Alex Anderson The Last Son of Zeus

Alex Anderson

The Last Son of Zeus

Sevan
Paris

Published by Rogue Phoenix Press

Copyright © 2012

ISBN: 978-1-936403-66-0

Electronic rights reserved by Rogue Phoenix Press, all other rights reserved by the author. The reproduction or other use of any part of this publication without the prior written consent of the rights holder is an infringement of the copyright law. This is a work of fiction. People and locations, even those with real names, have been fictionalized for the purposes of this story.

BOOK ONE

TROY...WHAT REALLY HAPPENED

Not for the first time, Hector thought about killing his brother.

"Why? Why? Why did I listen to you, Hector?" Paris said as he stacked another piece of furniture on top of their makeshift barricade. Paris had made Hector miserable since the day of his younger brother's dreaded birth. Even now, as he watched Paris frantically build the futile barrier, Hector couldn't help but think about what a fool he was for allowing the boy to live this long. The worst part about allowing his continuing existence was not the shame he had brought to the ruling family of Troy. Oh no, it was the fact Hector was on the verge of the greatest historical act of all time...and he wouldn't even get credit for it.

Hector was sure all of the renown would go to his putrid brother, Paris. And that--plus a combination of other various embarrassing incidents eighteen years of the boy's existence had allowed Hector to enjoy--was enough to make the older prince see red.

"Still your tongue, Paris, or I shall cut it from your miserable mouth," he said before taking another swallow from his wine jar.

Paris dropped the chair he was holding and turned to face his brother. "H-How dare you address me in such
a crude
--"

Hector threw the ceramic wine jar across the cellar and drew his sword. "Paris, I swear by all that is holy or unholy in this miserable realm of existence, I will cleave you from tooth to testicle if you dare utter one more word to me."

Paris, eyeing his brother's sword, clamped his mouth shut.

"This is not helping our situation," a female voice said.

Both men turned to face the voice's owner, Helen. The beautiful daughter of the Greeks stood with her perfect arms folded across her perfect body.

"I would say the same for you," Hector said. He bent down to pick up another jar. Even though the three of them were barricaded in the room he would most likely die in, Hector at least had the foresight to make sure the room had been a wine cellar. After all, what better way to stave the anticipation of death than to get oneself suitably inebriated?

"You think this is my fault, don't you--
you
--
you
miserable dung heap!" Helen shouted.

Hector threw the jar's stopper to the far side of the cellar. It bounced around in the darkness. "The thought had crossed my mind."

She balled her hands into fists. "You were not forced to bring me here, Hector. You did that of your own volition!"

"Hah! As much volition as a man can have, I suppose, when he is enthralled between the thighs of a woman."

"Again, you chose to heap your blame upon me! I did not force you into my bed!"

"My dear, I was drunk both from battle and wine that night. A cow could have seduced me in shorter time than it took you."

"So you're comparing me to a cow are you?"

Hector turned his head slightly for a moment before replying. "Yes."

Several months ago on the damnable shores of Greece, the Trojan warriors--under the command of Hector and Paris--aided the Spartan army in one of the greatest battles the world had ever seen. After winning said battle, the men from both lands set about on another daunting, yet equally important task: eating as much food and drinking as much wine as they possibly could in the name of war, food, and wine's sake. After two hours of eating and twelve hours of drinking, the queen of the Spartans, Helen, came out of her chambers and introduced herself to the Trojans.

She and Hector were having sex fifteen minutes later.

It didn't matter they were both from different lands, just as it didn't matter they were both betrothed to someone else. Why? Because no one else was ever going to find out about it...until Helen's obese husband, Menelaus, walked in with a cup of wine in one hand and a large piece of undercooked meat in the other.

Upon seeing the two enthralled in his bed, Helen's husband dropped everything, drew his sword, and leaped at Hector with the force of a hurricane. Hector had never fought another man while sporting an erection before. It had been, to say the least, a very interesting experience. Even with his physical handicap, so to speak, Hector was able to defeat and kill the enraged and bloated husband before he had a chance to call for help. After doing so, Hector turned to face Helen. He didn't know whether the sight of her husband's blood all over his naked body was going to spoil the mood.

It didn't.

They completed each other--six more times.

They spent the night together in her dead husband's chambers and were not bothered until the next morning when one of the king's aides came knocking on the large wooden door.

"My Lord," a muffled voice said from the other side. "Are you well? It is well past morning, yet you have not stepped forth from your chamber."

Hector stood. "Well, I suppose it is truly time to take my leave of you now, beautiful Helen. I shall sneak out of the window. You are more than welcome to tell the guard whatever you wish. However, I think it would be best if you tell them your husband was killed while you were sleeping. That way, they will not press you for any detail you will have to falsify and, perhaps later, fail to support under casual interrogation."

Hector continued putting on his clothes. "Do not worry, though. They shall certainly hear nothing from me. For that matter, no one shall ever hear anything from
me regarding the death of your bloated husband nor
our intimate encounter."

Hector finished dressing and stepped over to one of the room's many large windowsills. "I bid you farewell, fair Helen. In all likelihood, we shall never meet again...however if we do, know that--"

"Take me with you."

