest warrior - the body of their brother. Deiphobus lifted his hand to draw back the sheet but found he could not do so, the memory of his older brother teaching him how to hold a sword coming to mind. He turned away and said quietly, “Bring his body to the temple of Zeus. Have the body prepared for the funeral pyre. Tell them no one is allowed to see the body till the last day of the games.”
“The games?” Polites echoed.
“The funeral games.”
“We are to hold the funeral games?”
“As our traditions dictate, Pammon, twelve days of funeral games. Twelve days of…”
Peace.
Deiphobus trailed off, unwilling to use that word when it was bought with their brother’s blood, their brother’s life.
Hipponous turned to their father, who had not spoken even once during the time the orders were being given. “Father? What happened?”
“Did you see Achilles?”
Fierce scowls alighted on the faces of Antiphus and Polites at Helenus’ soft query. “Yes, did you see the bastard that murdered Hector?”
“How did you retrieve Hector’s body?”
“How did you escape the Greek camp unharmed?”
“Father?”
“Father?”
“That is enough.”
They turned to look at Deiphobus, seeing another brown-haired warrior for a moment before the clouds parted and the moon shone bright once again, illuminating the strong, bearded jaw, the hooked nose, the partly-healing split lip from some ignored superficial wound.
“You will stop badgering Father with all these questions.”
“But we need to know,” Pammon sought to explain, the others nodding slowly in agreement.
“You do not need to know tonight.”
Their eyes did not leave Deiphobus’ form as he wrapped an arm around stooped shoulders, pace unhurried and slow as he helped their father make for the palace. This was not the Deiphobus they knew - brash and hot tempered, always the first into the heat of battle and always the one unwilling to leave the thick of it.
“I do not understand,” Pammon murmured, eyes on their retreating backs.
Helenus only wrapped his cloak more firmly around himself and began to follow in his brother and father’s wake.
“Helenus?”
The prophet stopped, turning around to say, “Deiphobus is the eldest now.”
“I know that. We know that. It is not something easily forgotten.”
“Another thing not easily forgotten is how Hector was eldest first,” Helenus said, coming to stand before the stretcher that bore his brother’s body, held aloft by several guards. “Hector taught us all how to be the men we are, by lesson and by example. Deiphobus takes the latter to heart.”
“Helenus…”
Hipponous took one last look at the stars above them before clapping his hand on Antiphus’ shoulder and saying, “Come, brothers. It has been a long, long day. We deserve some rest. Troy will call on us again and we need our strength to answer Her.”
Voice carried by the night’s air, he continued, “Tomorrow, we will receive our answers and encounter more questions. Tomorrow, we will participate in the funeral games. Tomorrow, we will honor our brother’s widow and his son. But for tonight, we enter Hypnos’ realm in the embrace of our loved ones.”
***
The temple was dark, the only light coming from the torches. It was silent, as well, the priests and acolytes having long left after their prayers ran out of words and their words ran out of meaning. The smell of incense hung heavy in the air, a carpet of palpable grief filling every nook and cranny.
Paris’ nose twitched in protest and he was overcome with an urge to sneeze, his hand clamping over his mouth to keep himself from doing so. He refused to sneeze. He would not.
When the urge passed, he continued on his way, his steps slow and not deliberate by any means, but measured by hesitance and the ache inside him that grew with each step closer to the great altar before the statue of Zeus.
There was a still figure atop it, atop a bier no one but the priests and acolytes would see until it came to light the funeral pyre twelve days from now. No one needed to see the body to know that Hector was dead. All of Troy wept from that knowledge.
As did he.
All he needed to take was one more step, just one and he would be standing in front of Hector. His Hector...but not.
Not anymore.
His eyes fluttered shut when he took that final step, hands reaching out to touch cold stone, fingers brushing against an even colder hand.
Paris’ mouth formed an “o” of surprise, eyes opening as he gazed upon the one man he loved more than he thought ever possible.
Hector looked like he was sleeping. Just sleeping. His eyes were closed, beard neatly trimmed and all wounds cleaned. He looked perfectly well and that made it hurt more than ever, his heart beating in this staccato rhythm that Hector’s heart would never echo again.
He reached out and caressed the beloved, familiar face, lingering over pale lips, a bearded jaw, the slight bump on an otherwise perfectly arched nose.
