FIC: "The Vessel" (4/WIP)
AUTHOR: Mistress Marilyn camelotslash-2 at qwest.net
DATE: Sept. 9, 2006
FANDOM: "Troy" (Warner Bros. 2004)
PAIRING: Hector / Achilles (As portrayed by Eric Bana and Brad Pitt)
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
SUMMARY: Hector finds a surprising ally.
DEDICATION: To Anoi, who has lost her patience waiting for this one. Surprise!
AUTHOR NOTES: Being pregnant could bring out the best in Hector, and it might even have a positive effect on Paris, not to mention on Achilles. In fact, if the *real* Hector had gotten pregnant, things might have turned out much better for everyone!

Part Four

Hector walked to the balcony and untied the awning; from his room he could see both north toward the Hellespont and west to the sea. It looked to be a fine day. He took a deep breath and touched his stomach again, imagining a flutter beneath his fingers. Or had it been merely imagination?

"It's a gift for Achilles," he said without turning around. "He'll need a vessel to hold the ashes of his lover, Patroclus."

Paris left without another word to look for the urn Hector had asked for. And Hector was left to do an intricate and intimate study of his own body to search for signs of the work of the goddess, an investigation that revealed nothing specific, nothing physical, nothing other than a nagging sense of unease that things were not completely normal, not as they had been when he had left the night before to visit Achilles' camp.

After eating a bit more -- finding the rich fruit more to his liking than the meat -- Hector visited the living quarters he shared with his wife and baby son, Scamandrius, fondly called Astyanax -- King of the City -- by the people of Troy. Andromache greeted him warmly, well aware that he had been deeply troubled by what had happened in battle the day before and assuming he had been closeted with his generals and advisors since.

"I wanted to hold the baby," Hector said, bending over the ornate cradle. The interest Hector took in his son was unprecedented among men of his stature, but he enjoyed the time he spent with the baby despite the occasional raised eyebrows of the nobles, often playing with him in the marketplace as well as in the privacy of his room, even spending time carving toys for the alert baby. Hector was an unprecedented prince held in great awe by the Trojans, not just for his legendary skills in battle, but also for his humanity. His unabashed love of his son was one of the things that made him so human. And for himself, Hector cared little about the opinions of the priests -- or even his father -- about the way he was raising the baby. If he was more attentive to his child than most men, it was because he had always felt a sense of urgency about the time he spent with him, perhaps imagining it wouldn't be very long in either duration or quality because of his overriding responsibilities both military and political.

Did Hector foresee his own death? Certainly he had a healthy awareness of the likelihood he would die in battle or be assassinated, especially since the Achaean army had landed on the shores of Troy; and when he had learned from Odysseus that Patroclus carried the seed of Achilles, he had realized his life would be forfeit if he could not find a way to undo some of the damage. But like any great warrior, Hector also felt a sense of his own immortality, both in the middle of a bloody battle, and, most of all, when he held his son in his arms.

Now Hector looked down at the baby's bright eyes and found himself drawn in, drawn back to another set of clear, blue eyes, eyes that had so recently challenged and enthralled him. How like Achilles' eyes were those of his own son! A wave of dizziness hit, and Hector faltered, reaching out to the side of the bassinet for balance.

"Hector? Are you all right?"

"I need to sit down," he said weakly. "I'm feeling unwell."

"Were you wounded yesterday?" Andromache asked, revealing her constant fear that her husband would be injured or killed in battle. "No one told me."

"No, not wounded. I killed a boy yesterday, and he was young. Too young." Hector sat on the bed, facing the window that looked west. What should he tell his wife about what had happened with Patroclus and Achilles? If he was, indeed, pregnant, he would need her help.

"Andromache," he began slowly, "the boy was the cousin and lover of the Myrmidon king, Achilles. And he was blessed by the goddess Aphrodite. He carried Achilles' child."

Andromache's expressive face showed her horror and her fear. "Why should the goddess interest herself in our enemies? They say it is Athena who favors the Greeks."

Hector shook his head and squeezed his eyes shut, searching for a way to explain. "Aphrodite was trying to save Paris by bargaining with Achilles. She knew he wanted a son, and she offered to make his cousin the vessel."

"And now Achilles will come to challenge you to revenge the loss."

"Perhaps not."

"Why not?"

Hector had no answer. Realizing he was reflexively covering his belly again, he pulled his hand away in disgust and got off the bed. "I need to talk to Glaucus," he said, referring to the veteran Trojan general, "and to my captains. There's much to do."

Andromache grabbed his arm and pulled it toward her. "Please, please be careful. If Achilles challenges you, don't fight him!"

"I won't," Hector answered firmly. And he left the room, not seeing his wife's wide, surprised eyes.

Hector was confronted in the hall outside by Lysander. "You must come quickly, Prince Hector. You have an unexpected audience in the Hall of Apollo."

Immediately Hector assumed Achilles had not waited, but had decided to come to the city without invitation. What did he want? Had he changed his mind about allowing Hector to carry Patroclus' child? Was he ready to exact revenge for the beautiful young man's death?

