An Unlikely Union

Hello again! Okay ... this is the chapter to finish this fic, Ipromise...

Written by popular demand! - thanks for everything guys!

It was nice to come back to it and I hope it draws it to a close properly.

Written as a collection of Sofia's memories from the past year or so after her marriage to Hector.

(For those who wanted an unedited copy of Chp 8, please let me know again via review ... it's finished and ready to be sent out.)

12: Fragments That Make The Whole

Sofia waited. She sat on the bed patiently waiting for her husband, for Hector. She moved her hands, loose fists opening in her lap and sliding leisurely out, across the bed behind her to take her weight was she leant backward a little. The mattress felt soft, the sheets silky. Their marital bed. She suddenly looked across her right shoulder, looking to the side of the bed Hector always slept on. His pillow still had a tiny dent in it, where his head had lain. She sighed to herself sadly whilst stroking the surface of the bed with her hands rhythmically, deep in thought. Last night Hector had slept badly – he came to bed so late last night; Sofia had already been asleep herself a good few hours.

He had woken her as he had quietly pulled pack the covers and slid into bed next to her ... he must thought she was still sleeping, he couldn't see that her eyes had snapped open, her naked back was faced him. She sensed that he watched her for a while, propped on his elbow and then he put out his free hand to affectionately trail his fingers gently down her back before finally laying down himself.

But he had tossed and turned drifting in and out of sleep, his breathing erratic, kicking back the sheets with his legs, she remembered.

Then he was up early this morning, before she woke, just as the sun rose ... Sofia had walked out on to the cool balcony of their chamber, her head still full of sleep, just in time to see a little galloping speck in the distance, rapidly moving against the backdrop of the green plains and blue sparkling sea of Troy. Hector riding Whitefoot. The orange light of the born-again sun reflected beautifully on the horse's silver-white coat, flashing just like silver jewellery catching candlelight.

She knew why he did this, wallow in isolation – he needed to relax, needed space, needed escape .... just for a while, anyway. And it might be the very last time he would be able to ride alone, to have that freedom - for he was to be a Prince no more.

King Priam, Hectors father had died almost two weeks ago. It seemed that old age finally caught up with him. His decline had been rapid. One day he had been playing with his grandson, crawling nimbly under the long table in the banquet hall and pretending to be a dragon, the next day he was unable to get out of bed after suffering painful headaches. In fact, he wasn't able to get out of bed ever again, dying peacefully in his sleep just two days later.

However, his death was not unexpected ... he had been an elderly man after all. But it was if all Trojans had expected the gods to grant Priam immortality somehow, he had always displayed such vitality and strength. And under his rule Troy had become most influential and prosperous. He would be sadly missed by all. The Trojan people were still in the midst of mourning, the normally bright streets of the city now dark and sombre, black banners flying instead of the normal flags. Local craftsman were working day and night to finish a tall granite statue in Priam's likeness, to stand in the square, which was commissioned by his eldest son and heir.

Hector was distraught at his father's death but was not allowed to grieve - there was no time. He was expected to be dignified, organised ... he was about to be crowned king after all, next week when the customary three-week mourning period was over ... and there was lots to arrange and discuss with council. But Sofia could see in her husband's face that he was troubled by his beloved father's death, the weight of duty and self-doubt lay heavy on his brow. She could read him like a book. Sofia had been as supportive and understanding as a dutiful wife should be although she worried greatly about Hector, he bottled things up too much. He did not want to burden her with his problems, she could tell ... perhaps she should encourage him to talk - but then again she did not want to push the issue with him, it would make him even more introvert, she knew that.

She sighed to herself heavily, sitting forward and drawing her hands back into her lap. Hector had been right. Life in Troy was not always easy ... but the sublimely happy times always outweighed the bad.

