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The sky was pink and glowing with the rising light of the sun when Paris woke. The space beside him was cool when he swept a hand out, searching for the soft warmth of Helen's skin. Finding nothing, he smothered a confused groan. Surely it was far too early to be up and about, even for someone as industrious as Helen could be. Where was she? As he was reluctant to actually sit up, Paris merely rolled over so he didn't have to leave the cozy weight of the blankets, even though soon enough the day would be too hot to remain comfortable under them.
For now, it was perfect, and in the end he didn't need to do more than turn over to find Helen, sitting by the window nearby. Her long, dark hair had been undone from its night-time braiding, now streaming in thick, lazy waves over her shoulders and down her back. An ivory comb lay forgotten in her lap, one hand stroking the carvings along the comb's body with the other raised near her face.
On an outstretched finger sat a goldfinch. The red and gold of its markings were bright in the sun, and the buff colour of its body gilded. There was another goldfinch on the windowsill, and two sparrows hopping about besides. The finches were singing to each other, and Helen's face was soft as she watched them. There was a tender little downturn in the corner of her mouth, and a barely-there tension pulling her brows tight, but her gaze was misty, the ethereal gray of her eyes near glowing in the warm shadows of the morning.
Folding his arm under his head, Paris watched quietly as Helen watched the birds, until a shout from below and the rolling thunder of a cart startled all four birds into flying off. Helen's shoulders shuddered for a brief moment, then stilled.
"Good morning," she said, twisting in her seat to face him while she picked up the comb again.
The soft wistfulness of her expression fled much like the birds had, and by the time Paris sat up, Helen's expression was clear. It was almost possible to think he'd seen nothing at all.
"Good morning," he replied, smiling as he stretched and slunk out of bed, crossing the floor in three steps to prop himself against the window. "It looked like you were enjoying yourself, so I didn't want to interrupt."
Helen hummed, her gaze flicking away from where she'd been trailing a slow glance down from his face along his naked body. Interrupted, she turned her gaze past his arm, out the window, and then back, meeting his gaze with a slight, but very imperious, twitch of an eyebrow. Smile widening, but remaining soft, Paris shrugged as he untied the ribbon holding his own braid. It was far less necessary for him since his hair was much shorter than Helen's, but he liked it to be kept out of the way as he slept. It made it slightly easier to comb through it in the mornings, though lately it'd been easier than it usually was, regardless of what he did or didn’t do.
"You like birds, don't you?"
Anyone might surely like it if they were visited by a couple birds so closely, trusting, while they hopped about and sang as if they were seated on branches in the forest. Paris just didn't think that was it – he was pretty sure Helen had had a room set aside in Sparta for more than just a simple cage for a small bird or two. He hadn't been in there himself to see it, but he remembered an area near Helen and Menelaos' private rooms that had near always been humming with the sound of birdsong.
A quiet little humph escaped Helen, her hands stilling where they worked on her hair. She watched him for a few more moments, then nodded. "Yes. Ever since I was little... trying to imitate birdsong is how I first found out I could do something with my voice that no one else could, and led to the discovery of imitating others' voices."
"Oh." Paris nodded, startled, and – yet not. It made a lot of sense. "That must've been a surprise."
"Oh, it definitely was!" Finally, Helen smiled; a small, fleeting thing, but it lit up her face and sat sweetly on her lips. "... I wish I could've taken even just one of my birds with me, but I don't think they would've weathered this journey well."
That skill of Helen's was rather amazing, and Paris was still delighted he'd found out about it – though in truth, he'd rather Helen would've been able to choose the time and place to tell him, not that he'd find out because she'd used it to help him out of a rather unpleasant situation. At least she'd told him about her birds by her own will. It might be a smaller and certainly less secret part to her than her ability to imitate voices, but it was no less important to him.
"The storm might have stressed out any you brought with you rather badly," Paris agreed with a little moue of a grimace as he ran his fingers through his hair, untangling it.
Just because she'd had to leave the pet birds she already had behind in Sparta, didn't mean she couldn't get new ones, though. Paris didn't say so while he watched Helen's glance slide past him and out the window once more, a softly distant expression on her face. Not yet. There was no point. They were at least a week, if not more, from Troy just yet, and that if they didn't stay more than the night anywhere else on the way. Motylos here in Samylia had been hosting them for a week by now, and Paris thought they might linger a few more days, just yet.
But when they arrived in Troy... Why not see about at least one bird, if not a pair, for Helen? As a welcome gift, a marriage gift. If she liked birds, she should have them.
It did still take a couple weeks after they'd arrived in Troy before Paris had what he wanted. His first thought to be able to present a pet bird to Helen for the wedding gave him too little time, even if it was a little over a week after their arrival that they were formally wed. He didn't want to take the first captive bird he might get his hands on, after all.
