#prompt:meme

[keller-murphy]

Hector~

Hector: my character will fight for yours/in the place of yours. Read part one here (x)

The city of Troy: established over generations to become one impenetrable fortress whose walls had never been breached. But the city had always been known for more than it’s high walls made of sandstone – it had gardens and rivers full of green thriving plants and flowers that garnered the envy of every other Greek city state. Keller had always longed to see those gardens and rivers; to take off his sandals and walk barefooted through the shallow, clear waters and to spend the day under the sun. Though he loved Sparta and wouldn’t have traded in the love of his country for the world, he would trade it in for the love of a woman – and as the ship docked in Troy, Keller realised he had done exactly that. Fiona of Troy; a princess renowned throughout Greece for her beauty and compassion, she was the jewel of Troy – and one of King Priam’s most closely guarded treasures. Keller had been surprised when she’d sailed to Sparta under the watchful eye of her older brother Hector; surprised that she seemed so kind and caring, and even more surprised when she took the time to get to know him. Their relationship, something forged with no small amount of urgency during her stay, was the kind of burning love that Keller would have forsaken the gods for – Fiona was his home now, and neither Troy nor Sparta nor the entirety of Greece mattered to him.

They disembarked from the ports and took horses through the sloping hills to the city where thousands of Trojans eagerly awaited their arrival. As the sound of the horse’s hooves moved from dirt to stone, cheers and horns rang out for them: and though he stood beside Fiona in the chariot, Keller felt as though he were about to float away. Ladies and lords stood on balconies and windows, waving and cheering for their prince and princess’ safe return – and the sight of a prince beside their beloved Fiona clearly threw some of them. Keller ducked his head modestly, turning inside to look at Fiona, who wore a veil topped with her crown, and he thought that she had never looked so beautiful, save for the moment when he had first seen her climbing off her ship back in Sparta. But here, in the streets of Troy under the waves of adoration from her subjects, Keller thought that another small piece of Fiona fell into place – she belonged here, and she was happy here. It honoured Keller to be invited back to Troy, even if she had jokingly threatened to kidnap him – he looked around and tried to see what she saw; he tried to imagine the history that each building had, and what alleys she might have played in while disobeying her father as a teenager. Troy was beautiful, and as the petals rained down from the balconies and rooves, Keller had to wonder if it could also become his home in due time as well.

The processions ended, and Keller was taken before King Priam. He stood back, allowing strong, broad-shouldered Hector to move forward first and receive a kiss of greeting from his ageing, white-haired father. There was a kind of strength and venerability to Priam, Keller thought – he had the posture and discipline of a great warrior, but the soulful eyes of a pious man. The gods were a large part of life at Troy, and none more so than the sun god Apollo – the golden god that adorned the shores of Troy with a temple greater than any Keller had ever seen. Though Keller had always sacrificed and burned incense to Artemis and Ares, he thought that there was a dignified power to that was wielded by Apollo, and Keller hoped that soon, Fiona would take him to honour the god as well. For now, Hector stepped aside after embracing his father, and then Fiona stepped forward. King Priam stepped down to meet her, embracing her and kissing both her cheeks. They shared a word before Fiona seemed to remember that Keller stood there, dressed in his Spartan armour and standing out more than he would have liked. King Priam stepped forward, crystal eyes gazing at Keller.

“I have heard rumours of your intellect and strategic planning,” came Priam’s voice, rough but not unpleasant to the ear. “I’m sure, for once, the rumours will be completely true.” He kissed Keller on either cheek before the Spartan prince stooped into a humbled bow. “You must be tired after your journey – perhaps you would like to show prince Kellias to the sleeping quarters?”

The reception by King Priam had been more than Keller had expected, and with a eased mind he followed Fiona to her room: an open space with hangings and a statue to Apollo in a place of honour by the wall. He thought it beautiful, and with wide, open windows that looked over the gardens and – in the distance – the ocean, Keller realised that Troy was a place that all should see and be thankful to have witnessed.

“My father liked you,” came Fiona’s soft voice, breaking Keller’s trance from where he had been staring out the window. Her arms snaked around his waist to find his chest, while her head rested against his back. “As does Hector.”

Keller’s eyes dropped from the view to the ground, and he turned in her embrace until they were facing one another. “Hector thinks me a fool for agreeing to come,” Keller argued, frowning. “He would never dishonour Troy as I have dishonoured Sparta.”

