SERIES: "Paris' Confinement"
FIC: (Part Six) "Hector's Ring"
AUTHOR: Mistress Marilyn camelotslash-2 at qwest.net
DATE: December 28-29, 2004
FANDOM: "Troy" (Warner Bros. 2004)
PAIRING: Paris / ?
DISCLAIMER: I don't own 'em. They belong to Homer, to Warner Brothers, to the respective actors of the movie "Troy" -- and to the ages! This is the work of a fan, done for no remuneration save the satisfaction of the work itself.
WARNINGS: Slash, mpreg, a hint of incest.
SUMMARY: Hector asks Paris to stay in Troy.
BETA: Thank you, Charlie!
DEDICATION: To R., who says he'd be willing to have my baby if it were possible. (Watch out you don't end up a character in one of my fics, darling!)
AUTHOR NOTES: It was one thing in ancient days to love a person of your own gender, another to feel that love toward a member of your own family -- but when the possibility of progeny was added to the mix, it was undoubtedly a huge psychological morass!

-Hector's Ring-

"You must not go with Achilles, my love. Please, listen to me!"

Helen stood arguing with Paris as several servants took garments out of his closet and, after waiting for a nod or a shake of his head, either replaced them or folded and put them in a large traveling chest.

"I've decided, Helen. Please don't try to dissuade me now."

Walking to the window, Helen looked out toward the beach and the faraway Greek camp. "It will be rough there," she warned. "And you will have to be hidden, confined in a small tent. And there is no sign that Achilles cares for anything but the child. He may kill you after the birth or simply hand you to Agamemnon!"

Paris scooped jewelry and hair ornaments into a small case. "I'll need my brushes," he said to himself, "and my scents."

Helen walked over to Paris, stood in front of him and took his hands. "Look at me," she said, "and please listen. You cannot leave Troy!"

He smiled, feeling a strange sensation of peace infusing his body and mind. The gods had led him to Mount Ida on that summer day, had clearly brought Achilles to the same spot to find him, and now they would protect him and his child while he lived in the Achean camp, he felt certain.

"Beautiful, Helen! You mustn't despair or worry. I promise I'll be fine."

"What about when the baby comes? How do we know you'll have the proper care? We're not even sure how this thing will be accomplished."

Paris squeezed Helen's hands and then released them. "I'll call for the Trojan surgeon when the time comes," he said soothingly. "And I'm sure there are good Greek physicians in the camp, as well. Now please go and see that the food is packed. I can't face Greek rations!"

There was a flutter among the servants as King Priam entered. Paris looked up at the tall figure of his father, prepared for another argument. But Priam was smiling, his bright blue eyes swimming with tears.

"We will pray to the gods for your safety," he said. "Even the great Achilles is moved by your beauty. Your condition will soften his barbarian heart."

"I hope so, Father," Paris replied with a slight smile. "How I long to finally do something to help save this city, instead of contributing to its destruction!"

"I wronged you once, my son," Priam began in a shaking voice, alluding to the terrible story of Paris' childhood, rarely spoken of in the royal household. "I listened to the priests then, and I tried to obey the gods. I have never forgiven myself for that."

Thinking back, Paris remembered the boy who had spent long, sunny days herding goats and practicing with his bow on the slopes of Mount Ida where he was raised. The prophecy that he would bring about Troy's doom had led the king to abandon the helpless baby Paris on the side of the mountain, a potential victim of the wild beasts and elements. Paris had been rescued and raised for a few years by a shepherd, and during that short time he had been comfortable with his mean life, without the cares or concerns that filled the days of a royal. Then when the King heard of the beautiful boy living on the mountain, he sent soldiers to find the young prince and return him to the city. Paris was welcomed home and lauded, especially for his physical gifts. And in subsequent years, he was pampered and spoiled, probably to partially atone up for his ignominious beginning.

"Don't think of it, Father. It was the thing that made me strong enough to bear this now."

"I love you, Son. I hope you know it."

Nodding, Paris said, "I will do everything I can to make you proud and to serve Troy and keep her safe."

Priam laid his right hand on Paris' head. "The walls of Troy have never been breached," he said. "They will stand."

"I hope so, Father," Paris repeated, an odd crawling in his belly that he couldn't attribute to the growing baby.

Gathering his robes about him, Priam walked out of Paris' bedchamber. Paris watched him go, impressed as always with his dignity and desiring nothing so much as to emulate the great king. He sighed, knowing he could never be the kind of man his father was.

He rubbed his swollen belly, imagining the new life growing under the taut skin. No, Paris was a different sort of man altogether. Had any man, including the great ruling house of Troy, ever done what he was about to do?

Paris looked up as his elder brother entered.

"Leave us!" Hector said to the servants. "That will keep." The servants stopped their work and scurried out of the room.

"Have you come to wish me well, Brother?" Paris asked.

"I've come to forbid you to go," Hector answered. "It's unthinkable."

Shaking his head, Paris stood and reached for the garments that had been discarded by the fleeing servants. He tossed one into the chest. "I am going, Brother," he said. "I've promised."

Hector reached over and pulled Paris to him; his strong hands gripped Paris' wrists, and Paris was forced to look up into the face of his tall, stern sibling.