He wanted whatever pet bird he gave her to be the right one, whatever that meant. And what it meant, Paris realized a few days after the wedding, was that the gift needed to be a particular type of bird. At least for her first ones. He remembered the goldfinch that'd perched on Helen's hand, and, more than that, that goldfinch song had been familiar not just from listening to them while tending his cattle, but because their song had been one of the most usual he'd heard from the room Helen kept her birds in. The choice was clear, then.
"Helen?"
Paris didn't bother trying to disguise what he was carrying as he came inside the outer room, where Helen stood at her loom. It wasn't very large, though it, and the bedchamber beyond it, had been large enough for him. Certainly it was as much space as had to be shared between three people when he lived with his foster parents, if not still larger. But large as it was, he'd brought up the possibility of doing some extensions of the palace in this wing to his father; there weren't just him living in these rooms any longer.
Such things would take a while, but it'd be worth it. Worth it, too, was the wide-eyed, pale-to-flushed expression on Helen's face when she turned towards him, shuttle still in hand. Her luminous eyes landed on the cage in his hands, soft lips parting silently for several moments before she shook herself and spoke.
"Alexander... what?"
Her gaze flicked from his face down to the two goldfinches in the cage, and though her face quickly went blank, like a flash of the sun peeking through amassing clouds, before that there'd been that similar sort of wide-eyed longing there, the same as back in Karia, at Motylos' house. Smiling, Paris gently put the cage down on the little table by the couch.
"I know it's not exactly the same," he said, laying a hand on top of the cage, "but I remember you had birds back in Sparta, and you looked like you really liked having birds to watch, back at Motylos' house. You can still have a couple birds – before the extensions to give us more room starts, a larger cage could be built against the wall over there."
Nodding to the short wall opposite of the bedchamber door, Paris spread his hands out, palms up. "What do you think?"
In the cage, one of the goldfinches trilled shortly, then fell silent again. Helen was staring, teeth biting into her generous bottom lip. When she sighed, she also seemed to melt with it. There was something quiet and glowing in her gaze as she handed the shuttle to Elektra beside her and came over. She laid one hand on top of the cage, and the other came to cradle his cheek, tilting his head up.
"My Alexander... I didn't think you'd see as much as you do," she commented, her tone unreadable but something wry starching her expression, even as she leaned down and kissed him. "I've been missing having birds."
"Even if I couldn't have given you a few birds, which I don't see how I could fail to do when having seen your clear fondness of them, I could be a bird for you, my desire," Paris cheekily said, smiling against Helen's chin while he shamelessly reached up to wind his arms around her shoulders to keep her from straightening up any further. He kissed her chin, then nibbled her bottom lip when she didn't lean back down far enough to properly kiss her.
"Hmm." Her eyes were fog-soft and glowing as when the sun was hiding behind a cloud bank. There was a tiny smile on her lips, right out of his reach to kiss. "You could be. You sing prettily enough for it, and you dress yourself as showily as male birds dance about in their plumage."
Stroking down his side, Helen curved her hand, warm and weighty, along the dip of his waist. Paris laughed, and the goldfinches startled into song with him, which drew Helen into laughing as well, full-chested and bronze-belled. Paris' heart leapt to hear it. He liked singing for her, as much as he loved entertaining her in full with both song and music. Helen had a clever hand when handling a lyre, he'd found out shortly after they'd arrived in Troy, and though she'd confessed to not quite having the skill to sing and play at the same time, he wasn't alone in enjoying splitting the singing and playing between them.
"They even agree," he said, winking.
"They know their own," Helen agreed, still smiling as if she couldn't help herself, and swept her hand around and a little further down, to flatten it out over the small of his back. "But I don't have a cage large enough to keep you in."
"But you do," Paris said, fluttering his lashes and glancing past her shoulder towards the bedchamber door. This time when he kissed her chin, she bent down to properly capture his lips in another kiss.
"... Perhaps I do," Helen allowed, her voice a deep treble in her chest, her hand now spread as low as it might go without truly cupping his backside. Helen was never that free with her touch when her women were around them to see.
Even that wasn't much of an obstacle to convince Helen to not wait until it was dark for her to enjoy herself with her – now largest – pet bird in said cage.
A little over two years later, the extended apartments having been long since finished and all of them settled in properly, Paris paused right inside the door that now stood guardian between his and Helen's home and the outside world. It closed quietly behind him as he cocked his head, trying to catch the sound he’d been sure he’d heard.
He could hear the quiet conversation in Phoenician from the room across the hall, where the five Phoenician girls were working on their weaving. Their soft voices were accompanied by the gentle thump of the weft being beaten up against the already-woven cloth. It was basically impossible to pick out any noises from the upper floor from here, but he was sure he had heard something. A something in particular that had become one of his favourite mix of sounds.
But if he was to make sure he'd have to go look himself.
Discarding his cloak on the bench by the door, Paris strolled up the stairs, humming quietly to himself.
It'd been a good day so far.