“He knows it is for love, and even a mighty warrior like my brother is not immune to it,” came Fiona’s reassurance, and for a moment, Keller allowed himself to believe what she said. They both knew that the Spartans, with the force of Greece at their back, would be coming for them in a few days’ time once they realised that Keller had gone missing. They would sail to the shores of Troy bringing a mighty force with them, and Keller felt a sickening pull of guilt at the thought of men bearing arms and fighting for his actions. He had betrayed Sparta, and he had sentenced thousands to die for it. As though sensing that he was blaming himself for what was to come, Fiona raised a pale, delicate hand to the side of his face, soothing him. “Troy has never been breached, and my father does not fear yours,” murmured Fiona, repeating the words from the night before they’d left Sparta while her fingers traced his cheekbones and jaw. “We are safe.” Rising on her toes, Fiona pressed a soft kiss to his cheek before resting there a moment, lips now brushing his ear with the air she breathed. “And I love you.”

Keller’s hands moved to her waist, pulling her closer and holding her there. “And by the gods, I love you too.”

It was only a day later that the first ships were seen on the horizon and the bell tolled, hailing them all to attention and to arms. The sinking feeling returned when Keller saw that the ships numbered in the hundreds – maybe even a thousand or more. Though Troy had never been breached and had its own army – as well as the best archers in Greece, the strength of the force that Menelaus brought with him to retrieve his son was undeniable. And so, as Keller looked down toward the towns and saw mothers running with babies and children in their arms, or soldiers kissing their wives goodbye before donning a helmet and picking up their shield, he decided what he would do.  None of the Trojans thought it was a good idea – least of all Fiona – but when they saw that Keller was determined and ready, they agreed. It was officially decided: tomorrow, Keller would fight his father Menelaus for the right to remain in Troy without starting a war.

The sun rose high in the sky and the two armies were destined to meet at Apollo’s peak. The Trojan army were already standing outside the city’s walls in formation, their armour and shields catching the sun in dull shades and throwing the colours to the sand. Keller waited behind the gates with Fiona and, in the distance, Hector, who allowed them a private moment. Fiona’s hands were on Keller’s chest, but he could not feel them beneath the armour he wore – Trojan armour, which would undoubtedly infuriate his father. She was pleading with him quietly, asking him not to ride out and meet Menelaus but to instead stay with her where it was safe; she would have Keller lay down his arms and let the Trojans risk their lives to let him stay. But that was, in Keller’s mind, a fate worse than death – he could not stand idly by and let others die for him, nor would he let Menelaus destroy Troy and kill Fiona.

“I love you,” he murmured to her, silencing her requests for him to rethink his decision. “And no matter what outcome the gods have in store, that will never change.”

Fiona was crying and shaking her head, her fingers now in Keller’s hair, bringing him closer to kiss him again just as the sound of thunderous footsteps could be heard in the distance. They broke apart and turned to stare at the sealed door to Troy, almost picturing the tiny figures of soldiers in the distance moving closer and closer. It made Keller draw in a deep breath and hold it, and he looked away and down to Fiona. She looked scared, but there was beneath it all a kind of strength – a seed of iron-like will inside of her that was undoubtedly passed down through her lineage from kings to queens to kings. Fiona of Troy was strong, and when Keller looked past her to Hector, he knew that no matter what happened to him on the battlefield, Hector wouldn’t let anything happen to Fiona.

“I must go,” whispered Keller, looking back to Fiona and cupping her face, his thumb brushing across her cheek. She shook her head again, but Keller leaned down and kissed her softly, hoping she understood all the things that he wanted to say: of the future he wanted with her in the gardens of Troy; of the children he wished to have and see them grow old; of the days he was lucky to have with her, and nights he would never forget. Breaking apart, Keller saw Hector mounting his horse and wait for Keller to do the same. “We will meet again,” he told Fiona, pressing his lips to her forehead, “in this world or the next.”

