Duty of Lions and Men

"Tell me what is bothering you, husband." Andromache implored, hand rubbing circles over his bare back. She could feel the tense muscles he tried to calm himself, but failed miserably.

She had hoped that a night's worth of sleep would help, but looking at him now in the dawn's early glow, she could see he hadn't slept at all. In his hands was a wooden carving. Another toy for their son. She could've sworn he had told her it would be a bear. But the wooden figurine in his calloused palm was obviously a lion. Another of today's mysteries.

 

"Hector..." She spoke softly.

 

Hector couldn't help the pang of guilt in him as he recalled a deeper timbre echoing her light and dulcet tones. The other's voice made him shiver, a coil of heat unfurling inside him. He squashed the feeling, moving away from his wife. From her touch. Her voice. As he left the bed, he felt as though he were running away.

 

Coward.

 

He grimaced as he stopped at the rail. Staring down at the sandy plains, the ever expanding sea before him. Somewhere beyond those dunes lay a man who's very memory haunted the Prince.

 

He had married out of duty. Bore a son as an heir. All for the love of Troy . His home. Mother to him and to them all. He couldn't even remember his own mother. King Priam never talked about her much.

 

He loved Andromache. Just... not in the deep way a husband should. He had taken great pains to hide this from her, but he feared she always knew.

 

She touched him on the arm, and he turned to face her, ready to tell her everything. But one look at her face told him everything.

 

She KNEW.

 

His deep brown eyes unleashed the depths of his sorrow, as he pulled her into a hug.

 

"Who?" Hector felt his wife ask softly, face turned into his shoulder, "Who is he?"

 

Frowning, Hector pulled back, holding her at arms-length, "He?"

 

"Yes, who is the man that has finally rescued your heart?" Her smile was hopeful, not at all the anger or loathing he had been expecting. Had felt he had deserved.

 

But her words troubled him, "Won my- no my love. This man cannot possibly have won my... He- he is a barbarian. A brute. He has no heart of his own. And he is our enemy!"

 

"So he is Greek."

 

"Heartless." Hector nodded, releasing her as he turned back to the horizon.

 

"Perhaps, dear husband, that is why he is so captivated by yours." Andromache murmured, stroking at the side of dark curls, fingers remaining even as he turned speechlessly to her, "You are a good man, Hector. But you care too much for everyone else and not enough for yourself."

 

The thought kicked his voice into gear, reasoning of decades pouring out his lips.

 

"I am a prince of Troy . It is my duty to look after the wellbeing of my family, my people, and this good city." Hector carefully grasped her hand, keeping it against his cheek before continuing, "He is the enemy, Andromache. I cannot forget that. There is just too much at stake."

 

"Like your heart?" Andromache asked, her own ache finally showing through a glimmer of unshed tears, for despite his lack of desire, she loved him with her whole being. Enough to wish him the happiness only another could offer.

 

Hector felt a dagger pierce his heart, wrenching it at the pain he had caused in the most compassionate woman in Troy .

 

"I do not deserve you." He whispered, as though anything louder would topple her over the edge.

 

Her eyes spoke of how he deserved much more.

 

But Hector shook his head, turning away once more, except this time to leave the room.

 

"It's not possible, Andromache. Please don't bring this matter up again. I just- I... I can't." Hector said defeatedly, disappearing out the doors.

 

Andromache watched Hector leave, her face twisted in pained sorrow as she whispered, "No, dear husband... you won't."

 

Outside the balcony stood a beggar, hobbling about with a dirty rag over one eye. But the other... well the other glanced up at the royal dwelling with a much too observing glint within.



-o-o-o-



"But why are you telling me this, Odysseus?" Patroclus asked skipping another stone across the water, wincing as it plopped right in after the second bounce, "Shouldn't you be telling Achilles, or King Menelaus? Or someone who could actually do something about it?"

 

Odysseus looked at the boy and sighed, taking off the rags and beggar robe, wearing a plain tunic underneath, "I have been watching more than just Hector. I see you, boy. And I know you are troubled."

 

Patroclus glanced at Ithaca 's wise King, and couldn't stop the large exhale that heaved from his chest. If he couldn't even keep things hidden from his older cousin, what made him think Odysseus would be any different? He could almost swear the two rubbed off on each other.

 

"Why did he do it? Why save me? And it wasn't even once, but twice. It's not just because of my age, right?" Patroclus demanded, he paced from a washed up log to Odysseus and back, "I've been watching the men fight. There is no mercy. Just kill or be killed. Even my great cousin lays waste to all who stand before him. What makes Prince Hector so different?"

