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Andromache's eyes flutter open.
She's awoken by the cries of her little dove and her beloved's shushes to calm his troubled heart.
She rises from the bed, hauling her body up so she sits.
Beside her, is Hector's form in the sheets. His pillow is still lessened with the impact of his mind.
He is not there, beside her, occupying it.
Instead, he is with their little one.
Andromache watches him now.
His body is impaled with armor that shines. It is not meant to shine. It is strange how the armorer decides that this work is meant to shine out of all others. Not when it is meant only for destruction and sorrow, the ending of life. When Andromache looks at it, she feels her breath escape her.
He will leave her again. Here, by herself, with their little dove, who cries for him.
Hector doesn't have the heart to look at her.
His helmet is on his head and their little dove is crying. He is awaking the whole palace.
Andromache pushes through the blankets and comes to stand in-front of him.
She looks up. She does not know this man.
She only knows her Hector by the gentleness of his hands.
A soldier does not pick up a child in this way. A soldier is not capable of such delicacy.
But their little dove does not know this difference.
"Your helmet," Andromache says.
Her hands reach out. The solider lowers his head.
When Andromache takes off his helmet, she is met with his kind face, his tired eyes. There is a scar that is on his nose, that extends to his cheek now. It didn't use to be there before. It was something he had caught in the ways of war, by a particularly mean man who did not know that he had a wife that awaits him every waking hour.
Their little dove stops crying.
He understands that it is his father who stares at him.
He begins to laugh. Such a strange thing children are.
Hector lifts him. He hugs their little one and kisses his forehead, his round cheeks.
Their little dove squeals. He flattens his palms on Hector's face and Andromache watches him smile.
Her lips begin to tremble.
"Don't go," Somehow, she manages. Somehow, she can get this out.
Hector has enough heart to look at her then.
"Please," She whispers, gripping onto his helmet. She wants to break it in half, tear it to bits and stomp on the plums of hair.
But she cannot. She cannot do this, cannot ever stop him. He will go and he leave her here.
She would have yelled at him if she had it in herself. Now, she does not. She simply does not.
"Please," She says, again, trying and trying. His eyes are on her but they are only guilty.
He does not consider it.
He settles their little dove upon his cot with his gentle hands.
There is a lasting kiss on his head and then their little one is squealing again, reaching for his father.
Andromache cannot understand how excited he is. Does he not know his father is going away now, somewhere that Andromache will never be able to go?
She forgets herself. She lowers the helmet on the ground and reaches for his hand, grips onto his fingers.
"Please."
She sounds so desperate.
She begs.
She brings his hand to her forehead.
His finger rises to brush her cheek.
"Andromache."
She doesn't look at him.
She doesn't want to remember how he looks.
She doesn't want to think back to this over and over and remember how he looks.
"Andromache," He tries again and his other hand comes and cups her cheek. He lifts her chin to face him and Andromache lets the tears slip from her eyes, the words on her tongue.
"Please," She says, again. "Haven't I been good enough for you? Why do you want to leave me now, to go and go and possibly never come home? Please, Hector, I cannot spend everyday waiting for you. I cannot watch you tire everyday like you are a dog fetching food for his master. Please, Hector, please. Ask Helenus to take the troops, ask- Paris, Paris he can take them. You do not-"
"My girl," He says and his voice is terribly soft. "Paris cannot take the troops. He doesn't know how to lead them."
"But- But Helenus-"
"Neither can he," Hector says. "He does not know their jobs."
"You can tell them and then you can come and stay with me," The tears come and come. She cannot stop them.
Hector holds onto her face, brushing away her tears with his thumb.
It is all in vain.
They come and they come.
They cannot stop.
"Please," She whispers, like it means anything to him.
The soldier does not know how to listen.
She can see the look in his eyes and knows that she cannot convince him. That he will go, like an animal, charge into battle. He does not care for the arrows that might graze his skin or the spear that might tear him in two or the child that is reaching for him or his wife who is crying in his arms. He does not care for all of this.
He brings her into his arms.
