Disclaimer: not mine, don't sue

Dedication: Maia… we both love Paris even when he's a bloody coward, because he's our bloody coward. Here's to many more Orlando-gushing sessions!


Hector gently, softly pressed his lips against Paris's golden brow.

A brief smile fled across his lips as he saw passion, regret warring in his brother's eyes.

"I forgive you." Hector whispered, his words caressing Paris's cheeks, darkening Paris's shimmering eyes.

"I," Paris stuttered. His breathing quickening involuntarily, he grabbed his brother's hand desperately.

"I love you." He blurted out, frantic, hopeless in its intensity.

"I know." Hector said simply.

Slipping his hand away from his brother's, he resolutely walked towards Achilles, with the pride befitting a Prince of Troy.


Paris had always worshipped Hector.

From the moment he opened his eyes, he adored his brother relentlessly, copied his every action unconsciously, his every move devotedly.

And Hector loved Paris.

He loved his brother with the fervor of a thousand lovers, with an overpowering compulsion to protect him, to jealously guard him inside a glass coffin so that he would be safe, cherished.


Emotions thundered inside him, roared through his mind.

Paris was so young, so untainted by war. And now crimson streaks stained him, marred his fragile features, his bronzed body.

Hector could not tear himself away from Paris's wretched, intense hold on his legs.

He could practically taste the fear radiating off Paris and his heart bled for the loss of honor of his brother.

He had always been able to shield Paris from harm, smooth over troubles for his brother but now, he felt powerless, useless.

To intervene was to doom Troy.

To remain oblivious was to doom Paris.

As heat coursed through his veins, he gazed at the bloated, arrogant, pompous tyrant of Sparta in contempt.

A fierce wave of loathing, repulsion swept through him as he mercilessly, cleanly sliced the sword through Menelaus.


"Brother, do you love me? Would you defend me against any enemies?" Paris's face was solemn, serious, touching in its raw need for reassurance.

Hector's heart ached briefly, at the thought that Paris could possibly have any doubts about the depth of his love for his brother.


Hector loved Paris.

It was as simple as that.

And if Troy had to burnt for him to keep Paris safe, then he would willingly light the first spark of flames.

If he had to die for his bother to live, then he would willingly breathe his last so that Paris might continue living.

It was as simple as that.

As Hector continued to stride confidently towards Achilles, the edges of his lips curled up into a smile.