"I've been cold to you, I know," Hector said. "All this time, since you told me about your condition . . . I've been cruel and distant." He released Paris' wrists and looked away. "I couldn't stand to see you like this."

"Are you that ashamed?" Paris asked in a small voice.

"Ashamed? Yes. But of myself, not of you."

Hector stalked to the window and looked out toward the sea. Paris studied the man from behind, noting the muscled legs, wide shoulders and dark, thick, carefully plaited hair, and he thought what a perfect male specimen his brother was. Even in repose, Hector vibrated with masculine energy. Paris found it incredibly moving.

"Of what are you ashamed, Brother?" Paris asked, crossing the room to join Hector. "You are always a model of virtue and duty. There's rarely any fault in you."

Turning to him with a sound of exasperation, Hector said, "Paris! You see things so simply! I am certainly not the perfect man you think me."

Paris' eyes widened. "Then tell me what grieves you. Clearly you wish to speak of it!"

Seeming to battle with some invisible opponent, Hector's expression reflected his interior struggle. His brows were knit over his dark eyes, and Paris was reminded of staring up into that intense face from his position in the dust of the plain outside the city, clutching at his brother's ankles as he waited for the brave warrior to defend him from the brutish Menelaus. Who could hope for a more courageous champion?

"I have always loved you, Paris. You know that, don't you?" Hector's voice was hoarse with emotion.

Paris smiled, wishing Hector would look at him. "Well, in the beginning I wondered. It must have been hard to accept me."

Shaking his head, Hector continued. "No. I loved you from the first. And not out of a sense of duty or out of guilt for what had been done to you. I always felt something gentle and loving in you that was lacking in myself."

"Brother, you are the most loving man I know," Paris protested. "You've had to be a leader and a warrior, but you are a devoted husband and father, and an obedient son--"

Hector reached out and pulled Paris closer, cutting him off. "Paris, listen to me! This isn't about my nobility or my skills in war. I'm trying to speak to you of my feelings for you . . . I have loved you as more than a brother for many years, jealous of your many love affairs and especially of your relationship with Helen."

Paris felt a strange elation at Hector's words. As always, his power over men and women amazed him, never more than now, listening to his stoic and noble brother professing his love.

"All this time there's been no real harm in my feelings for you! I've lived my life unaffected by the whims of the gods that have seemed to influence you and my father for both good and ill . . . But this thing I lay at the feet of Eros himself! The day I first saw your face, I was struck by his arrow."

"He is the son of Aphrodite," Paris said, musing. "He obeys her commands."

"Where is the harm in loving one's brother?" Hector said, looking upward. "Until that brother suddenly grows a belly and breasts and carries the seed of an enemy!"

Paris reached up and touched his brother's beard. "There must be some reason for my condition. And it isn't to shame or offend you."

"Don't you see!" Hector said. "The shame is that I wish the seed were mind, not his!"

Paris drew in his breath and stared into Hector's tortured face. "Brother," he began, "you honor me."

Hector abruptly turned away. "Honor!" he spat out with disgust.

"This child will bring honor back to me, Hector," Paris insisted. "And now, more than ever, since I know you love me and my baby."

Turning slowly, Hector reached out his hand to Paris. In his upturned palm was a large, ornate ring, one that was well known in the city of Troy; it was the sign of his office as Crown Prince.

"Take it," he said. "I want you to wear it."

Paris gasped. "I cannot, Brother! It would be wrong."

"When the babe comes, send me the ring. Or if you need me before that day, send it and I'll come immediately."

Paris lifted the heavy ring from Hector's hand and turned it around in his fingertips, marveling. Using great care, he tried it on several digits until he found one that held it snugly.

"Thank you," he managed to say, his eyes filled with tears. He didn't see Hector bending toward him; he was unaware of his brother's intentions until he felt the firm, warm lips on his.

"Hector," he said breathlessly when his brother's mouth released him.

"If he harms you, I'll kill him," Hector said.

It took a moment to realize Hector was speaking of Achilles. "He won't harm me," he said with certainty. "You and he are alike, Brother."

Hector looked at Paris with disbelief. "Alike? How can you say such a thing! Achilles cares for nothing but glory. He doesn't love his country or his family, and he doesn't even honor the gods! I'm nothing like him."

Paris sighed. "You are both great warriors," he said. "Courage and power course through your beings, and few men can resist following where you lead. You are as dark and compelling as he is golden and resplendent. Watching you together today, I was struck by it."

"I can't accept that," Hector said, shaking his head. "I feel nothing in him but violence and hubris."

"There's much more to him than that, Brother. Or else why would I have been given his child?"

The pain in Hector's eyes was now plain. "Only the gods can answer that question. I've asked it myself enough times during these past weeks!" He turned to leave, and Paris reached out a hand to hold him back.

"I'll send the ring, Brother. When the baby comes," he said.

"I'll wait," Hector answered, pulling away.

Paris stood alone for a moment, studying the jeweled ring in the waning daylight from the window. It was heavy on his hand, both in weight and implication. And across his bedchamber, it cast a reflected glint that seemed to dance on the walls and furnishings as his hand moved. Paris watched it and smiled. He now felt no fear as he contemplated his journey to the Greek camp and his confinement in the tent of Achilles. He would wear his brother's ring, and it would be a constant reminder that he was, after all, a Prince of Troy.

The End, Part Six