The weather was pleasant, and he'd gotten to spend some time with Hektor that had nothing to do with his brother's insistence he keep up with weapons' practice. It wasn't like it appeared to be needed, since after that apparently Achaean fleet mistakenly passed them by a year ago and attacking Teuthrania instead as they heard only afterwards, none have come to bother them, or anyone else on the coast. There was little else he could ask for; this was perfect.
Perhaps it could be yet a little more perfect. There was birdsong in the air when he came up on the second floor.
Pausing there, Paris smiled slowly, softly clapping his hands together. He'd heard right. Still, hearing it at a distance wasn't enough; he had to take a look in person. He did have to consciously hold himself back, much like a good charioteer keeps firm control of the reins not to let his team run free as soon as the race begins, so he didn't hurry down the short corridor, making too much noise. He didn't want to disturb the birds. Helen would be able to soothe them into singing again, but by that point the moment would surely have been spoiled.
So Paris strolled leisurely down the corridor with birdsong in his ears, his small smile lingering on his lips. He stopped in the doorway to the most private parts of the house, leaning against the door frame with delight warm in his chest.
Helen was seated near one of the windows, and there was only Korinsia and Astyanassa in the room with her. Not odd, given her raised hand and the bird perched on her finger, the gold band over his wings as bright and bold as his partially red little head.
Both of them were singing; bright, charming birdsong, trilling slides and rises filling the room. Expected from the goldfinch, and echoed by his two companions still in the cage on the other side of the room. But Helen, too, was also singing – in the exact same fashion as her feathered companion. Her lips were just barely parted, her throat subtly vibrating right around where the rosy shadow under her chin didn't hide such a subtle detail on her pale skin.
Not words, and not charmingly wordless human singing; no, it was birdsong, perfectly matched to that of her goldfinch, spilling past those soft lips.
It was captivating.
And more importantly, Helen didn't stop singing even as she shifted minutely in her seat; she knew he was there, though she didn't otherwise move or look towards him. Paris would suspect she'd known he was coming even before he'd finished scaling the stairs. It wasn't often – and only within the last year – he got to listen to something like this, and even more so be obviously present for it, Helen for once not demanding the fiction of privacy by Paris remaining out of immediate view. It was odd to think of Helen, confident, firm, commanding Helen, as self-conscious, but in this thing, she was.
But it was delightful and utterly fascinating to watch her sing in a way humans couldn't. Fascinating, too, to watch her not move her lips or tongue with the singing like a human had to. Paris hoped Helen might one day feel less embarrassed by it. Especially as it clearly brought her joy; her eyes shone, a reflection and mirror for the unstained sky outside as her mist-coloured eyes had taken on a blue tint that close to the window. The colour, somehow, matched the tiniest bit of soft, upwards curl in the corners of her mouth.
The only reason Paris could tear himself from the sight was that he had an idea, and it demanded to be explored.
Once more he had to ensure to walk on soft, light feet and not hurry, so as to not spook the bird even if it was mostly focused on its mistress. There was no need to go far, anyway; he'd left one of his small lyres on the couch nearby yesterday evening. Taking a moment to ensure it was still tuned right, Paris stroked the finely polished cedar of the lyre's body. With his back to Helen and the birdsong filling the room, it'd be easy to think it was only Helen's pet birds that were making noise.
But it wasn't.
Paris turned around only slowly, eyes closed as he listened to melodies that'd become intimately familiar in the last couple years.
Of course, he'd heard plenty of song from wild goldfinches, especially in the greenery of mountain meadows while he was herding the royal cattle, but that was one thing. He'd also heard the melodies in passing in the palace; a couple of his father's concubines kept birds as pets, and the goldfinch was one of the more popular ones. If he'd been willing to wait for hatchlings to be born from some of those pet birds, that'd been an easy way to procure them for his gift for Helen. But he'd wanted to give her adult birds, similar to the ones she surely had had in Sparta, so while he'd still had to wait a little, it hadn't been as long as if he'd had to plan around waiting for breeding season.
But as familiar as he was with goldfinches in one way or another, it was yet another thing entirely to live with them nearby, especially the few Helen liked to keep in the cage in this room.
With the extension of this part of the palace for his and Helen's home, Paris had asked if she wanted more space for her birds, and so there was another room on the bottom floor that was fully suited to Helen's pets. She had a small collection of them now, just as she'd had in Sparta.
So, Paris was familiar with the goldfinch's song, pretty as it was. But usually he was simply listening to it.
This time, after a couple moments, he started plucking his lyre's strings to match with the birdsong from Helen and her pet. Paris opened his eyes to a startled break in the song, Helen watching him while her bird kept singing. Smiling, Paris arched his brows and added a more playful trill of his own. Helen, her eyes shining, laughed softly.
She opened her mouth again, catching her bird's flagging attention as she went back to singing. She didn't turn back to mostly face the window, as she'd been before he came into the room. Instead she sat facing him, the earlier lurking smile now a blooming blossom on her lips as their curious little duet filled the air with music and song.