Chapter Text
Hector ran his hand through his hair. He was unaccustomed to it being free from the helmet, and even more unaccustomed to his shoulders feeling light without the weight of his bronze-backed shield. Wind blew in Hector’s face and ruffled his tunic, making it flutter in the wind without the armour to protect him.
He paused in the courtyard to let his soldiers pass, and to give himself a moment to gather his bearings. He saw Deiphobus among them, bandage poking out from under his arm-guard. Hector opened his mouth to call for him, to tell him to stay behind, to offer to take over his position, but Aeneas approached instead. He threw his arm over Deiphobus’ shoulders and whispered something into his ear, making them both laugh. He would be fine. He did not need Hector to watch over him. It had been over a week since his injury and Hector had been keeping an eye on him—the wound was surface-level anyway, and had long since scabbed over. You can’t use the war to get away now, Hector told himself.
Somehow, the battlefield seeming like the more appealing of the options he faced now. At least he knew its ins and outs. At least he felt at home there.
Polydamas, who was part of the tail end of the unit, stopped when he saw Hector. He looked between him and the gate, then stepped out of the group and approached Hector, his helmet tucked under his arm. “You’re not armed,” he noted.
“Yeah. I’m not fighting today,” Hector said, looking out into the city. The sun had barely risen and streets were already filling up with soldiers ready for battle.
“Are you hurt? Did you pull a muscle?”
Hector scratched the back of his neck. “Something like that.”
“Whatever it is, I really hope you get over it soon,” Polydamas said, lodging his thumbs between his tunic and breastplate. “Achilles is back, and he’s here to stay.”
“I know. But it’s… It’s serious. It’s important.” Polydamas shrugged and placed the helmet over his head. “Today,”—Hector patted him on the shoulder as he passed him—“you are Hector.” Hector could make out a smile in the shadow obscuring his friend’s face. He whistled and rejoined the group, which slowed down as they waited for him.
Meanwhile Hector crossed the courtyard to the guesthouse. His heart hammered louder in his ears with every step. Perhaps this was a mistake. Perhaps he should pass her room and stop at Creusa’s. He could spend the day with her and Ascanius. Surely she could use the company while Aeneas was away.
Hector knocked at Andromache’s door before he could convince himself otherwise. She had opened the door before he had time to lower his hand, perhaps sensing through the thick wood that he would use any excuse to leave. Her eyes were red-rimmed and sunken, her skin seemed sallow. She did not smile when she saw Hector.
“What do you want?” was all she said.
“I wanted to speak with you.”
“Well, I don’t have any more family members whose deaths you can report, so I don’t know what you could possibly want to talk about.”
“That’s— I came to apologise.”
Andromache looked to the either side of the hallway, her hair falling past her shoulders. She brushed it behind her ear and opened the door further. “Come in,” she said, and Hector did. She did not say anything else, leaving him to linger in silence.
“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you about your mother as soon as I heard. And I’m sorry I left you after you found out.”
Andromache’s chest rose and fell as she stared him down. Hector could almost see the thoughts flitting through her mind. “I don’t know if I can trust you,” she finally said.
Hector’s jaw clenched. He could not blame her. “And I don’t deserve your trust, but I couldn’t just… I couldn’t leave it to linger when I knew I had hurt you.”
The anger faded from her face, leaving behind a pained sadness. “This is the first time I’ve seen you without your shield since I arrived, you know. And I’ve been here for more than a month.”
“I know. I’m sorry.”
“Why aren’t you in your armour?”
Hector’s hand trailed to his hip, but there was no pommel to fidget with, no belt to shift. “I was hoping to stay here with you. Not here necessarily,” he rushed to add, looking around in her room. It was plain—after all she had come from Thebae empty-handed. Only the bed and chest, and the seats in the corner. “I just want to be with you.”
“Just until the next battle starts?”
“No. Until the end of my life.”
Andromache afforded him the tiniest of smiles. “I don’t want your life to end, Hector. Especially not if it’s because of me, because you’re fighting to avenge me. That’s why I was upset.”
“So… You’re not upset anymore?”
“I’ve never been able to be mad at you for long. You know that.” She crossed her arms. “I do want you to make it up to me though.”
Hector cocked his head to one side. “How so?”
“Well… since there’s no way Paris or Polydamas are going to interrupt us in here…”
His eyes trailed to the closed door, then back to Andromache. “What are you implying?” he asked.
She covered her blushing cheeks with both hands. “Hector… I don’t understand how you have the courage to face an army of Greeks, but not to open your heart to me. Do you not want to?”
“I do! I mean—”
She giggled. “Then prove it.”
Hector breathed deeply as he stepped forward and brushed Andromache’s hair behind her ears, tracing the curve of her jaw to her chin. He tilted her face up. Her gaze went back and forth between his eyes as Hector’s other hand trailed down to her waist, pulling her in. They were so close he could hear her breath hitch. Her hands were resting unsurely on his shoulders when he leaned down to place a gentle peck on her soft lips.
Andromache pressed her nose against his, then grabbed him by the back of his neck and pushed her lips against his, more forcefully than he had.
When their lips parted, Andromache was gasping for breath. Not just from the kiss, but also from the tears that soaked her cheeks.
“Don’t leave me, Hector,” she said. “I can’t bear to lose my everything again.”
Hector did not respond. He simply pressed another kiss on her parted lips.