Hector shook his head to clear it of his jumbled thoughts. Why was he so quick to come to a conclusion about his captain's announcement? It was yet another example of how he was not himself, how lying with the Greek had somehow changed him.

When he entered the smaller of the citadel's halls, he was immediately struck by  the energy and excitement in the room. A cluster of leather-clad warriors stood in the center of the hall, engaged in an animated discussion. His presence seemed to quiet things somewhat, but not entirely. Curious, he took his seat in the large chair at one end of the airy chamber, greeting Glaucus who was already waiting.

"What is it?"

"She's come, Prince. The warrior queen!"

The knot of bodies unraveled to reveal several striking women standing in the center of the hall, tall and long-legged wearing short leather skirts, hair pulled back into braided tails, bows and quivers on their backs, their right breasts bared. Hector now understood the level of excitement from the assembled Trojans, for it had been many years since they had laid eyes on the Amazons of Themiskyra, the great city in the Thermadon valley far northeast of Troy near the Euxine, the Black Sea. Hector's father, Priam, had not been a friend to the women warriors, and they had kept their distance for some time.

The tallest of the handful of Amazons walked forward. About her waist she wore a golden girdle and around her forehead what appeared to be a bronze diadem decorated with etchings of the moon, the symbol of the deity served by the feared female warriors -- Artemis, the Huntress. Her long tail of hair was the color of pomegranate wine, and her eyes were a deep green. Hector almost felt like bowing his head when she approached.

"I am Penthesilea," she said.

"I am honored by a visit from the Warrior Queen," Hector answered, standing. "I am Hector, son of Priam and Crown Prince of Troy."

Penthesilea's eyes, nearly level with the tall Trojan's, narrowed as she seemed to study him. Hector found himself first surprised, then somewhat annoyed at her scrutiny. Within a few seconds she spoke again.

"We have the best horses in this part of the world. We have arrowheads made of the blue metal from the mountains, harder than your bronze. And we despise the imperialistic ambitions of Agamemnon and the Achaeans. We've come to offer our service in defense of your city."

Knowing his father would disapprove of joining forces with the Amazons, Hector hesitated. His sharp mind began to formulate the argument he would make before the king and his ministers. It would be ridiculous and pointlessly proud for Troy to refuse the aid of the Amazons. Noticing his reticence, the queen's color rose in her cheeks, and she seemed about to turn on the heel of her soft leather boot.

"Come into private counsel with me," Hector invited quickly. "I wish to speak with you further."

"I'm glad to speak with you," she answered, cocking a finger at her cohorts.

Hector nodded to Glaucus and signaled Lysander to follow. The group moved into a small antechamber and Hector invited everyone to sit around a large table in its center, then he ordered wine and fruit. It took several minutes for everyone to get settled and served.

"You've come a great distance, Queen Penthesilea," Hector said, knowing the journey over the mountains from Themiskyra was an arduous one on horseback, assuming the women had come that way. The great city of the Amazons was in such a remote location few outsiders had ever seen it, and for many Trojans the women warriors had become nothing more than legend.

She nodded, and Hector noticed the scars on her upper arms and a small one on her left cheek. Despite being lean and somewhat muscular, the woman could be called beautiful, and Hector wondered what her face looked like when she smiled. If, that is, she ever smiled.

"Troy would be indebted to you and your warriors for an alliance against the Greeks," he said. "As you must have found from trying to approach this city, the siege has made it difficult to get the supplies we need to both defend our people and to feed and clothe them appropriately."

"Actually, Prince Hector, it occurred to me that your people are still living very well, and that perhaps some are not really aware of the grave situation you're in. I've heard it said that the Trojans sit on their rooftops and watch the war as though it were some form of entertainment."

Bristling, Hector forced his face to remain impassive despite an edge to his voice. "I assure you there is nothing entertaining about being surrounded and besieged by fifty thousand Greeks! We are horribly outnumbered, and if our invaders are patient enough and willing to forego the comforts of home and hearth, they have the distinct advantage!"

Penthesilea's eyebrow shot up. "So why hasn't your father the king sent for allies among the local tribes?"

Hector hesitated again. It was difficult to defend his father's stubborn pride when he himself often struggled against it. "My father is a man of honor. It would be against his nature to ask for help from someone he may have wronged."

Aware of the quick look that passed between Glaucus and Lysander, Hector continued. "Tell me what your people would ask for in return for your assistance."

"Nothing. As long as you are in command of the army, the Amazons of Themiskyra would be happy to fight side-by-side with men. It has been some time since we've found ourselves in a war of such importance."

The woman's eyes bore into Hector's, and he glanced away. Again he found himself under her scrutiny, and it made him uncomfortable. He reached for his goblet and looked around the table at the untouched fruit and wine. "Please," he said. "Have some refreshments."

"You will be able to continue the fight?" Penthesilea asked, her voice low enough that only Hector could hear.

"What? Of course. Why not?"

"I thought you might not. In time you might have to step down as the commander of the Trojan army." Her voice was now a near-whisper.

"Why would you think such a thing?" he asked.

The Amazon Queen leaned toward Hector, her tail of red hair falling forward and brushing her bare breast. "Because of the child," she said. "The child you carry."

The End, Part Four