Paris felt like shaking him, telling him to wake up because there was still so much to be done, so much to be said. He wanted to say ---
“Not yet. Not yet. There are still so many more nights to spend together under the gaze of the moon and her stars, so many more kisses to exchange, so many more moments of love to come to pass.”
And it took all his strength not to throw himself on top of the cold, hard body and weep all over again.
Instead, he closed his eyes and was lost to an onslaught of memories, of words and touches and looks that passed between two people who had a world of their own making, a world now lost to the embers of what remained in the wake of blood spilt and tears shed.
“I am not your brother and you are not mine. I came to here to tell you one thing and one thing alone. Stop this useless pretending and go home to whatever hill or hut or forest you belong in… Because you do not belong in Troy. You do not belong with us.”
…warm arms holding him tight, rocking him as the last of tears dried and his sobs faded and all that was left was Hector holding him tight, rocking him...
“Come, Paris. I will take you back to the palace and to your rooms.”
“Women are worth far more than their child-rearing skills, but they should be respected for them nonetheless. And I do not want to hear anymore slurs against Paris regarding his connection with children - it is a wonderful ability to have.”
…brown eyes like his own speaking as words did and the spark of what must have been hope flaring inside of him, rivaling the confusion that ebbed away…
“Paris, it is Hector. We are brothers, are we not?"
“Why not? You spend all your time with Andromache, or our sisters, or by yourself. Do you not wish for a change in company?”
…seeing Troy through Hector’s eyes and loving every moment of it for this was the Troy his brother loved and fought for, the Troy he loved but would come to love even more now…
“I found it years ago. I was riding one day and for some reason decided to let my horse lead me. He led me here. I can tell you truthfully that he received my utmost thanks in the form of a large pile of sweet oats.”
…a hidden place that was theirs and no one else’s and the smile that lit his face outshone even the sun above them, a smile that came from knowing Hector not only trusted him but wanted to share this secret with him and only him…
“To protect you. To safeguard you. To comfort you. To hold you. To defend you.”
“No, I speak the truth. That is why you must be careful. There are many people out there who care nothing for who you are. All they want is what you look like. You need someone who will look past your beauty, and see the beauty that is inside you.”
“That is how special you are, Paris.”
“You could never be damned. You are mine, Paris. Mine. I knew it even before you were born and I see it more clearly now. The gods can hate us for all I care but they will never understand what we have.”
…nothing would compare to how right it felt, how Hector healed all his hurts in ways that should not have been possible but made sense in all the ways that did…
“Go to sleep. I will guard your dreams, brother.”
“This is the only promise I can give. Until the last beat of this heart, Paris. Until it’s last beat. I do not know who hurt you so deeply that you are so frightened of being loved that you balk at every chance you get but I do know that I am different. And if I ever meet this person, he will have a lot to answer for.”
…he would never be able to say anything to match the sheer poetry of those words and could only hope that Hector saw it in his eyes, in every beat of his heart, in the kisses and touches and the all-encompassing love he gave freely when he said he no longer would after a painful heartbreak…
“Fighting for honor, for respect, for love. Those are never silly reasons.”
“The first time I kissed you, the first time I held you, the first time I took you - I knew that there would be an end to it, but going home to Troy will not be that end. I swear it on my life.”
…fear of fragile promises turning into the unwavering faith he had for Hector - only, always Hector…
“If you only looked around you, you would see that Troy loves you and loves you well. Do not fear isolation, Paris. You will always have a champion.”
“You are not alone. Never alone."
..and he never asked himself again what promises Hector could keep…
“I thought you were dead and I hoped with everything in me that you were not. I am responsible for the death of thousands and I killed hundreds with my own hands and all I could think of was you. All I could think of was you. When I first discovered your capture, I almost charged out of Troy to bring you home. I would have. I would have.”
…Hector was human, too, and that terrified him because he did not want to lose Hector. He especially did not want to lose Hector because of him…
“I love you.”
…the last three words he never said, but Hector heard all the same…
“I love you.”
Wiping his eyes with the back of his hand, he said again, “I love you. Do you hear me?”