She remembered when Hector had bought her to Troy and presented her to the royal court as his future wife. She remembered how nervous she had been walking up the long stone steps to the palace entrance, led formally by Hector. She had been dressed in a gauze-like white gown; it was as light and as beautiful as the clouds that hung in the sky. Her hair had been plated ornately at the front into snake-like twists around the temples, the length tumbling down her back and her blue eyes had been lined with black kohl, making them even more striking than before. She looked like a lady of Troy even though she certainly did not feel like it! She tried rather unsuccessfully to walk gracefully with poise, like a Trojan Princess should, rather than shuffle behind Hector like a nervous field mouse. He had sensed her anxiety and squeezed her hand in reassurance as he strode along, smiling broadly with pride.

He approached a tall, regal figure standing at the very top stair - the man's arms were wide in greeting, his thin hair grey, his cloak a luxurious red. As she raised her nervously lowered eyes, she noticed a beautiful golden crown resting on his wrinkly head. It was the King, Hectors father. Sofia took a deep breath and remembered that she shouldn't speak unless she was spoken to.

But there was no reason for her to be nervous of course. Priam had hugged her so tightly he almost squeezed every breath from her. He had welcomed her, called her 'daughter', kissed her hand, complimented her on her beauty and chided her jokingly for being so shy. Then Scamandrius had been presented to Priam - held up by his father proudly with both hands, the baby's little legs dangling.

His grandson had been the apple of his eye since the beginning and Priam had spoilt him rotten as much as his own sons, Paris and Hector.

Of course not everyone at the court had been so welcoming .... There were a few ladies of the court that treated Sofia with distain, giving her cold looks, laughing at her non-existent knowledge and lack of skill when it came to Trojan upper-class custom and protocol. They would whisper and gossip hidden in the dark corners and arches of the palace hallway whilst they thought that Sofia couldn't hear. A few of them were jealous that this mere ragged pauper had managed to snare the handsome, rich Prince of Troy - in fact some of them believed that she was some sort of evil sorceress who had weaved a love spell on him .... Sofia had overheard them say this herself, as she passed by with Scamandrius in her arms, to lay him down for the night. As she relayed this to Hector when they were finally alone in their chamber, the excitable little baby finally asleep, she hadn't ever heard him laugh so loud and for so long, it made the whole bed shake.

Their wedding day was another beautiful memory of course. They were married only a few days after they had returned to Troy – that was the way things were done at the palace. When the morning dawned - of the betrothal, the first few shafts of sunlight streaming into her room signalled the beginning of a long, tiresome day of preparation – it had taken hours for Sofia to bathe, dress, have her hair and make-up done, all meticulously performed of course.

She did not feel like herself any longer, more like a fragile doll of alabaster. The dress was lovely of course – white gauze, ornately embroidered all over with gold thread flowers and patterns, held at the shoulders by a pair of lovely gold brooches. "To go with your golden crown, my lady ..." One of the maids explained. Crown? She had been so nervous about the ceremony she had not given a second thought about officially being a princess. Her heart started to flutter and her head felt dizzy. Perhaps it was the early start and excitement that caused this ... actually, it more like her nerves. The maids were forced to sit Sofia down for a while and let her sip and few mouthfuls of wine so she would calm down.

The gown was heavy and made her shoulders ache a little then the maids slid so many golden bangles on her wrists that she made a strange jingling noise as she walked, as if she was wearing a hundred tiny bells. "How could being decorated garishly like a temple-offering be attractive?" she recalled thinking.

But Hectors face as he saw her in all her finery changed her mind. Fulfilled. He looked so handsome; in an equally heavy-looking robe draped complexly around his shoulders ... she remembered thinking he looked more comfortable in the simple vest and skirt he liked to go riding in. It was the first time she had seen a crown on his head, a golden circle of laurel leaves resting on his neat dark curls. In his hands he grasped another smaller circle of golden laurels leaves ... to crown Sofia with, to declare her as his wife and to pronounce her as a princess of Troy. Towards the end of the ceremony, as they stood there by the priest and in front of the altar in the great temple of Apollo, Hector had beamed completely at her, leant forward and whispered intimately: "You look so beautiful ... and the gown is lovely ... but I still cannot wait to see you out of it."