Tearing himself from the side of Fiona, Keller did not look back as he mounted his brown mare, sliding his feet into the stirrups and trotting beside Hector out the gates. His shield was comfortable and heavy on her shoulders, and once the doors clanged shut behind them, Keller knew that there was no turning back or backing down: he was fighting for Fiona, for his life, for their love. His horse moved forward beside Hector’s, the two perfectly in sync, and Keller’s hands twisted nervously in the reigns before glancing across to Fiona’s brother. He was the picture of serenity and stoicism: he was every part the warrior that the rumours had made him out to be, and though Keller had often spoken to him during his stay in Sparta, there hadn’t been much of an opportunity since their return to Troy. Keller knew that Hector hadn’t sacrificed his better judgement in not returning Keller to Sparta when he had discovered the prince on their ship, mostly because of his own love for his sister. Hector must have known that it would come to this – that war would be brought to the shores of Troy, and men would be killed, all for Keller and Fiona’s feelings for the other. It did have a way of bringing Keller back down to size, and as they rode through the parting of the soldiers and into no man’s land, he thought to say something to Hector – but Hector spoke first.

“Are you nervous?”

Keller frowned and glanced toward the sky where the sun beat down back at him. “Yes,” he said truthfully. “Will the gods forgive me if I kill my father?”

There was a brief moment of silence as they continued riding. “Do you think the gods will forgive a father who kills his son?”

Hector had a fair point, and Keller looked back toward the sky. “I know that I need not ask you to look after Fiona should the fight not go my way,” Keller said, and he looked away from the sun and to Hector, who was looking back at him curiously. “You are her brother, and you love her just as much as I. Do not let her follow me to the next world before her time, Hector.”

Menelaus’ chariot broke away from the Greek army to ride forward to meet them, cutting off whatever reply that Hector might have given, but his eyes said it all: I won’t.

The Spartan king’s golden chariot pulled to a stop some distance from Keller’s and Hector’s horses, and they stared at one another. Keller’s heart, beating fast at the sight of his father, faltered as Menelaus spoke.

“You are wearing Trojan armour,” were his father’s first words to him.

“So I am,” returned Keller with a humble nod of his head.

“And so this is your decision?”

“It is.”

“You wish to stay here? For what?”

Keller could feel Hector’s eyes on him, but he did not turn. “For love,” Keller said simply.

There was chuckled laughter from the men – from Menelaus and his brother Agamemnon, and Keller knew that they had never felt it before. Could men so hardened and ruthless as they feel anything?

“You are a fool,” spat Menelaus, “and I will burn Troy with you inside it, for you are no son of mine.”

“It need not come to that,” Keller said, pretending as though his father’s words hadn’t injured him as deeply as they had. “Fight me in single combat, father. If I win, you and your army must leave Troy, for I have earned my place here and to love whom I choose.”

Menelaus’ eyes narrowed. “And if I win?”

Keller looked to Hector now, for he would not dare to sign away the prince’s kingdom. Hector looked to Menelaus. “Then you are welcome to take your best shot at capturing Troy, for all the good it will do you.”

Menelaus did not laugh, but Agamemnon did – it was a bark, as though so self-assured in his victory. “Kill the boy, Menelaus – you have another son to take his place. He is no true son of Greece.”

And as easily as that, the deal was struck. Menelaus climbed out of his chariot, sword and shield in hand. A servant took his cloak and instead fitted greaves to his arms and calves, and Keller watched as his father got armoured for a war that his own son had brought on him. Dismounting from his horse, Keller handed the reigns to Hector, who captured his eyes.

“Strike hard, and strike true. Show no fear or mercy, for he will show you none,” whispered Hector sincerely.

Keller nodded once and stepped forward into the clearing, pulling from his back his round Trojan shield and sword. It was his old sword, something he hadn’t been able to give up; he had trained with it since he was a boy, and now, that very sword planned to slit his father’s throat. Keller knew that if the time came, he would have to do it: he would have to kill his own father or risk him killing Fiona, and that price was far too heavy on his soul. Menelaus stepped into the clearing, his own sword and shield at the ready. He looked every bit as Keller remembered him as a boy, when they had sparred playfully in the training yard – Menelaus always letting Keller win. But the games were gone, and no laughter rang out as they slowly circled the other, sizing up the other’s footwork and agility. Keller’s fingers gripped his sword tighter, preparing for the first strike – would the blow be lethal from the start, or would Menelaus tire him? There had never been any desire in Keller’s heart to be a warrior – he left that to his younger brother – but instead his mind worked on battle plans and strategies and inventions for making the death toll rise with minimal casualties to their own army. It had been a point of pride for his father, who had paraded Keller around as though he were something worthy; a good son, something to be proud of; and now, he had the look of a predator in his eyes. Keller was, strangely, not afraid to die – he did not fear the stroke of a sword to his skin and his life’s blood soaking the sand; he feared leaving Fiona and this mortal realm and waiting for her endlessly on the other side.

