AN: Hey everyone, this is my first story on fanfiction.net, hope you enjoy what I have so far. Reviews are more than welcomed!

xoxo, nat

Chapter 1

Andromache cowered in a corner, she shook visibly as quiet sobs racked her body, yet no tears would come. Her babe clutched tightly against her bosom as though she could not bear to lose another loved one. Her husband was going to be killed, she dreamt of it last night, and she could still see the eerie dream every time she closed her eyes. The dint of metal against metal as the clash of swords rang through the air. The savage cry of the Greek brute, calling her husband to his death still echoed in her ears.

"Hector!...Hector!...Hector!"

Each cry drew her beloved Hector closer to his death, and with each cry his name grew more indefinable. The brute called clearly, pronouncing the two syllables so that they bounced up the walls of Troy and into her ears. Somehow, the calling has grown meaningless, just a sound, an animal's call.

The doors to Troy opened slowly, grinding their ancient wood against the sandy ground. One last call echoes through the air.

"Hector!"

The tears spilled from her eyes. Her husband was going to die.

---

Paris, soon to be the sole heir of the Trojan throne, gripped the low stone wall of the castle. His knuckles are white from the exertion, his teeth clenched, his eyes wide, he never wanted to be king and didn't want it now. He wished the sound of the fighting below would cease. From where he was watching, they were but two tiny figures, dressed in black armour, like ants that run upon the ground.

How he wanted to help his brother, as Hector had helped him so many a times. His mind raced back to his combat with Menelaus, king of Sparta, husband of Helen, his lover. His shameful defeat only amplified by his sordid retreat. His brother had been there for him then, as he clung to Hector's leg, silently begging his older brother to protect him as of old.

"He is my brother," Hector had said, and that had been all. No further explanation was required. Hector's love for his brother had sent him to his death.

The sounds changed, a dull sound of metal ripping the armour, the screech of the impact muffled by the impaling of flesh - his brother's flesh, then followed by a deathly silence. Paris suddenly regretted the wish that he had made just moments before.

'Leave, murderer, leave!' Paris thought, 'You have what you sought. My beloved brother is dead.' But his thoughts were unanswered as the Greek savage took a long, thick rope from his chariot and tied it to the dead man's feet. He looked up defiantly at the Trojan royalties seated safely high above as his horses charged through the land dragging their great prince behind.

For the first time in his life, Paris looked into Achilles' eyes, and though it was a great distant away, he knew what he must do. His fate be done, by his hand, Achilles must die.

I know that this is really short, I promise longer chapters in the future.