Sofia was impatient to consummate the marriage too. They had both abstained from love-making since they had been reunited; believing that is was the proper thing to do before their marriage. However their desire and total ardour for each other had been absolutely consuming ... they had managed a few stolen moments of very prolonged and passionate kissing in the days leading up to the ceremony but it had just made things worse.

By the time the wedding banquet was in full swing, and after a day of intense flirting and sensual whispered promises, it all got too much. Both newly betrothed husband and wife made their polite excuses from the party and slipped away quietly from the room. Hector had literally led her running down the dark hallway, impatient to finally get her alone in their chamber; she had trailed behind breathlessly, her short and dainty legs not able to move as fast as Hectors. Her other hand was pressed to her collarbone, trying to prevent the beautiful pearl and sapphire necklace Hector had given her as a wedding gift jolting free and spilling onto the floor. Hector said he had chosen sapphires to match her eyes.

Their wedding night was so different from the time they had spent together in the boarding house. Hector had been deliciously assertive this time, not so careful and gentle. He kissed her passionately, first mouth then neck. He reached up, quickly and deftly unclasping her gown which was only held together at both shoulders by the dainty open-work golden brooches. His large, impatient fingers almost snapped the precious metal in two but at the time both husband and wife had no regard for this. Her splendid gown dropped to the floor in a crumpled, discarded pile leaving her completely naked.

Sofia remembered she felt a little self-conscious at first – her body was not the same after carrying and giving birth to Scamandrius. She had murmured this worry to Hector as he had pinned her down to the bed and began kissing her breasts. He simply looked up, smiled and ran his fingers gently over her little pot-belly and across to her hips, lowering himself down to kiss the pinky-silver stretch marks which had appeared on them during her pregnancy. "These are beautiful you know – you got these by keeping our baby safe and warm inside you ..." he whispered reassuringly in return. Sofia wasn't really sure if he truly meant this or whether he was being kind to ease her mind but she had no time to ponder this any longer as Hector began to do delightfully naughty things with his mouth, things that Cassandra used to gossip about back in the farm dormitory.

The rest of the night was a blur of touch, taste and pleasure. It was a revelation. Certainly, she had made love with Hector before but it was never anything like this ... so animal yet so intimate, so exciting yet so comfortable.

Hector had laughed playfully at her, she remembered. The sun was coming up and the couple were sitting on the dressing table chair, naked, exhausted and beaded with sweat. Hector was still inside her, Sofia on top although both were now blissfully sated, for a while anyway. He held her face in one hand, looked at her for a moment and kissed her passionately. Then he laughed breathlessly: "I can't believe Cassandra told you about using your mouth on a man but she didn't tell you that women can enjoy love making just as much as men!" This was true. She didn't realise that women could climax so she obviously had the surprise of her life when she actually did. She had never experienced anything like the waves of intense pleasure that had pulsed from her groin and out to her fingers, toes and head like ripples caused by a pebble dropped in water. It had made her dizzy, her skin tingle all over ... and she couldn't wait to experience it again. Hector did not disappoint.

She remembered curling up to sleep in Hectors arms that night, as one, both far too hot to have the sheets pulled over them. She remembered thinking that if she was to die right there and then, she would die the happiest woman on earth.

It had not taken Sofia long to fall pregnant again of course – the newlyweds spent almost every evening (and morning) making up for lost time. When Sofia discovered she was with child again, Hector and his brother Paris were not in Troy – they had been sent on a diplomatic mission by their father, back to the shores of Greece. Relations had been good between both nations since the war, especially now with the union of Achilles and Briesis. Rumour had it that Achilles was now the most powerful man in Greece and that Briseis was about to give birth to his half-Trojan heir – something that would cement their futures together as a nation. Priam was eager to make this harmony last. Although the visit was to be passive, she remembered that Hector had been very hesitant to leave his wife and fast-growing son ... torn once more between family and duty. But he had no choice but to leave. It had been a sad moment for Sofia, watching his shipturn into a dot as it drew closer to the horizon, slowly disappearing. He might miss his sons' first steps or first words she had thought as she wiped a tear from her cheek.

