When They Smile No More
A/N: Here's a oneshot I thought up on a snow day. It's kind of angsty, with some romance in it…not sure exactly how to classify this one, but I hope you enjoy!
Even a child could sense the tension. It lingered like an unopened, unwelcome gift, full of suspense and reeking of fear. Most of Troy's royal family ignored the problem, or respected the privacy of the people involved.
But the palace staff, of course, saw no reason for privacy. They were servants to the family, and they wanted details. For days the maidservants would watch like hawks when Prince Hector and Princess Andromache were in the same place together. They tried desperately to find clues as to what had occurred to start the fight. After all, the couple had been married for less than a year- what could be wrong?
To their disappointment, no hard evidence of a conflict was ever found. Hector was as polite as ever, though it was true that he offered his arm to escort his wife in a manner that was somewhat cold. And Andromache would carry on casual conversations with him, but they were rare, and her whole body was constantly stiff with a defiance she used as a defense.
Yet she bore no bruises. Hector had not beaten her, so she had done no wrong. The maids agreed that the fact Hector had never beaten her was irrelevant. If she had done something dishonorable, he would have bruised her and sent her back to Thebe, they decided. The older maidservants remained adamant that the prince would never hurt her, but the younger girls liked the dramatic idea. Hector was as faithful as he had always been- throughout the tension, he never called any of the maids to his room. One of the youngest servants was able to conclude what everyone was thinking during those suspenseful days.
"It's as if everything is normal," she said thoughtfully to the others, as they watched the couple sitting silently in the hall one afternoon. "Only neither of them smiles anymore."
The other women agreed. That was the exact problem. They watched for signs of the argument's origin with new determination, but again found nothing.
In public, the pair could hide the problem, but in the privacy of their own chambers, there was no masking the issue. Had the palace staff been able to listen to their conversations, the gossip could have kept them entertained for months.
That evening marked the fourth day of the tension. Both Hector and Andromache acknowledged it, but said nothing. A servant had lighted a fire while the royal family was at supper. It blazed from the fire pit in the center of the room, warming the bitter chambers but doing nothing to soften the occupants. The orange glow it created would have been comfortable at any other time, but that night it looked eerie. Its quiet cackling and popping was the only sound in the room.
Andromache had curled up on a large chair covered with cushions. She looked not at the fire, but past it, to where Hector sat staring listlessly as the floor. He leaned forward, with both hands supporting his chin. If not for the slight movement of his black tunic that showed he was breathing, he would have resembled a statue. Holding her own body cautiously, with her arms wrapped tightly around her knees, Andromache considered the argument. It had started out as a petty thing, really.
Hector had been furious with Paris, for a reason that surprised no one. He had allowed his younger brother to have a day free of councils and royal duties when Paris asked for it. He assumed Paris needed a rest from all the stresses of being a Trojan prince. So when Paris had been caught with a temple maid, Hector had been upset, mostly because he had been lied to. In his rage, he seemed to be capable of anything.
When Andromache had tried to reason with him, the conflict expanded to include her. They were both too stubborn to reach any sort of peace. After a few rounds of irritated words, the argument grew. Soon Hector was questioning her morality, and she attacked his lack of control. It only got worse.
"If you would accept my decision without arguing, we wouldn't be having this conversation," he growled a few minutes after the disagreement had clearly reached the point of no return.
"This isn't a conversation, it's an argument," she shot back.
"You've proved my point," he retorted. Andromache ignored his remark and raced on.
"If you're going to beat sense into him, perhaps you should beat me as well," she said warningly, daring him to try. "You seem to want to control everyone around you- who better than your wife? Your property?"
The look in Hector's eyes would have hammered fear into the heart of a god. "I've never treated you as a belonging," he snarled. "Although sometimes you make it hard not to."
Andromache stepped back as if she had received a blow. "I make things difficult? You profess your love for me, and yet you make it difficult for me to return it," she cried, her voice shrill.
Everything about Hector portrayed fury- his stance, his jaw, his fists, his eyes. "There can easily be no love for you to return," he said, his voice dangerously soft.