 

Odysseus had watched the boy rant, stroking his beard thoughtfully.

 

"Well, as I said before, the prince often visits a hidden grove just on the outside of the wall. Usually in the evenings, but now mornings as well."

 

"And... you want me to... attack him?" Patroclus asked incredulously, eyeing Odysseus as though he were touched in the head by the gods.

 

"I cannot say what you will do with the information." Odysseus shrugged, walking off, "I merely thought it would help ease your mind."

 

Patroclus continued watching the King walk away, his brow creased. He was so concentrated he did not notice a Greek soldier creeping away from behind a nearby tent.



-o-o-o-



Hector took to the path he knew by heart, the dark of predawn doing little to hinder his steps. He knew it was dangerous, to be so far from the safety of Troy 's walls. But he needed room, needed the space, the freedom, to just breathe.

 

On these short forays he never took much with him. Just garments spun in royal blue clothe, hardy sandals, and his trusty sword. Priam had offered him the sword of Troy once, but he had turned it down, convinced his father would live long after this siege is over.

 

He tired of seeing the forlorn look in his wife's eyes every morning. She knew.

 

Hector was draped with a numbing sadness. He couldn't shake it. The other day when they had battled the Greeks once more, he had kept an eye out for a hint of golden mane, or a glint of golden armor, and he had promptly turned the other way. He could not face the man, much less battle him to the death. This was war. They were on opposing sides.

 

One of them was going to have to die.

 

And Hector was becoming less and less sure where he stood on that.

 

The man was a brute, a murderer.

 

Then again, so was he.

 

And when Hector had delivered the boy to the bronze warrior, he couldn't help but notice the deep concern and truly... HUMAN... aspect of Achilles.

 

He remembered the first time he met the man, his Myrmidon's ransacking the temple of Apollo on the beach. That impossible throw, the man admitting he played no part in the slaying of the priests. And then sparing his life? It made no sense.

 

When Achilles had asked Hector then if he knew who he was, the prince  had refused to acknowledge him. But of course he knew. Everyone had heard of the Greek lion.

 

But for once, the rumors weren't true. At least, not entirely. The man was deadly on the battlefield. Yes. But he was not heartless. He killed with speed. With skill. But none that stood against his blade suffered longer than necessary. And he suspected dissension among the Greeks, particularly between the power hungry King Agamemnon, and Achilles himself. Truthfully, Hector was somewhat relieved to find the Myrmidon in disagreement with the greedy King. It showed the sort of man the Myrmidon was.

 

Hector was twirling his sword, lost in thought, when a young voice spoke from nearby, "Why?"

 

Hector spun, tip of his blade pointing breaths away from the boy's throat. His eyes widened in recognition of the intruder, though he quickly recovered as he asked gruffly, "How did you find this place?"

 

Patroclus gulped, pausing a moment to take in the seriousness of the situation. But he had made it this far. Straightening his shoulders, he asked again, "Why did you... save me?"

 

Hector blinked. Of all the things to happen this day, this certainly was not one of them. Realizing his weapon and its placement, Hector lowered it, pacing away as he explained, "You are just a boy."

 

"I am not just a boy, I am a man!!" Patroclus snarled, enraged as he remembered all the times his own cousin said the same, "I can fight!"

 

Hector turned, eyeing the slender youth before him. Seeing the stubborn streak in his eyes, Hector exhaled loudly. So much like his little brother. Positioning himself, Hector commanded, "Attack me."

 

"...What?" The dirty-blonde haired youth questioned, thoroughly confused.

 

The prince stood with one foot back, arms and stance relaxed. But he repeated more harshly, "Attack me boy."

 

"Patroclus." The cousin corrected through gritted teeth, drawing his blade. If the prince insisted, he would at least know the name of his victim.

 

He had watched Hector fight from the ruins atop a hill. The battlefield was practically laid out in front of them. The Trojan prince didn't fight with the flash and bravado as his older cousin, but he certainly matched it with strength and speed. Not to mention quick thinking. There was no way Patroclus could walk away from this.

 

Had the man truly spared his life just to kill him now?

 

Crying out, Patroclus charged, sword raised high. Hector blocked the obvious blow with a flick of his wrist, even disarming the boy as he knocked him to the ground. Patroclus closed his eyes, waiting for the final blow. Only to open them in surprise as his own sword clanged on the ground beside him.

 

Hector held back the laugh that rose at the look on the youth's face.

 

Had he truly thought...?

 

"You look before you leap, kid." Hector grunted, slapping the boy's thigh with the flat of his blade, "Now get outta here before your dear cousin comes looking for you."

