Hector never cared for this war.

bloodshed, carnage, defilement of senses all for his brother’s love and the hope of bright days in his youthful eyes. A weakness he should have purged so long ago to save these men and their families.

You found yourself as one of these tragedies. Captured beyond enemy lines, despite your impressive howls of anger at his kin and the gods he found some enjoyment to these interrogations.

A welcomed respite from the blood that smoked beneath his skin, interweaving itself like the threads of The Moirai and their cruelties. He looked to you and your bound form, the tears clawed to your cheeks and the mattedness of hair.

“I’d allow you such freedoms if you speak with me.” He said, his sword resting upon his leg as he shined it by cloth. “It is not an impossible task I’d presume, I know you speak my tongue well enough to curse my name by it so.”

Hector smiled to himself, the bags beneath his eyes a testament to Troy’s defenses in this years long war. Thinking of his precious bed back within the palace and his kin where they lay safe within Ilium.

“I am merciful as my brethren may not so be, patience is not granted after so long.” He whispered, his eyes like that of the bronze forged by Hepahustus casting its way to your eye.

He needed this more than you knew, he needed this war to find its final stand and end with a hopeful swiftness. He could no longer bear the tents, the smells and the tears as his men begged him for help when spears pierced their hearts.

“Give me the word… and you’re off my hands.”