She presses her ear against his chest but she cannot hear his heart. It is covered by this piece of metal that makes her husband like stone, unwavering and unresponsive.
She cannot handle this.
Andromache moves away from him.
She turns her head.
"Andromache?"
She knows she is only causing him more pain. She knows how her emotions have gripped her, gripped him.
Still, she turns her head.
She goes on the bed and sits on her side away from him. She turns her back against him.
She knows she is being strange, childish, but she has decided that if she cannot convince him she will do nothing.
How can she look at him like this?
"Andromache?" He asks again and his voice is strange. Never has he sounded so full of sorrow.
He comes in-front of her and she turns her head. She stares at the frame of the bed, carved by unknown hands.
She feels a weight on her lap, his arms around her knees.
"My love," He says and his voice is light. Now, it wavers. Now, it is uncertain.
Andromache looks down. His head is on her lap, his face hidden from her eyes.
"Please," He sounds too strange. He is a man made of sorrow, born from it's womb, "Do not hate me for this. You are my everything, Andromache, but you know I have to do this. I cannot have you be so upset with me you cannot even look at me. Please, my girl, I know that you do not deserve any of this. But please, do not turn from me. Please, Andromache."
Andromache's eyes fill with tears.
She places her hands on his head, playing with his hair.
She does his hair. Sometimes when he comes home, he sits in the bath that she prepares for him and she does his hair. He tells her of everything and while he speaks her fingers go over his locks of hair and make something from it. He goes to the troupes looking this way, does not mind the stares he is given when she tries something new with it.
He does not mind her experiments on his hair. He wears them as he wears his honor and does not waver from it.
Andromache rests her forehead on his hair.
"Come back to me," She whispers. "Do not leave me here alone."
Hector tightens his grin, "I will always come back to you, my love."
"You make me so frightened."
"My girl-"
"You silly man," She whispers. "How could I ever go on without you?"
Hector lifts his head and so does Andromache.
He presses his nose on her cheek, "My dear, how can I ever go on without you here with me?"
She sighs. He presses his forehead against hers.
"I will return," He says and he sounds sure of himself. "I will return. When I return, I will bathe and then I will be yours."
She smiles, "All mine?"
"This, I already am," He smiles. He's charming, that boy. "But after that. I will be just yours. I will not share my space with anybody but you."
She considers this.
"I only want us to lounge and do nothing," She whispers.
He kisses her cheek, "Then we will do just that."
Andromache closes her eyes, "I am holding you to this."
He laughs, "I would not expect anything else."
"And figs. Let us eat figs."
He laughs again, "Alright."
"I will make us cakes today," Andromache says. "Then we will lounge and eat them."
"Figs and cakes," Hector muses on this. He puts his hands on her face and kisses her nose, "I will think only of this now."
"Do not die," Andromache looks at him and she is not smiling. "You better not. I will be angry with you if you do."
Hector smiles, "I will not. Not when you are going to make cakes and we will lounge and eat figs."
Andromache nods, "This is better."
Hector catches her lips in a kiss.
They sit like that for a while. He mumbles words that she doesn't hear for they are too little and then he kisses her and kisses her. Andromache laughs and laughs as his lips come to her ear and her lips and her cheeks and her forehead and her temples. He grins on her skin. Andromache smiles too much for herself.
Their darling squeals. Hector goes and pecks his cheeks, kisses his chest and his belly.
Then, admits all this brightness, there are knocks upon their door.
The soldiers ask for him.
He is supposed to be with them now, carrying out processes before the battle ahead.
Hector kisses her some more before he presses one final kiss to her lips and smiles, "I'll be right back."
She smiles, "How long?"
"Very quick," He picks up his helmet from the other side of the bed and smiles. "Only several moments."
"Go then," Andromache says. "So the time can go by quicker."
He kisses her again. This one is longer, more full of purpose.
When it ends, he kisses her cheek before getting up and lifting his helmet.
Then, he leaves.
Andromache thinks of the lounging and the figs and the cakes.
She will wait for him if it means she will get this.
She will wait for him forever.
That rotten bastard.
Andromache loves him more than anything in the world.