Life would be so empty without him but Sofia had accepted a long time ago that her husband had two loves: his family and the fair land of Troy ... but this did not make her miss him any less.

She was not like the other women – she could not while away her days sewing tapestries and singing. Hector had given her a patch of garden to tend as a hobby knowing that his wife's mind needed different stimulation from the others but in his absence, the women of the court ridiculed her for it, whispering about her dirty sandals and rough hands. Sofia didn't care. It gave her solitude to spent hours in the sun planting and weeding. She had leant from working on the farm that keeping her hands and mind busy out in the open air was good for the soul. It took her mind away from worrying about Hector, took the ache away from her heart – just for a little while.

Thank the gods that she had Cassandra in Troy! She had been a little angry at first that Sofia had withheld from her the truth about 'the soldier' but this soon waned as Sofia had relayed the whole story and she began to understand Sofia's reason for keeping Hector a secret. On their arrival, Cassandra insisted that she act as Sofia's handmaiden, that she 'works for her keep'. Sofia was not comfortable with the idea to begin with – in her eyes they were friends, equals, no matter what. But this arrangement was not as bad as Sofia had first thought. They were still the best of friends, more companions than princess and servant. Sometimes it was like they had never left the farm – they would still brush each other's hair and gossip like old women. Along with Cassandra, Sofia had made a friend of Helen, Paris' wife. She was nice enough although perhaps a little more guarded and formal than Sofia. It seemed like their friendship had been formed out of one common bond – both the wives of the great princes of Troy and both a little shunned by the ladies of the court.

Helen was beautiful but her eyes held a great sadness. She was unable to bear children for Paris, although she longed for nothing more than have his baby. She had miscarried twice in the time Sofia had known her. Paris, in typical fashion, had remained outwardly cheerful and optimistic to reassure his wife but Helen had taken their back luck as a curse on her womanhood and abilities as a wife. She believed that the gods were punishing her for her infidelity whilst married to Menelaus and for starting the great war between Greece and Troy. Sofia tried to comfort her as best she could. It was obvious that Paris loved her no matter what and she told Helen this continously.

The day the princes arrived back in Troy Sofia was hardly able to stand and greet them. The royal family had gathered in the great hall to greet the long-absent princes. Hector literally rushed up the steps, with no regard for composure, his eyes darting around the room looking for his beloved wife. He finally spotted her and strode over to where she sat in excitement at being reunited with Sofia but his elated expression soon turned to confusion when he released that she was not attempting to stand and rush over to greet him ... what was wrong? He stopped suddenly in his tracks to see her clumsily and slowly stand from her chair, very much like an old woman would. Grasping the arms she lifted herself up, the strain of doing this showing on her round-looking face. But as her crumpled torso straightened her could see a bump appear ... a very large bump in fact. The broad smile reappeared on his face when he realised she was pregnant and totally overjoyed and he took her in his arms and held her tightly, somewhat hindered by her huge stomach.

It was only a few hours later that Hector realised that all was not as wonderful as he had first thought. Whilst Sofia was taking a nap Hector summonsed the royal physician, alarmed that his wife looked pale and was uncharacteristically quiet and withdrawn. The Physician explained that he believed Sofia was not carrying one but two babies – twins – and that it was a proving massive strain on her small frame to carry such a load. The news was bittersweet for Hector. He was overjoyed at the news, the blessing of twins ... but was on the other hand understandably worried for the health of his wife. The Physician continued to warn him that not only was the strain of pregnancy dangerous to Sofia and the unborn babies but delivery would be even more hazardous and problematic due to Sofia's small size and current weakened constitution. There was a good chance that one – or both - babies would not survive ... and the birth could prove fatal for Sofia too. Hectors heart jumped into his throat. It felt like an arrow had pierced his heart as he heard the physician speak these words. He remained in shocked silence for a moment, trying to take it in ... the news had knocked all the breath from him. He couldn't bear to lose Sofia in the same way he did Andromache. Brave Hector did not fear battle or death ... but he certainly feared losing his precious Sofia and his unborn children. On the advice of the physician, Sofia was never told of the true risk of her pregnancy in case the extra stress would weaken her condition further.