The fight had stopped there, with both participants eyeing each other in disbelief. After a painful moment that lasted an eternity, Hector spun on his heel and stormed out, slamming the door behind him. When he returned, he had slept not in the bedchamber with Andromache, but in the sitting room, on the floor. No words had been spoken between them since, except for in public, where they had an image to uphold.
But by the fourth night since the hurtful argument, Andromache couldn't stand not speaking anymore. She stared at him carefully for a moment. He didn't move from his position; his eyes still looked at the floor without really seeing it. Andromache searched for an appropriate way to break the long silence. Finding nothing, she finally spoke, completely unprepared.
"Hector."
Hearing his name, Hector was startled out of his daze. Surprise flickered across his face so fast that Andromache didn't fully recognize it; just as quickly, a stony expression of distrust had replaced it. "Yes?"
Unsure of herself, she faltered. Things had been much easier when she had hidden behind her defenses. "I hate when we're not talking," she started.
Hector shrugged indifferently, struggling not to show he cared. For some reason, he couldn't let go of his anger so easily. The simple gesture stirred up the dying embers of rage in Andromache's heart, but she took a deep breath and tried again.
"I think we should put an end to this."
"If one of us weren't too stubborn to admit when she's wrong, this could have been settled long ago," Hector pointed out, tensing.
He hadn't expected Andromache's reaction. Her rage has returned on a swift wind, stronger than before. Suddenly any vulnerability she had shown was tightly covered and guarded. Her mouth curled into a sneer, and the light in her eyes burned more brightly than the fire in its contained pit.
"And if you had not revoked your love for me because of a stupid disagreement, I would be able to forgive you," she snarled. Hector turned toward the door, but she beat him to it. "Don't bother running away. I'll storm out this time," she said mockingly, slamming the door closed in his face.
As soon as she was in the drafty hallway, she saw one flaw in her plan. Hector always had a place to go when they fought. He visited the stables to calm himself. She had nothing.
I don't want to be calm, she thought resolutely. With a crooked smirk playing on her lips, she marched outside, taking no notice of a loitering servant.
Hector balled his hand into a fist and punched the door, sending it shivering, "I didn't mean it!" he shouted at the trembling wood, more angry than he had been four days before. "And she's a fool if she doesn't know that!" He swung his now bruised fist through the air. "I deserve an apology too!"
Any other words he might have said died on his tongue as he realized he was ranting to an empty room. Letting out a sigh of disgust, he stomped his way to the balcony. He gripped the low wall tightly and looked out over the shadowed city. A slow rain was falling, with heavy drops of water slipping methodically from dark gray clouds above. The cold raindrops spattered on the railing next to Hector's hand, then on the exposed skin of his arms, neck, legs, and face.
The weather suits my mood, he thought dryly, seeing a powerful streak of lightning cut across the sky. It was followed by a loud growl of thunder that made the ground tremble.
Against his will, he found himself thinking of his wife. They had first admitted to loving each other in a rainstorm, although that one hadn't been as violent. Where is she? he wondered nervously. The rain was coming down harder, its icy drops biting at the skin they landed on. As another flash of lightning lit up the night sky, his anger reluctantly succumbed to worry. If Andromache was mad and not thinking clearly, there was no telling what she would do.
"I have to find her," he muttered, forgetting his vow of not speaking to the empty room. Determinedly he strode back into his chambers, shaking the water from his hair. He was an arm's length away from the door to the hall before he stopped mid-stride. He turned back and flung open the wardrobe. After quickly selecting one of Andromache's light cloaks, he tossed it back in and grabbed one of his own, which was much heavier. Tucking it under his arm, he ran from the room,
He had barely taken two steps before his progress was rather abruptly halted as he collided with an elderly servant. She let out a shriek of annoyance and reached out toward the wall to steady herself, with a look of accusation in her ancient eyes.
"Forgive me," Hector said in a rush. "Have you seen Andromache?"
The woman made no effort to hide her interest. She widened her eyes and moved closer, begging for information. "Why? Have you two had a disagreement?" she asked eagerly.
