…
MaryScot…
Andromache sat in front of her expensive looking glass, trying to ignore the haunted look that was suspended around her reflection. She brushed her hair slowly, knowing it might be the last time she could do so and consider it her own, not the property of her husband. She tried to concentrate on the soothing, methodic insertion of the pearlescent comb teeth slipping into the dark tresses and sliding through with ease.
Andromache found her mind wandering, and as the brushstrokes became more and more languid, her thoughts returned to her doubts and anxiety. Shunning the presence of her maids in favor of spending this last night alone, Andromache sat and ruminated on the misery of her arranged marriage.
I don't want to marry him, Andromache thought bitterly. There are thousands of women that want to marry him, why can't he marry one of them? I don't want a hero. I want a man. Hector, commander of the fearsome Trojan armies and prince of the proud city itself. I shall be the queen to Troy's future king.
"I don't even know him!" the exclamation fell from her lips unbidden. Uncharacteristically apprehensive that someone overheard her, she glance darted uncertainly around the room. For the first time, a decision she truly couldn't fight was being forced upon her, and Andromache knew she was powerless to change it. Her father, King Eetion, had delighted in the idea of matching his daughter to the Trojan prince.
I must travel many miles to reach Troy, thought Andromache resentfully. I must leave my father and seven brothers forever. Thebe is my city…I don't want to leave it for someone I've never met! Hector, a man accustomed to brutality and violence. He will control me because he doesn't understand how I am. I don't want to be 'Hector's wife,' I want to be Andromache!
In a rare fit of temper, Andromache hurled her comb into the wall beside her mirror. The delicate ornament shattered, neither accustomed nor designed for such abuse, and Andromache rushed over to collect the pieces. Shells were rare in Thebe, for it was located in the mountains, yet the reason why Andromache was so upset ran deeper than material value. As she pieced together the shattered teeth of the comb, her body was racked with sobs.
Mother, she wept, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to break your comb…I just wish you could save me from this. I don't want to travel three hundred miles away from my family, to live in a city whose people are not my own. They will resent me being there. I don't belong in Troy.
Andromache crushed the shell fragments in her palm and leaned against the wall, drawing shaky breaths as she tightened the reigns over her emotions. The cold temperature of the stone cut through her sleeping gown quite sharply, but the iciness helped clear her head. Andromache sighed, noiselessly easing down against the wall in a jumble of silk. She slumped to the floor, drained and defeated.
I cannot arrive in Troy like this, Andromache thought listlessly. Her hand dropped at her side, spilling the contents across the floor. As the infinitesimal comb remnants skittered and rolled across the marble, Andromache ignored the tiny sounds and stared at the ceiling.
My ceiling is vaulted…it's so high, yet it still contains this massive room, Andromache thought. Maybe I will be this room…and Hector will limit me as well. Maybe he will enclose me and make me seem smaller than I really am. Perhaps I should resign myself to my fate.
Andromache spent the night huddled against the wall of her room. In the morning, her maids found her and bade her ready herself for the journey. Unnerved at her unusual compliance, the servants did not complain; Princess Andromache was not a troublemaker by any stretch of the imagination, but her disdain of the marriage was well known and the maids were troubled when she apparently stopped fighting it.
Allowing herself to be dressed and primped by her maids, Andromache sat stoically as she was attended to. Usually preferring to do such things herself, she was determined not to take action that would be deemed cooperative short of being problematic. A soft knock on the door made her jump.
"Andromache?" a voice asked tentatively. It was King Eetion.
I'd be careful too, after marrying off my daughter to a complete stranger, thought Andromache acrimoniously.
"Yes, father?" she answered sweetly. She reminded herself that though the decision was beneficial for him, it was also beneficial for her. Using his connections, he had arranged for the marriage in the hopes that his daughter could live in a renowned city where she would be safe from the Greeks. The infamous high walls could protect her from Agamemnon's armies.
"Leave us," he commanded the maids, who instantly fled. He shut the door that the last maid had carelessly (or not so carelessly, thought Andromache wryly) left open. After locking it, he turned to her, studying his daughter carefully.
"Andromache," he addressed softly, his face bestowing a gentle smile. "I know you are unhappy, but I do not wish for you to leave this place harboring feelings of resentment. I would be greatly pained if the last memories I would have of you were sad. You are my only daughter; your inner strength rivals the combined might of my seven sons. I am proud of you, Andromache."