But Sofia knew something was wrong. Of course she knew. The pregnancy had been much more difficult compared to when she was carrying Scamandrius ... it had been long months of sickness, aches and pains and right now she seemed to spend most of her time asleep.

Also she knew by the way her husband had been acting. Of course he had been as attentive, caring and patient as ever ... and he always smiled. But she could see the worry and concern thinly veiled in his dark eyes.

He would disappear mysteriously every morning ... one time she had secretly followed him ... right to the temple ... to pray. This was not unusual. She knew he went to the temple every other day ... and she knew that he attended to pray for the souls of Andromache and his stillborn son. They had never spoken about this very private gesture; it was almost like a silent understanding between husband and wife. Perhaps Hector thought it might upset Sofia or make her feel inferior if she knew - but in truth she was pleased that her husband seemed to find comfort in his visits and was keeping Andromache's memory alive. He would always love his first wife, Sofia realised that - It's just that the gods had chosen a different path for him ... and sadly for her. But what did the gods have planned for Sofia? She guessed that Hector went to the temple every day now to try to influence just that.

The birth had been difficult, just as the physician had predicted. Sofia had felt ill after dinner, a dragging ache in her stomach like she had gulped down too much air with her mouthfuls of food. She had felt like this last week, but it was a false alarm. She retired to bed early, not wanting to alarm her husband – last week he had run around panicking like a headless chicken. But, in the middle of the night, Hector awoke to find the bed damp and his wife awake next to him, doubled up in pain.

It was a long and arduous labour which lasted right into the next evening. Hector never left her side the whole time; even though the midwife pleaded for him to leave, echoing what she had said to him hours before Andromache passed away ... 'not a man's place'. But these words awakened terrible memories ... and his stubborn determination. He stayed to hold his frightened wife's hand, to mop her sweaty brow and to whisper words of love and encouragement. He stayed even when Sofia was yelling in sheer pain, digging her fingernails hard into his hand, the bed covered in blood. Sofia did not remember this crucial part of her labour ... she had been in so much pain she had almost passed out. Hector on the other hand did not bat an eyelid – he had seen so much pain, blood and gore on the battlefield that watching his wife give birth was nothing in comparison.

The first baby – a girl – arrived kicking and screaming, full of life. The second, a boy, followed a while later; Sofia was just too exhausted to push any more but after much encouragement from Hector, he finally arrived. The baby did not move or make a sound. Panicking, the midwife held him up, dangling by the legs, slapping his little red buttocks, a shock to clear his airway. Still no signs of life. In desperation, she unblocked his tiny nostrils and mouth with a cotton swab, her hand shaking, and then massaged his small chest with her gently with her fingers to try to encourage him to breathe. It was as if time had stopped. But then, he let out a little gasp and a cry. Alive.

Hector breathed deep, closing his eyes, scrunching them up in sheer relief, tears streaming down his tired face – of thankfulness, of happiness. Both babies – alive. Two tiny bundles, two mops of dark hair, two crinkly red faces, crying and yelling. Who could have thought it would be such a blissful noise to hear. His wife – also alive, drenched in sweat, still gripping his hand tightly, her body shaking with the sheer exertion and stress of labour. But she was smiling with joy too.

The gods had heard his prayers and granted them.

That night Hector had sat in the darkness of their chamber, on a chair pulled up to the side of the crib. The silver light from the full moon outside lit their little faces as if they were being blessed by the gods themselves. He silently watched over the sleeping new-born bundles, too excited to sleep himself. His eyes shining, he looked at the little miracles as if he was scared to leave them. So precious. What if the fragile little things stopped breathing? What if he had dreamt them?