 

Grabbing his sword, Patroclus climbed to his feet, "No, I came here for answers. Why?"

 

Hector glared at him over his shoulder, "Did I not just make it perfectly clear?"

 

"What, that I can't hold my own against a seasoned warrior?"

 

"Son, anyone with half a season's experience could have deflected that blow. You have power, but you lack patience. Who taught you to fight?" Hector paused, a flash of golden locks and a smug grin echoing through his thoughts. Shaking his head, Hector continued, "Forget I asked that. Just go back to camp. I may not attack you, but I cannot speak for any of the other Trojans."

 

Actually, any of his men would listen to Hector at the drop of a hat, but the kid didn't need to know that. The fact that the boy even found this place made it abundantly clear how unsafe it was now. For both him and the boy.

 

"But-"

 

"No buts." Hector interrupted, sword pointing at the Greek youth once more, though he had no intention of running Patroclus through. Something both knew, but the meaning came through anyway, "Now go-"

 

A snap in the brush stilled the blood in the Prince's veins.

 

He shot a look at the boy, Patroclus's eyes widening. Just as surprised as Hector himself.

 

"Down." Hector snapped urgently.

 

But the boy was frozen, asking, "Wha-?"

 

The Prince heard the creak of string. No time. Clenching his jaw, he threw his sword aside to dive at the Greek youth, dragging Patroclus with him to the ground just as he heard the whoosh of a projectile sailing overhead. The jarring impact with the ground overshadowed the sting of an arrow grazing his shoulder. A slight pinch and a warm trickle of blood after let him know, though it was small.

 

The boy's stunned eyes were locked on the Trojan. But Hector was busy scrambling to his feet, darting towards his dropped blade. An arrow striking the ground dissuaded him from the notion, and he raised his arms slowly, backing up to where his body could almost be described as protecting the boy's.

 

Patroclus stood shakily, attempting to stand next to Hector, but the Trojan stepped in front again, calling out, "Who's there? And what are your intentions?"

 

After some short rustlings, a red haired man stepped out. Whatever pasty-colored skin wasn't showing, was covered in Greek armor. The most striking feature, however, was the coldness of his beady black eyes. Though Hector took that back as the man's nasal voice filled the clearing, "I am the Warlord Midas, and we have come to escort you to our camp."

 

"Agamemnon's man." Patroclus hissed below his breath with malice, earning a raised brow from Hector, before raising his voice for the emerging Greeks to hear, "I didn't realize the King's dog was allowed to travel very far. What business do you have here?"

 

"That... is none of your concern, boy." Midas practically snarled, taking a threatening step forward, "I could ask you the same. Meeting with the enemy in secret? That borders on treason, should I see fit."

 

That shut Patroclus up, though his eyes still burned.

 

Hector stepped forward as well, drawing attention to himself as he eyed the group, "Almost two dozen men... a bit much, isn't it? For a simple escort?"

 

Midas merely glared mutely, before nodding at his men to surround the Prince. Hector glanced at the boy, who, oddly enough, looked guilty underneath the frustration on his face.



-o-o-o-



"Where is Patroclus?" Achilles asked nonchalantly, lounging on the soft cushions in his tent. He was slowly picking grapes, a small treat from a successful raid, as he looked up at Eudorus. His second glanced elsewhere in the comfortable silence.

 

Eudorus still remembered the first time he had met the feared warrior. Achilles had been little more than a boy, and already showing great talent in the art of killing. Eudorus himself had been little more than a stable boy, shoveling the crap both the animals and his stablemaster gave him. Then one day, the pig of a man attempted to keep his meager wages from him, which he needed to buy medicine for his ailing mum. If the travel-weary, bruised up blonde hadn't showed up, Eudorus didn't know where he or his mom would be right then.

 

It was something Eudorus always admired about the man. As he had heard Odysseus say once, others fight for glory, Agamemnon fights for power, while Achilles... well, he simply fights for honor.

 

And because he was great at it.

 

"Boys will be boys." Was Eudorus's shrugged reply.

 

They lapsed back into silence, the feared warrior munching on grapes while the second best fighter stood, busy with his own musings.

 

"Eudorus?"

 

"Yes my lord?"

 

"What is your opinion on the Trojan prince?"

 

"Prince Hector? Well he seems very capable of commanding his men, almost  as well as you, my Lord. His understandings of battle strategy are formidable, to say the least. He is-"

 

"No no no no, Eudorus. I meant the man, Hector himself."

 

Eudorus eyed Achilles in slight surprise. If the man ever asked his opinion on an enemy, it had always been to discern the best way to beat them. Never this.

 

"The man himse... Well, why is it that you ask, my Lord?" Eudorus asked hesitantly.