Hector was so taken aback back by Helen's comment he nearly fell out of the window. He waited several seconds for her to take it back or admit it was as fleeting as it sounded. When neither seemed likely, Hector finally said, "Surely you jest."

"I assure you it is no jest nor is it some sort of fleeting notion. I mean it: take me with you. "

Hector, hearing the sound of beating fists at the door, knew he only had minutes, perhaps seconds, to respond.

"Please, Hector," Helen said. She stood up from the bed, and the sun glistened off her marvelous body. She crossed the room quickly and placed her hands on Hector's bare leg.

Helen bent over slightly, allowing her breasts to touch Hector's thigh. "I fear my constitution will not be strong enough! I fear too it will only be a matter of time before the icy glares of my dead husband's
guards
break my will, and I tell them everything I should not! I beg you, Hector! Take me! Take me!"

And so, against all common reason, Hector took her. He brought her back to his boat, and later, back to the shores of his home. He had managed to convince his brother, father, and even himself the Grecians would not be stupid enough to attack Troy over the taking of an easily replaceable queen and death of an equally expendable king.

He had been wrong

Hector had not been mistaken, however, in assuming that Paris, his dim-witted and fragile brother, would be competent enough to pose as Helen's lover. After all, it certainly couldn't be Hector...
he
had a wife. A wife who, if discovering her husband's affair, would not hesitate to bring down a wrath upon him so hellacious it would rival the might of the gods themselves.

Paris successfully posed as Helen's lover and, even though the arrangement made Hector's life and nightly visits to Helen easier, it still filled him with rage. Paris eventually received a great deal of recognition amongst the citizens of Troy for his supposed audacity in taking the Spartan queen and killing Menelaus in his own bedroom. Words such as "mighty" and "daring" had been used to describe the cowardly and foolish Paris.

Those should have been my descriptions…my words
, Hector often thought.
Instead, I am without recognition...just as I am now without heir
. The Grecians, now united against a common foe in the Trojans, attacked their city and destroyed many of her people...including the wife and son of Hector.

But all of that was certainly moot now. Hector was about to die...they were all about to die. A death so horrible, yet noble, it would be sung for ages. A song where Paris, not Hector, would be remembered as the lover of Helen.

"Brother, put your wine down and
do
something. You must save us!"

Paris saw Hector stop mid-drink. He probably thought his brother was actually about to do something about their predicament. What he didn't know was Hector stopped drinking only because he was afraid he would spill his wine while cutting his brother's head off. He did, after all, warn him.

Then he heard it: "HECTOR!"

A sound so terrible it would make even the most courageous man absolutely quake in his sandals. It would stop a lion in his tracks. It would stay the hand of the mightiest King or Emperor--not out of compassion--but out of fear.

"HECTOR!" Achilles voice rang again throughout the cellars of Troy.
The man must have a sixth sense to have followed us all the way through these passages
.

"HECTOR!"

Or perhaps I just have a death wish.

"What do we do, brother?"

Hector looked at both Helen and Paris while he considered just that.
You stay here and die you miserable twerp! After all of the shame and disrespect you have brought to my family, you deserve no less! In fact, it is far more than you deserve. Yes, yes, you deserve a fate not fit for a dog--but that of a coward! I should meet out your end here and now myself! Before Achilles finishes me, I should finish you! Then at least I'll have some measure of satisfaction before Hades takes me!

"You will ..." Hector raised his sword.

"Yes, brother?"

Hector lowered his arm. He absolutely despised the notion of leaving this world before his brother, but...if Achilles were to catch up to them, Paris's head might just slow the sword of Achilles long enough to allow Helen the few precious moments she needed to escape. "You will take Helen and proceed into the tunnels at the back of the cellar. You two must go as far away from Troy as you possibly can. I will delay Achilles for as long as I am able, but do not--DO NOT--stop for anything until Troy is but a glimpse of a shadow on the horizon."

That was all Paris needed to hear. He turned, grabbed Helen's arm, and started into the tunnel.

Helen yanked her arm away from Paris's feeble grasp. "And what about you, noble Hector. Where and when shall we meet up with you?"

Hector sighed then took yet another drink from yet another wine jar. "Perhaps you did not hear me, slut of the Grecians. I am going to delay Achilles. And by that, I mean meet his sword to mine. And by that...I mean die."

Helen jumped at the sound of a massive shoulder ramming into the cellar door. The wood creaked and crumpled inward.

Hector looked at the door and turned back to Helen. "Now, do a dying man a favor and take your leave that I might at least inebriate myself in peace before I go to the underworld." He took another swig from the wine jar.

There was another pound on the door, and several pieces of Paris's barricade clattered to the floor.

Helen turned to leave, stopped then turned back to deliver a kiss on Hector's cheek. "I shall never forget you."

Hector's bitterness was broken for a second. The warm touch of Helen awoke something in him he had not felt for months. Zeus help him, he wanted to take her right then. Instead, he turned his head and looked to the floor. "Go," he whispered under his breath.

"Hector, I…"

"GO!"

She went.