Sofia had woken late that morning, the bed empty and cold next to her. But as she slowly sat up, her body aching all over from the arduous labour, she saw Hector slumped uncomfortably in a chair at the end of the bed, sound asleep by the side of the cradle – he had finally lost his battle with sleep. She smiled gently at the scene, her heart full of warmth ... now that was another beautiful memory.

That was a few months ago now. Things were still difficult. Sofia had not fully recovered from her pregnancy and labour. Added to that, the strain of looking after and feeding two newborns did not help. She was offered a nursemaid of course, but Sofia did not believe in giving her babies any other milk but her own. She felt drained most of the time; it seemed that she spent most of her time sleeping or with a baby attached to her breast. She had already lost all her extra baby-weight, perhaps a little too much. She looked pale, drawn and thin just like she did all that time ago in the Greek cell. Hector worried about his wife but at the same time, felt so helpless – he couldn't feed the babies, or cuddle them when they craved their mother.

But he was a help in ways he did not realise. He took as much care of Scamandrius as his duties would allow. Hector amused him, distracted him, and indulged him. Their son had grown into quite a mischievous little tearaway, from the time he could crawl and especially now he had learnt to walk. If you took your eyes from him for a moment, he would have pulled a vase from a table or be sitting muddy and happily splashing in the nearest puddle – he certainly had his mother's inquisitiveness and his father's bravery. Hector still absolutely doted on him and probably did not scold Scamandrius as much as his mother would ... but he was still a happy child, always smiling and laughing even when he stumbled onto his own podgy bottom with a large 'bump'. He was becoming so much like his father it was a constant source of amusement around the palace ... the same facial expressions, the same dark eyes and sticky-out ears ... the boy was certainly the apple of Hectors eye as well as Priam's.

Cassandra helped out as much as she could of course but she had a family of her own now, a husband ... and against all the odds – she had managed to conceive and now had a bouncing baby boy of her own to look after. She had married Hectors best friend and principal general in the Trojan army, Lysander. He was a little younger than Hector but almost as tall, dark and handsome with a cheeky smile and a dimpled chin. It broke many young female hearts in the court when Cassandra managed to win his heart – after just one day of acquaintance. They had met the day that they had arrived at the palace, almost at the same time as Sofia was presented to Priam. There was instant chemistry as soon as their eyes met over the crowded hall just like in the old love songs the women at the farm used to sing. Lysander had joked that Hector had brought Cassandra back as a gift for his friend ... Cassandra giggled like a naïve schoolgirl ... and that was that - Smitten. After an intensely torrid and passionate affair, they married quickly. Sofia guessed that Cassandra had either fallen pregnant just before her betrothal or had been lucky enough to conceive on her wedding night as the baby followed soon after.

Strange how marriage and motherhood had not changed Cassandra. She was the same girl Sofia had met on the farm ... but now she was a woman - mature. Sofia felt that she had not changed much herself either ... in fact she knew that she hadn't. She still felt the same dizzy rush of excitement when she looked at Hector, just like when she had hidden behind the tree and watched him ride past, dropping the mushrooms on the wet ground.

She sighed to herself. Time seemed to be slipping by quickly like grains of sand through fingers. It seemed only a moment ago that she was that scared teenage girl hiding behind the tree, the schoolmistress destined to be a spinster, the dirty, dishevelled prisoner in a Greek cell, the bereaved mother working on a farm. She still often wondered how she managed to get here. Not even four years had passed since her papa had passed away and now look at her. A wife. A mother. And soon to be a Queen – a scary prospect indeed but she did pledge to remain a dutiful wife to Hector to the very end. Now she also had to be a dutiful queen to the Trojan people.

Papa certainly would be watching over her with pride now.

Where was Hector? He still had not returned to their chamber yet and it was getting late. She stood and carefully straightened her gown – she was wearing the one her husband liked, the one that draped low from behind and showed off the nape of her neck and bare back beautifully. She felt nervous and swallowed hard, her heart jumping into her throat as she thought about it. What if he rejected her, after all this time? He had promised to be a faithful husband and she did have the utmost trust in him ... but it had been so long since they had last made love.