"Why can you not accompany me to Troy?" she asked, abandoning her anger, knowing it was fruitless now. "If I am to be married, you should at least be there to preside over the ceremony. King Priam would surely want to see you after all these years, Father."
King Eetion shook his head. "Once you are there, it will be even harder to let me go if I were to accompany you," he reasoned. "I am not going to be a part of your new life in Troy, Andromache. You must accept that."
"I know, but—" Andromache choked on a sob. "I'm afraid, Father."
Eetion chuckled softly. "My darling Andromache, afraid of a man?" he teased lightly, but drew her closer at the genuine look of anguish that crossed her face. Wrapping an arm around her shoulders, he held her reassuringly.
"Prince Hector is not to be featred," Eetion promised. "I met him while he was in his youth. The boy was very skilled with a javelin and remarkable with a sword. He is now head of the Trojan army; he will protect you. And by all accounts he is a good man."
"Who told you that?" questioned Andromache, peering at him intently.
To the princess's dismay, her father laughed again. "It's nice to see that you're finally interested in the man you're going to marry. For a while there, I was concerned."
"Father, who told you that he is a good man?" persisted Andromache. "It would be his father's duty to do so, and if King Priam is responsible for your high opinion of the prince then I fear I shall retain my skepticism."
"King Priam would not lie," Eetion told her solemnly.
"How do you know?" asked Andromache, narrowing her eyes.
"Because I was originally going to arrange your marriage to his younger son Paris," King Eetion revealed. "He was the better looking of the two lads, so naturally I thought of him first."
Andromache made a sound of disgust when her father winked at her, obviously teasing her again.
"The king told me, after I described you to him, that you would be too strong for Paris," Eetion explained. "Though Priam loves his youngest son, he says that Prince Hector is the better man to marry. He will be faithful to you and true to any promise he makes. Besides, Paris is too short for you."
Giving her father a good-natured shove, Andromache freed herself from his grasp. "You're hopeless, Father."
"But there's still hope for you yet, Daughter," he countered. "Perhaps Prince Hector can tame all that strength you have inside you."
"Only the man I love will be able to do that," swore Andromache.
Sighing patiently, King Eetion led his daughter down to where her ship was waiting. Though the distance over land was shorter, the Caucus Mountains made the journey far more perilous. Desiring a sound path for his daughter, a ship had been designated to conduct Andromache safely to Troy. The pier was nearly deserted, but it made no difference. Andromache was not fond of sentimental farewells.
"This…is possibly the very last time I shall lay eyes on you," Andromache breathed slowly. "I want to remember it always, fondly in my heart."
Surprising the old king by taking his hands, Andromache squeezed them affectionately and smiled into her father's face. Considerably older than his daughter, King Eetion's wizened visage smiled back, causing Andromache's eyes to mist as it struck her for the first time how elderly he really was. Old enough that he might not have survived the journey to Troy.
"It is a shame your brother's are not here to see how beautiful you look," said Eetion sadly.
"They'd probably make fun of me, Theseus especially," Andromache replied jokingly, though Eetion could detect regret in her eyes. He knew she would miss them terribly, but they had all joined the army, as was expected, and could not spare time to see their sister off. Despite her joke, she knew her youngest brother Theseus would miss her most.
"Yes, but they would still desire to see you before you leave," said Eetion, hands still clasped in Andromache's. She released his hands and he left them drop at his sides. Receiving the shock of his life, his daughter crushed him in a powerful embrace. An abundance of hair was pressed into his face, but Eetion could not have been more content.
"Andromache, I know in my heart there will be a day when you are happily married to Hector and parting with him will pain you a thousand times more than this," promised King Eetion. "I love you, but when you are loved by him and it will hold deeper meaning. Make me proud of you, Andromache, even more proud of you than I am at this moment."
Tears escaped Andromache's eyes unabashedly. "I love you, Father."
Eetion smiled into her hair. "I love you too, Andromache. Be happy."
"Thank you, Father," whispered Andromache, turning to leave. King Eetion stood at the pier long after her ship finally disappeared into the ocean, knowing that she looked back at him long after the shore had slipped from the horizon.