Disclaimer: I own a children's version of Homer's 'The Iliad', and I'm not even following it.
Dedication: To Mclean, 'cause half of this is her doing.
A/N: This is well on its way to become a series. It may take a while for the chapters to come out though.
"You have to learn how to use a weapon!"
"I don't want to use a sword" a sixteen-year old Paris whined "those are sharp".
"You said you were too old to practice with the wooden one"
"I am! But I'm too young for the steel one".
Hector took a deep breath. "Take it" he finally ground out pointing at the discarded sword with his own. Paris obeyed, lifting it with both of his hands. With a single swing from Hector Paris' weapon went flying again. "You're not holding on to it!" he scolded. His younger brother pouted.
"Of course not, I could get hurt"
"Pick it up"
"But..." a pointy end poked at his side and he swallowed the rest of his argument. He picked the sword up and held it in front of him.
Two hours later Hector found himself looking up and down at his brother, who after complaining about some invisible wound somewhere below his neck had adopted a fetal position in the middle of their training field. As far as Hector knew, the only injuries Paris had sustained during the training were a broken nail and a couple of scratches, which had been his own fault.
"It hurts" He complained. Hector kneeled beside him, wondering what would his brother come up with.
"There" Paris said not really pointing anywhere. Hector stood up frowning.
"Stop acting like a baby, stand up"
"It really hurts"
"Really Paris, we've spoiled you too much. Get up" Paris groaned "Fine, you win. Let's go home" Paris groaned again. Hector let out something remarkably close to a growl.
"Paris" the elder sighed and kneeled again beside the form of his brother. "Give me your hands" he asked quietly. The boy looked up trying to maintain a pained expression. Hector took his hands and stretched them out. "I'm sorry..." he whispered before dropping soft kisses on the palms and pressing them to his face. Paris blinked confused. He felt his skin reddening at his brother's ministrations and a small pang of guilt in the pit of his stomach.
In the blink of an eye the older man had taken his sword and slapped Paris' hands with it "...but you're not a kid anymore"
"Ouch!" The boy shook his hands trying to soothe them, all pretense of injury gone. "That hurt!"
"Well, too bad" Hector stood again "take your sword"
"No, I don't want to" Paris pouted "It's been over two hours"
"In the battlefield you will not have time to rest"
"I'm never going into battlefield, you and father won't let me" he said even though he had never held any interest into becoming a warrior.
"Don't trust your luck that much Paris" He pointed his sword to the younger man "we could tire of you". The young prince attempted to smile confidently.
"You wouldn't... would you?"
"You don't exactly help our affections" he answered swinging his sword at his brother. Paris dodged as best as he could.
"You're going to hit me!!" he screamed in disbelief.
"If you don't move I will" Hector warned swinging again.
Hector was angry and Paris knew it, he scanned the field in search of his sword deciding that if he didn't do something he was going to get hurt for real. Taking a step forward Hector kicked said sword out of his brother's reach. Paris looked up at him his eyes reflecting anger and a hint of fear.
"How am I to fight you if I have no weapon?"
"I reckon you still have hands"
"Hectooor!" Paris tried to sound angry, but got whiney instead. The boy really didn't want to fight. Hector stood behind him and brought down his sword in a sharp line along his back.
"You have to learn how to fight" he stated coldly.
Paris fell to his knees gasping. It took him a moment to realize that Hector had really hit him. He had never been in so much pain before, his whole back was on fire. He tried to hold back his tears, but it was too much.
He heard his brother's voice and tried to get up to face him.
"Hector?" he tried weakly. He couldn't stand up.
"I, I'm sorry" Hector offered him a hand "Is just that..." he trailed off again. Paris looked up, reminding himself that his brother would never hurt him. But instead of fixing his gaze on his brother's outstretched hand he saw the hand that held the sword. With a small cry he tried to crawl away. His arms gave out and he fell on his face whimpering.
Hector let his weapon fall at his side.
"Come on" he pulled the boy up. Paris cried out and fought to get his legs under him.
"Don..." he tried unsuccessfully to get away from his brother.
Hector fell to his knees and looked at him,
"I won't always be here Paris" The boy bit his lower lip. He didn't like to think that Hector would fall in battle someday, it made him feel worse. He felt tears filling his eyes again, the pain on his back seemed sharper. The elder reached out to clean his brother's face "I wouldn't want you to fight either" he lifted to his feet pulling the youth with him.
A/N: I know, Paris is too girlish, and Hector is too mean (blame Mclean for that) but I love them both as they are. Please review and tell me what you think.