Although he was a bit confused by her enthusiasm, Hector disregarded her comment. "Have you seen her?" he repeated himself forcefully.
The woman waved a careless hand toward the palace's small side exit. "She left," she informed him. "So what exactly did you-"
But Hector was already pushing past her, sprinting toward the door. In a matter of seconds, he disappeared through the doorway with the cloak cradled in the crook of his arm. The wind blew the door shut with a bang, but not before a large puddle of rainwater had accumulated on the stone floor.
"Humph," the servant sniffed, glaring at the water. She snatched up a rag to clean it, resigning herself to her palace duties.
Outside, Hector was having a hard time deciding where to go. Andromache could be anywhere. He looked toward the rest of the citadel. Maybe she went to see Briseis, he thought, dashing toward his father's palace. But as another white burst lit the city, he stopped. No. Not to Briseis. If Andromache was as furious as he thought she was, she wouldn't want to visit Briseis, but she may have wanted to see Cassandra.
He looked up toward the east in dismay. Apollo's temple was high above most parts of the city, in the hills; at least two hours walk from the citadel, if he hurried.
"No, she wouldn't go there," he said to himself. Andromache probably wouldn't risk traveling through the hills without an escort or at least a knife, and he was betting she had acquired neither in the short time since she had stormed out.
Frustrated, Hector began running through other options in his mind. She couldn't ride a horse well enough to get out of the city very quickly- that ruled out the beach. She was too angry to stay close to the palace. Hector himself was too worried to stand still. Blindly, he ran off in the direction of the lower parts of Troy, still tearing through his mind for answers.
By the time he reached the marketplace, he was drenched. His clothes dripped cold water and clung uncomfortably to his body. Although he had tried his hardest to protect the cloak, the rain had attacked it too. Through the silver trails of water, Hector could see that all the stalls of the market were closed and vacant. Frantically he spun around, searching for a lone figure hiding in the dark, or perhaps running from him. But even his imagination could not create what his eyes longed to see. Andromache was nowhere to be found.
"I will never forgive myself for this," he shouted at the night, but his words were drowned out as lightning and thunder crashed together, in a battle for control of the menacing sky. Wiping the water out of his eyes, Hector picked up his pace again, not knowing where to go.
"The gate," he muttered, thankful that most of the citizens of Troy were sleeping, oblivious to their crazy prince. Fear was threatening to overwhelm him. The night was truly dangerous now. If the lightning didn't strike Andromache down, she'd die of cold. He gave no thought to his own lack of warmth and burning lungs as he raced toward the Scaean Gate.
"It's as far away from me as she can get. She will be there," he assured himself as he ran. But when the looming gate came in to view, he saw no one but the two guards. Letting out a cry of despair, he turned back to where he had come from.
"Citadel," he gasped out, too exhausted to run. He stumbled forward as fast as he was able. It's the only place left. Perhaps she went to see Briseis after all.
"If I find her, I'll drop to my knees and beg for forgiveness," he croaked, as incentive to any god who happened to be listening. "I'll admit to being an idiot, and I'll tell her I love her a thousand times- I'll show her how much I love her. I'll get her out of this storm-" He stopped in his tracks, right in the middle of a huge puddle way through his sandals.
Oh, gods. I know where she is, he thought, as a tremor of pure fear swept through him. His realization had done nothing to ease his mind. In fact, he was more worried.
"I hope I'm not too late," he prayed, willing his weary legs to move again. He started in another direction, and still the thunder rolled.
Andromache tried to control her trembling body, hating her physical weakness. She had found the perfect refuge from the hurtful words of Hector, but her body protested. She had fled to the Tower of Ileum. High above the city, the wind howled and danced around her, blowing the rain straight at her and chilling her to the bone. The lightning that ripped across the angry sky satisfied her rage, though. While she was aware of how dangerous the situation was, she couldn't bring herself to care. She refused to feel vulnerable.
