Title: Guarded
Author: Elandae
Rating: G
Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction, I make no money from this and I don't own any of the people involved.
Now Hector sees the fear in his eyes. For once all the artifice, the teasing lies and bright smiles that lead him astray, now they are gone and this is the real Paris. The one who stands before him, his dark eyes wide and his voice not so smooth, not so confident, not so assured. He knows the fear, has felt it as he looks over the vastness of the enemy troops, wondering if the might of Troy could prove strong enough in face of so many. Yet his fear is but a shadow of the one that Paris grapples with, his is naught but a tremble in his limbs, a twinge in his middle, one that seems to ebb effortlessly away as he dons his armor, feels the weight of his sword in his hand. Paris, he can see, gets no such comfort from the familiarity of his armor, for it is not familiar, it is not a well known friend who sits perfectly on his body and speaks to him of victory. It’s a weighted fear that bites at him, gnaws at him until he fears there should be nothing left but what the dogs shall grow fat on as cruel time passes him by.
Hector wants to shake him, wants to tell him that now is not the time for fear, that he must stand and he must help them defend this city. It is he who has brought these masses upon the glory of Troy and so why should be allowed to bypass the chaos of battle? The words are on Hector’s lips, hard edged words that would he knows will push at Paris, pull at him and he wants to spit them out, rid his mind of such needless complications. He wants to see Paris’s discomfort as he realizes that he must face the consequences. Today he wants Paris to suffer.
The words do not come. Hector swallows them, feeling the heat in the pit of his stomach as the words and his anger mix together. Paris blinks at him as he waits and his eyes seem too bright, too wide. Too innocent. Hector shakes his head for he knows there is no innocence left in Paris, but those eyes could make him believe otherwise.
In place of all those other words now there is but one.
“Paris.”
He does not know if it is disappointed or relieved and he can see that Paris doesn’t know either. He settles his hands on either side of Paris’s shoulders, feels the warmth of skin beneath his hands, familiar skin beneath more familiar hands. He does not pull him close but he does not push him away. He lets the heat of his skin penetrate to Paris’s chilled frame and he sighs. Vaguely there is a sense of unease and confusion that Paris should always be forgiven.. He charms the senses so that Hector cannot do anything but forgive him, could not do anything else.
“It is better that you do not fight,” he says finally, his hands withdrawing from Paris’s skin, “I cannot watch both you and the Greeks.”
He knows that Paris will take offense at the words, thinking his brother has lost what little faith he might once have had. Hector shakes his head as he imagines the bright sun shining on the glory of Paris as the Greeks approach. Somehow the image will not stay fixed in his mind, Paris does not belong on the battlefield, and this he knows. The constant clamor of the battlefield is no place for such beauty; the Greeks would only desecrate it should they manage to get their hands on this Trojan prince.
Paris frowns, but for once he holds his tongue. Hector inclines his head towards his brother, not quite a nod, but something before he turns and leaves. He looks back only once because his legs will not let him continue if he does not. Paris is gone now, there is only empty space and virgin marble to meet Hector’s hesitant gaze. He looks forward once more, waiting to feel the heat of the Trojan sun on his skin, his blade eager to taste Greek blood. He tries to sustain the heat in his belly, wishes to let his anger at Paris fuel his battle lust, but it will not stay no matter how he wills it to remain.
He cannot stay angry and in the back if his mind, he knows that beauty is not the only gift the Gods bestowed upon Paris.
The End.