(Untitled)

[hippodamio]

For all that the wound he took yesterday means he has no wish to try the Door, Hektor has never been a man for lying about and simply waiting for things to happen. He rested as best he could today, for as long as he could, and that was the end of that. Wincing and limping a little, he makes his way from the stairs to one of the couches by the fire

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[eirenikos]

There is a blonde woman sprawled across the way from him, denim-clad legs dangling over the edge of a recliner. She was trying to get through a copy of Sense and Sensibility that someone left lying around, but she keeps cracking up every few pages, so it's not as distracting as she hoped.

But a new face is. "Hello."

[hippodamio]

The young man (no more than his early twenties, and only tall by the standards of several thousand years before the sort of clothing she wears came to be popular) glances up from prodding at his leg experimentally. "Good evening," he says politely.

[eirenikos]

Eirene memorizes the page she stopped at this time, thinking Colonel Brandon would make a better match for Elinor than the soft, little nobleman, and turns to regard the man for half a minute or so.

"Is something wrong with your leg?" Eventually, she will run across the word 'obvious' in a dictionary.

[hippodamio]

"I was careless yesterday," says Hektor irritably, "and discovered to my sorrow that the boar that had charged my spear was not yet dead. It has been washed, and tended; it will heal in time."

[will_scarlett]

Will sees the injury first and stops, "Pokin' it willna make it 'eal faster."

[hippodamio]

"Better this than trying to look under the bandage," says Hektor. "The boar was vicious, and tried to have my life from me with his last breath. I had it cleaned, and there was a healer who sped it along a little."

[will_scarlett]

"Oh aye, boars are fearsome beasts, least only got ye in the leg."

Now Will looks up from the injury to the man and blinks,

"Lord 'ektor, ye seem to age e'ery time we meet."

[hippodamio]

It takes Hektor some moments, now, to remember; he lifts a hand in recognition of the face, but the words are yet elusive. "You I recall," he says, "though- it was six years gone, or more. I have not been here since Aisakos was alive... I know your face."

[lissla_lissar]

He may remember the white, white hair. The last time he saw Lissar, however, she was surrounded by dogs and wearing white deerskin.

And not sunburned.

[hippodamio]

The hair, yes; one does not forget hair like that, or the face that goes with it, either, no matter what color the skin. There is a moment of breathless awe before he thinks to stand, ignoring the rush of pain from his thigh wound.

[lissla_lissar]

The smile, though, that is new; she offers it honestly and joyfully. She can see the shadow of the child in the face of the man; and her own true knight is here this day-there is no fear in her. "Ekatoro. It has been a long time indeed."

[hippodamio]

Yes, that is new. He would remember that, to be certain.

"Susan, I think," Hektor says when he at last can speak again. "Or at least, so you showed me when we wrote out names on wax. Seven years, I think, or maybe eight."

"You fare well, I see."

[hippodamio]

He cannot quite place the name yet, but one does not forget the blue priestess, no. "Lady," he calls for lack of a better name as he comes to his feet. "I think I remember you. Am I right?"

[hippodamio]

"No indeed, only as fast as any man," says Hektor with a smile. "It has been years since the goddess brought me here last- I remember your name now, I think. Zhaan, wasn't it?"

[md_donighal]

He may remember a head of bright red hair whose bearer approaches him. "Excuse me, but... have we met? You look familiar."

[hippodamio]

"We may have done," says Hektor thoughtfully, peering at the hair and strange clothing. "I haven't been so fortunate as to find the door to this place again in many years; I suppose the goddess knew what she was about, but it makes it hard to remember people, at times."

[md_donighal]

There's something naggingly familiar about the way the other man speaks, but Michael's brain isn't quite making the connection yet. "I haven't been separated from it for that long since I first came here; I've been away for months, at the most. Though I have friends who've gotten lost and taken years to find their way back." He holds out a hand for shaking. "I'm Michael."

[hippodamio]

The gesture is one he scarcely sees, and does not quite recognize. But he's met enough horse-folk to think it a request for the clasping of forearms, so that is what he does, at least for a moment. "Hektor," he says, "son of Priam; though here, if I remember right, the names mean little."