Odysseus holds you in his arms, your tiny body swaddled up. They had won the Trojan war. Hector is dead, and you are his only son; no older than 3 months old. Odysseus had been ordered to kill you, as to prevent you from seeking revenge for your father’s death in the future.

Andromache lays on the stone floors next to Odysseus, her blood soaking her clothes and pooling on the ground. She had been slaughtered after the downfall of Troy, once Hector was no longer alive to protect her.

Here Odysseus stands, at the top of the Trojan towers. He was about to drop you… but he just couldn’t. He pulls you away from the ledge, clutching you close to his body. He can’t do it, he can’t kill you.

Odysseus sinks against the walls of the tower, his eyes wide as he falls to the floor and holds you tight in his arms. His breathing is erratic as panic takes hold. He doesn’t know what to do. He can’t leave you here, or you’ll die, but there’s no way he can bring you back to the Greek camp, the other Kings, hell, the other soldiers would kill you if they found out what Odysseus had done, who you were. No doubt they would hang Odysseus as well.