 

"He... interests me..." Achilles leaned back, examining the tip of a broken lance, the shaft discarded with only the gleaming metal remaining.

 

Eudorus shuffled, uncomfortable and unsure for the first time in years in front of his warlord, "I... well, is this because of Patroclus, Lord?"

 

Achilles twirled the broken tip between his fingers, "Hmmm... that is but a small facet of the whole, Eudorus. I can't, I just can't, get the fool out of my head. It's every day and night with this nonsense. I think he's been avoiding me during battles. I would see a flash of the royal blue garments one moment, and the next it would be gone. Why I even notice remains a mystery. Can you explain any of this to me?"

 

The dark eyed man swallowed thickly, fidgeting. He was getting more and more uncomfortable as the conversation continued. What was he supposed to say to that?

 

"Well, no m-my Lord. I mean- uh- I cannot really say..." Eudorus trailed off uselessly.

 

"Calm yourself, Eudorus. I don't expect you to have all the answers. Just tell me what you think of him."

 

"The- well, the men think highly of him, sir. They respect him."



 

"And you, Eudorus?" Achilles leveled his gaze at the other, raising it from the artifact he toyed with in his hands, "What do you think?"

 

"I... respect him as well, sire." Eudorus admitted, his eyes resolute.

 

Achilles grunted, seemingly satisfied with this, "I see."

 

The peaceful calm descended within the tent once more, before it was suddenly shattered. Achilles was on his feet before Eudorus could turn around, blue eyes riveted to the entrance moments before Patroclus burst through.

 

"Achilles- cousin," The youth gasped for air, hands on his knees, as one arm pointed outside, "They're taking him- prince- to king. Prisoner."



 

Without another sound, Achilles was gone from the tent. As Eudorus ran after the man, he demanded from the boy, "Who?"



 

"...Hector."



-o-o-o-



From the moment Hector had stumbled, blindfolded, into the Greek camp, things had been very hectic. The two men that were roughly dragging him by his arms, hands tied behind his own back, came to a sudden stop. It was true that servants often took after their masters. He had seen Midas's malice pounded into their very hearts, right up until they had placed the blindfold on him. Could sense it in their harsh touch afterwards. The Prince had only agreed to come quietly because the boy was there. Their disregard for Patroclus was obvious with how closely they had aimed their arrow. Perhaps that had been part of the plan, but they hadn't expected Hector to act the way he did. Which turned out to be a good thing.

 

For them.

 

A man's voice called out, "What is the meaning of this, Midas?"

 

"Stand aside, Odysseus. This is none of your concern." Midas spat from somewhere at Hector's side.



 

"Anything that affects this army, is of my concern." The King of Ithaca snapped back, "And I was not informed of any raids. Who is that prisoner and how have you come across him?"

 

Hector blinked painfully as the blindfold was yanked off, the sun already rising in the early morning sky. His vision cleared enough to see Odysseys's face drain of color as he recognized the Prince of Troy. Odysseus had only meant for the boy to...

 

"No introductions are needed, I see." Midas sneered, "As for your other question, I knew the young fool couldn't have known where to find the Prince without help."



 

The red haired lackey yanked Hector's head back forcefully, wrenching a grunt of pain from the other.



 

Odysseus started forward, "There's no need for that Midas! He is already captured and bound!"



 

This only made the man yank Hector's head harder, making the Prince bend backwards in half to relieve the wrenching pressure. Though it didn't stop the small cry of pain from escaping.



 

"He is MY prisoner. To do with as I wish." Midas snarled, releasing the Trojan as he kicked the precariously balanced Hector off his feet.



 

The breath was knocked out of him as he hit the ground, unable to catch himself with hands bound behind him at the wrists. He rolled to his side, managing to prop himself up on one elbow as he grimaced, "So... this is how you treat your guests?"



 

The cruel smile played on the man's lips.



 

"Midas," Odysseus grabbed the man's arm as he stepped foreward in warning, "Don't."



 

But the man shrugged the King off harshly, turning to his men as he commanded, "Why don't we show him a bit of Greek hospitality?"



 

As one, the group of men started laughing and jeering, converging on the lone Prince on the ground.



 

Warning bells started ringing in the Trojan's head, and he surged forth, using his momentum alone to flip himself onto his feet.



 

The sudden move allowed him to dodge a sweeping kick, and he landed one of his own on the attacker's skull. One went down, but more rushed to his place. Hector was severely outmatched and placed at a large disadvantage. But that didn't mean he would just let them take him so easily. Now that the boy wasn't there to be used against him, he had no qualms going down fighting.