His fingers were clutching tightly enough onto Hector’s tunic that there would be creases there no amount of smoothing down would erase. “I do not care if you are in the Elysian Fields being fed grapes and olives by well-endowed nymphs and dryads ---”
Paris bent down and brushed warm lips against cold ones, almost feeling the last lingering traces of warmth left there just for him.
“ --- I love you, Hector of Troy, Champion and Beloved of Paris.”
He did not need to hear Hector’s reply to know how much he was loved. He could hear it with every beat of his own heart.
I love you, Paris of Troy, Brother and Beloved of Hector.
***
“It is almost over.”
“It seems we have won.”
“How sweet Victory is.”
“Athena would know. Victory is often her companion, is she not?” Aphrodite slyly remarked, raising a fine golden eyebrow.
The grey-eyed goddess narrowed her gaze, the control within her voice a ruse to the roiling tempest of emotions within. “I would be careful about what I was implying, Aphrodite. We may be allies in this but I feel no true affection for you.”
“Do you feel any affection for anyone, Athena? Or do you not know how to?” Aphrodite asked in a bored tone. “Although that would explain Pallas’ untimely demise…”
Athena’s grey eyes flashed but before she could act, Hera raised a fair hand, “We should be celebrating, not squabbling. Twelve days from now, Troy will fall and we would have gained our vengeance on Apollo.”
“And his catamite.”
“There is no need to bicker now when we are so close to achieving our goals.”
Athena shot one last venom-filled glance at Aphrodite before an impassive expression once again settled over her features.
“I must commend you on your choice of Champion, Athena. Odysseus of Ithaca is a clever, cunning man.”
“He will not fail me,” was all the goddess of Wisdom said. But she then added, “We should really give our thanks to Thetis.”
“Thetis?”
“Her son killed the Champion of Troy and without Hector…”
“Troy falls.”
The laughter came unbidden but was sweet all the same, each goddess filled with a vindictive pleasure from having finally succeeded.
“Apollo’s poor catamite weeps over the loss of his brother now.”
“He weeps over the loss of his lover and a thick cock to fill him at night, you mean,” the goddess of Love said spitefully, turning her nose down at the man-boy she would have once considered being her Chosen.
Hera waved her hand and a basin of water appeared before them, the water swirling until an image formed, and there, inside the Trojan’s city, in the temple of Zeus, Paris mourned Hector.
“Look how sad the princeling is. Look at those fat tear drops sliding down that lovely face,” Aphrodite pointed out with malicious glee, rubbing her hands delightedly together. “Oh, how I wish I could only make him cry even more.”
Athena snorted. “He cries for the foolishness of his brother. A brother who died for no reason other than the cowardice of one who claimed to love him. See how Love weakens us.”
“You say that because I spurn you.”
“I say that because it is truth. Look at the great Hector, Tamer of Horses now. Dead and gutted because of a so-called eternal love for his own brother ---”
“I did not expect hypocrisy to come from your lips, sister.”
“Brother.”
Ares walked towards them, dark eyes shadowed. “You make my skin crawl.”
His counterpart only stepped towards him, a shade of ebony like his own. They were alike, but not alike, mirror images of one another, but still different. They were War, together and apart.
Athena scoffed, “Who speaks hypocrisy now, brother? We make your skin crawl? Hector is dead because of war and you are War, brother. We both are. This is who we are and what we do and you, with your violence and bloodlust, make my skin crawl with your ridiculous judgments. You have killed as many as I have.”
“But I do not scorn their deaths!” Ares roared, eyes burning with the unbridled passion of war. He stepped forward and it was all Athena could do not to waver in the face of this tempest. “I celebrate them! I celebrate their victories and their triumphs, the battles they have fought and bled in! When they live, I celebrate. When they die, I celebrate.”
His voice dropping to silken, yet growled whisper, “But most of all, sister, I respect them. For everything they have done and everything they will no longer be able to, I respect them. For all your Wisdom and Love and Power,” a glance given to each of them with each word, “you know nothing of this.”
“Greatness is measured in deed and Hector?” Ares drew back, shoulders straightening as he remembered the strength of a man who lived and died with more greatness than anyone would ever be able to understand, even them.
“Hector is a hero a hundred times over, created by his circumstances and not merely his birth. Gloat all you wish but Hector will be remembered with both honor and glory. Can you say the same of yourselves?”