It was as his thoughts drifted to her that Menelaus lunged at him, sword swinging. Keller was forced into the defensive position, raising his shield to deflect the attack and taking the opportunity that presented itself to retaliate – his father, by lunging, had left his right side open and Keller swung his own sword. Rebuffed by a clang of his father’s shield, Keller was forced backward by Menelaus’ push, and the two drifted away again, circling once more. Now, it was Keller’s turn to attack, and he did so by raising his shield, blocking his father’s sword arm behind the shield and slashing at Menelaus’ left shoulder, managing to tear the leather he wore and spill blood. His father hissed in pain and lashed out, his shield catching Keller across the jaw. Blood immediately filled his mouth, and Keller spat it out onto the ground, the red of the fluid catching the sun’s light. The pain was intense, and he looked up at his father, silently asking him if he was truly going to go through with this – and the response he received was Menelaus charging for him once more.

They parried and deflected the other’s attacks until they broke apart once more for air, each evenly matched, though Keller had greater agility on his side due to his height, weight, and age: Menelaus was not young, and he was sorely out of practice. Keller had a cut across his shoulder while Menelaus bled from several shallow cuts to his arms and thigh, and Keller knew that his father was feeling the toll of it in his body: he was slower now, and the end was in sight. Both armies were silent as father battled son, and as they came together for the last time, Keller drew his father close, fingers clutching his wrist to halt his sword.

“Please father,” begged Keller, holding his father still from killing him. “Please stop this madness and return home!”

Menelaus growled and pushed Keller backward. “You were supposed to be my son!” he yelled, and slashed forward, aiming for Keller’s throat – but the swing was slow and cumbersome, and Keller easily dodged it with a frown. “You were supposed to be my heir!” And he lunged forward, aiming his sword for Keller’s stomach, and once again the movement was awkward and jerky, and Keller sidestepped, deflecting it with his own sword. “You have brought shame to the entirety of Greece, and may the gods have no mercy on your soul,” hissed Menelaus as he once more hacked Keller with his sword, to which Keller rose his shield, blocking it easily, and – without thinking or particularly realising it – he drove his sword into his father’s heart.

The silence was palpable as Menelaus dropped to his knees, his sword and shield falling from his hands. Blood welled and spilled from his mouth as he sank to the sand, a crippled and feeble old man. Keller couldn’t breath – he choked on the air in his lungs as he pulled his sword from his father’s chest and dropped it to the ground, slowly falling to his own knees in front of his father. Hands rose to steady the old man, holding him upright, pressing against the wound as though to staunch the flow of blood that painted his Spartan armour. But it was no use; the wound was fatal, and Menelaus had moments to live as Keller’s eyes welled with the tears and the sorrow – but also the sickening relief that came from all that he had secured for Fiona.

“I’m sorry, father,” he whispered, and he saw Menelaus’ brown eyes rise to his for the last time. “I only ever wanted to make you proud, and I failed you.” Though the old man tried to speak, only blood gurgled from his lips, and he eventually slumped to the ground, dead. Keller raised a bloodied hand and closed his eyes gently. “I will see you in the next world, father.”

Cheers rang from the Trojan army as Keller was hauled back from his father’s corpse by Hector, who pushed him onto his horse. “We have won,” he shouted to Agamemnon. “Burn your brother – no more blood will be spilled this day. Leave on the morrow, and do not return.”

Keller’s eyes were unfocused as his horse followed Hector’s through the cheering and jubilous crowd of soldiers through the gates of Troy where Fiona hurried down the steps to greet them. It was only when he saw her that Keller came back to himself: he saw her tears of relief for his safety, and he slid from his horse and allowed her to rush into his arms. Though covered in blood of his own and his fathers, Keller wrapped his arms around Fiona and buried his face in her shoulder, thankful and ashamed all at once. He had killed his father for her; he had forsaken his country for her; and now only the gods could stand between them – and if Keller had his way, even they could not stop him from loving her.

#au:troy #prompt:meme