It had been literally months since they had shared their bodies .... When he arrived back from Greece, she had been heavily pregnant and unable to make love for fear of inducing labour. Giving birth to the twins had caused her to tear, a small internal injury for which she had needed to stitches for ... and when it had healed, the stitches taken out, she did not have the energy or the physical and mental self-confidence to be naked in front of him. Hector, may the gods bless him a hundred times over, had been so patient and understanding. He had not tried to rush her or instigate anything. But now ... now she was ready. But her husband was not here. Only a short time ago he would have walked through walls to spend the night in bed with his wife ... perhaps he found her attractive no longer .... Sofia sighed heavily again and scolded herself for thinking such terrible thoughts.

She finally found him. He was sitting a desk on the far side of the huge throne room, hunched over, beavering away, reading and then signing parchments with a sharpened twig and a messy pot of ink. The room was lit by one single candle that sat next to him on the desk. It had almost burnt down to the wick, a messy glob of wax and hardly lit the room. The light glinted off the huge bronze throne, set on a granite plinth, causing little strange flashes and shadows. Tapestries hung by his head but it was far too dark to make out the patterns that Trojan women had worked so hard to craft many years ago. It must have been a strain on his eyes toanything much, she thought but he was too distracted to notice, frowning fiercely. His features softened as little as he heard dainty footsteps approach on the shiny tiled floor and watched his wife slowly approach, all dressed up and looking beautiful in that lovely gown he favoured.

"Hector, there you are! I was beginning to worry ..."

"My apologies Sofia. The Council meeting ran late. Apparently we have much to discuss before my coronation .... and so many things to read and sign!" he exclaimed, gesturing to his desk for of papers, seemingly resentful of his duties.

"Burning the midnight oil will not help anyone. You look tired." She could tell. The rims of eyelids were red and he was absentmindedly rubbing his dark eyes with his hands, like he always did.

Hector shrugged. He had been so busy he hadn't thought about why his eyelids were suddenly feeling heavy and sore. "A little. I suppose I was up early this morning."

She said nothing, simply reached forward to his frowning brow, and clenched her fist near it, pretending to pull his frown away and hide it behind her back, just like she did that time during their escape from the Greeks, near the lake. She still did this sometimes, her secret way of telling Hector he as frowning too much, her way of getting him to open up. He still found this charming, like the first time. He smiled gently, putting his pen down, a little bit of ink smattering the parchment on impact with the table.

"You look beautiful" he beamed, reaching for her unhidden hand and massaging it gently in his palms "... how are you feeling?"

"Much better today ...." She answered breezily. This was not entirely true. Even though she already had a nap that afternoon, she was still fighting off tiredness ... and was determined to win the battle.

"And the babies? Little prince Scamandrius?"

"All sleeping soundly. I think you wore Scamandrius out today thank goodness!" Hector had taken him out that afternoon, a stolen couple of hours away from the palace. He had taken Scamandrius to the plains to watch the wild horses gallop by. "... How are you? I haven't seen you all day .... I've missed you." She continued.

"I have missed you too. It seems like so long ago that we actually spent any quality time together ..."

She smiled sadly, locking her fingers into his: "Because it is ...."

"Sorry. I know I have not been a very good husband over the past couple of weeks. Council have been very demanding of me and my time ...." He mumbled apologetically, withdrawing his hand and drumming his fingers on the tabletop.

"Yes. Too demanding." She answered gruffly, without thinking. "I wish they would at least give you time to grieve for your father ..." but then she realised she had spoken out of turn and inwardly cursed herself for being so rudely outspoken: "I am sorry. It is not my place to say." She added, shaking her head sorrowfully.

