Ἕκτωρ ♚ Vincent King (armystrong) wrote in mythopoeics, @ 2012-02-28 22:41:00 |
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Entry tags: | !mini-log, aeneas, andromache, cassandra, hector |
five. ♚
Eachann was saddled literally the moment Hector stepped into the royal stables. The stable boy had been brushed off accidentally, but there was only time for a short apology. Before he could remember to breathe, he was directing the stallion out into the streets, riding in a trot until the gates, where he rode hard and with little restraint.
Yes, he remembered everything. His time in Troy, his time in the army, his life in Canada and New York. As the warm wind rushed past his head, he remembered Andromache. The feeling of her skin, the smell of her hair, the way she fit in his arms. And then the shame washed over him with every thought of Gwynevere. Nothing could erase the embarrassment of having to face his wife with the knowledge that he'd loved another woman.
Mind populated by heavy thoughts, he rode in the direction he knew Andromache was waiting.
Andromache was sitting quite comfortably at the side of the road. Her fool of a horse had calmed down considerably but she wasn't quite sure where she was (except she knew where she was; she was waiting for Hector and that could only be a good thing).
As she waited, sharing an apple with her horse, she considered this strange, solitary life of hers. Oh, she had cousins and she loved them but she had chosen a relatively chaste life, even if she had not always been quite celibate. She wondered, vaguely, what might have happened if she'd met Hector before they regained their memories. Would they have known each other?
That was a mystery even to Hector. Part of him believed he would recognize his Andromache on sight and that his heart would do all of the deciding, but the more logical part reasoned it would've been impossible. He'd recalled absolutely nothing from his previous life, including Troy. And now, now he knew.
His horse remained at nearly top speed when he noticed Andromache's dress in the distance. Only moderately tired from the ride, he yanked on Eachann's reins to pull him to a slow and gradual trot. She looked so beautiful. More beautiful than he ever really remembered.
He swung a leg from his horse, who had only just begun to stop, and was moving toward her without thinking.
Andromache heard the sound of a horse approaching and when she looked and she saw her Hector dismounting and walking towards her, she rose gracefully to her feet and tossed the apple core to the side in a smooth arc. She started out at a sedate walk but that wouldn't do at all. Within a few steps, she broke into a run, lifting her skirts up just enough to keep her movements unimpeded.
This was so much better than words on a page. Without even thinking, she reached for him, overcome with relief and so much more than that. Andromache, who did not need men, desperately needed her husband's embrace.
And he didn't disappoint for a second as he swept her up into strong arms, pressing her impossibly close. Relief flooded through him like wildfire, searing through every muscle in his body. Hector hadn't realized how impossibly homesick he'd been until she was resting against him. How she'd always been a source of comfort for him. How, reminded a voice, Gwynevere gave him that that comfort.
Now that he'd been without, he never wanted to be without again.
Andromache buried her nose against his neck, holding on tightly and breathing him in and somehow, somehow, he smelt the same, he felt the same. After a few deep breaths, she moved enough to frame his face with her hands and to look at him. Finally, she smiled and it felt as though she had never really smiled before or that she had never been this happy.
"I think," she said, so softly and so resolutely, "maybe you and I should talk about separation. I don't think it works for me."
His laugh, soft as it was, was genuine. It was unnatural how at ease he felt around Andromache that he could laugh or smile without much provocation. He took one hand from his face, pressing kisses to the heel of her palm, the tender inside of her wrist.
"It doesn't work for me either. How will we fix it?"
Shivers ran down Andromache's arm and then her spine, her smile turning into something gentle as she watched Hector's lips. "I think," she said, "we might consider - not being separated?" Her other hand drifted down to curl around his neck. She leaned closer, resting her forehead against Hector's. "I think - I think I'd rather not let you out of my sight for a while. If that's okay?"
His hands were moving as well, one sliding easily into the hair at the back of her head. The other squeezed the captive hand. "I'd be okay with that," he murmured, wanting so very much to kiss her lips. But this was more than enough. Being with Andromache was like breathing fresh air.
He never wanted to stop breathing her in.
Andromache squeezed his hand in return and, with a short intake of breath that had nothing to do with lack of courage and everything to do with the pause before the plunge, she closed the short distance between them and brushed her lips over his. They had time to stop a while, regardless of where they were and what was to become of everyone. They had time.
But time was of no importance now, not when everything seemed so suspended in it. Upon her lips brushing Hector's, he kissed her in turn, slipping that second hand to her jawline. It was gentle like a first kiss, but far from hesitant. As if they had all the time in the world.
If only.
[ ooc: backdated to yesterday! ]