If he didn't love me, he should not have claimed to, she thought stubbornly. He was probably still in their chamber, fuming. Before long he would lay down and go to sleep in their warm bed, and she would still be in the tall tower, defiantly clinging to her freedom. Though the rain was freezing and it would not cease in pelting her, she began to appreciate it. The raindrops hid the tears on her face, even though no one was watching.
A strangled cry behind her caused her to whip around. Aided by a brief bolt of lightning, she saw with a jolt that it was Hector. What is he doing? she screamed inwardly. The idea that he would go after her hadn't crossed her mind. She had never seen him look so worn out, save for the times he had come out of battles less than unscathed. His clothes were soaked, and he looked exhausted. One hand bore a purple bruise. He was bedraggled, but she was too angry to help him.
"Andromache!" she shouted. She fixed him with a glare, and he put his unharmed hand on the wall to steady himself. He watched in amazement as the flashes of light illuminated her furious features. Her eyes were wild with pain, and the wind threw her long, tangled hair past her shoulders and across her face. Her clothes, hair, and skin were as wet as his own. She looked fierce and unapproachable, and beautiful beyond belief, some terrible goddess who would send him into an eternity of punishment if he moved one step closer.
He staggered toward her.
"Andromache, I'm sorry," he started, but she sliced his words apart.
"If you do not love me, don't pretend you do!" she said, raising her voice to be heard over the storm. "I thought you were kinder than that!"
He continued to move to her, and she back up against the low wall, wanting to be as far from him as was possible in the small space. "I do love you!" he proclaimed. "I love you! I was too angry to admit it- I'm a fool, Andromache! You know that!" He reached out tentatively, but she ducked away.
"Don't touch me," she hissed. "I don't want to speak to you."
"If you think I'll let you run away again, the gods have made you witless," he said. "I'm here to beg your forgiveness, and I won't leave until you accept my apology."
"I'll leave, then," Andromache countered, but Hector caught her by the wrist.
"Stop running from me! I am a fool, but I love you. I don't want you to ever doubt that," he said passionately. "You are my world! I can't live like this, with this fighting anymore. Forgive me for anything I did that hurt you," he said pleadingly, looking into her eyes.
Once she had met his desperate eyes and heard his words, Andromache felt her heart shedding its cold veil, but she still retained her anger. "You wouldn't listen to me," she pointed out.
Hector shook his head. "We're both too stubborn to listen all the time," he replied. "But it was a stupid argument." When Andromache did not respond, he resorted to more desperate measures. "I'll get on my knees if I have to."
But the defiant mask Andromache wore was slowly fading away, leaving behind forgiveness. She closed the distance between her and her husband in one light step as she flew into his arms. He breathed in a sigh of relief as he held her soaked body to his as tightly as he could without hurting her.
"I'm sorry," she whispered into his shoulder, barely audible over the sounds of the storm. "I should not have doubted you- coming up here was a foolish thing to do-"
"Hush," he said hoarsely. "Let's forget this ever happened."
"Yes,' Andromache agreed. She pulled away to meet his lips in a grateful kiss. Her heart was soaring over how good it felt to be in his arms. She was safe, cold, and loved by the greatest man of Troy.
"Hector?" she asked, laying her check on his wet shoulder.
"Mmm?"
"How did you find me?" she inquired. A clap of thunder followed her question.
"Not easily! Finally I thought you would want to be as far from me as the city would allow," he told her. "I checked the marketplace, then the gate, and then came here." He pulled out of the embrace slowly, taking a dark bundle of cloth from under his arm. "I brought you my cloak," he said sheepishly, unfolding the dripping garment. "But I don't think it will do you much good now."
Andromache smiled for the first time in four days, and Hector smiled simply because she was happy.
"I love you," she told him, taking his hand. And the storm raged on.
The next morning, the palace staff was amazed to see Prince Hector and Princess Andromache acting normal again. "But what could have mended their fight?" some maids wondered. There were many heated debates about the cause and solution throughout the day. Had the conflict truly been resolved?
The answer was obvious to all. They both were smiling again.
Thanks for reading, I hope you enjoyed! Exit through the review button there…