She had expected her comment to rile Hector but instead he smiled softly to himself at her little outburst and reach forward with his hand, touching her chin and gently lifting it so their eyes met his again: "No, it is. You are my wife, you know me better than any living thing on this earth. I know you only speak because you care ... because you are concerned."

"And I am concerned, I can see that you are very troubled Hector ..." Her eyes pleaded, as she lent forward and took his other hand in hers, clasping it tightly.

Hector slowly dropped his hand from her chin and lowered his dark eyes sadly, shaking his head dejectedly: "I do not wish to burden you with my worries Sofia. You have enough on your plate with the twins at the moment ...."

Sofia rolled her eyes to the ceiling wearily. The darting light from Hectors solitary candle made the ceiling feel lower than it actually was, almost menacing as if it was closing in on them both.

"Your worries are my worries! Oh Hector, we used to talk but now it feels as if we grow apart ... just because I have babies to look after does not mean you are no longer a primary concern of mine!" She exclaimed desperately.

Her voice echoed round the empty room for what seemed like an age, bouncing off the columns and mouldings with force. Then followed a prolonged silence. Hectors mind raced, trying to think of what to tell his wife. She was right; he should not keep things from her. But all his anxieties had built up in him with such force he felt he might explode with emotion, just like a volcano, as he began to explain to her. How could he keep his composure?

"How will I ever be as great as my father Sofia? I have never desired to be King of Troy so how will I ever rule it properly?" he blurted suddenly, eyes to the table and fingers fiddling with the corner of a parchment.

She took both of his hands in hers. "Hector, look at me .... You are the best warrior and army commander. Troy's secure walls and prosperity is evidence of that. You are the best husband and father for which I can vouch for ... and I'm sure Lysander, Paris and your dear father - if he was still with us - would say that you are the best friend, brother and son. Of course you will be a worthy king."

"My father was a worthy king, a good king. But I'm not sure if I am. I am so different to my father ... for example, I have no patience for this ..." he answered, gesturing at the paperwork in front of him with his eyes.

"...You are different from your father, that is undeniable and you will rule differently. But that is not necessarily a bad thing. Think about it ... Priam has made sure since the day you were born that you would become a great King. He has nurtured and encouraged you since you were a baby ... I have seen you do the same with Scamandrius, unconsciously. And what better preparation is there than making you commander of the army?! You have great experience in leading and have gained the love and trust of your people. Priam trusted you to take over. Don't let him down."

Hector pondered her words for a moment then smiled, grasping her hands more tightly. His eyes burnt right into her, making her shiver.

"You know Sofia, sometimes it seems as if you are so wise like you have lived a hundred lives on this earth ...are you sure you do not want to be monarch instead of me?" He then added jokily with little tinkling laugh.

Sofia laughed too: "I think I am happy enough looking after three children and a husband thank you very much!"

"Look after me?!" He exclaimed in mock disbelief, his dark eyebrows raised and his eye crinkling with mirth

"Yes. That is why I have come to find you. I have decided that it's time for you to come to bed."

"I am a little tired but I have so much to do here Sofia ...."

"The paperwork can wait until tomorrow. Besides I do not want you to come to bed just for sleep..." She offered, the jokey tone had evaporated suddenly as she became more nervous, her voice quivering. She was not sure how to react if he turned her down.

For a moment, Hector did not quite realise what she meant. His eyebrows gathered to the bridge of his nose in confusion as he studied her now serious face. But then they dropped back down just as the penny did.

"Oh." Is all he could think of saying in reply, a little smile creeping on his face as he pressed his palms flat on the desk in anticipation. "You are ready?" He continued to ask, just to make sure.

Sofia simply nodded.

"You are right!" he exclaimed breezily, standing up and taking his wife's hand, leading her to her feet "this can wait. I cannot!"

He craved to spend the night with his lovely wife, the intimacy and comfort of her touch and the feeling of being inside of her. That night he was relieved he could be a finally be a loving husband again, not a worrisome King. He breathed deeply in eagerness as he led Sofia up to their chamber.

She was right. Things would be fine.

She was at his side after all.