#troy2004

Part I:

Hector of troy x fem!reader

The sun hung low over the city of Troy, casting a golden hue over its labyrinthine streets and bustling market. The air was rich with the scent of fresh bread and spices, mingled with the distant saltiness of the sea breeze. Hector walked purposefully among the crowds, his bronze armbands glinting as they caught the light. It was rare for him to come here unguarded, but today he sought respite from the weight of his duties.

The market thrummed with life, vendors shouting their wares while children darted through the maze of stalls. Hector moved through the crowd like a shadow, his stature commanding enough that people instinctively stepped aside. He passed stalls laden with bolts of fabric in every hue, baskets overflowing with pomegranates, and artisans showcasing finely crafted trinkets. He had no destination in mind, only the hope of a moment's peace.

And then he saw her.

She stood by a merchant’s stall, her head tilted slightly as she examined a delicate necklace the vendor held out for her. The polished gold chain shimmered like sunlight on water, and Hector could not help but think it paled in comparison to the glow of her presence.

Her hair, dark as the rich earth of the Trojan plains, was gathered loosely, a few stray strands framing her face. She was young, perhaps barely out of girlhood, with a softness to her features that held an unspoken grace. Yet it was her smile that struck him a quiet, polite curve of her lips as she spoke to the vendor. It wasn’t a smile of indulgence or pretense, but one of genuine kindness.

Hector felt the world narrow, the cacophony of the market fading into a distant hum. He watched her intently, unable to tear his gaze away. She was nothing like the courtly women of Troy, who masked their words with veils of intrigue. There was a simplicity about her that stirred something deep within him a longing he didn’t fully understand.

Who is she? The question burned in his mind, though he dared not approach.

She reached out, her fingers brushing against the necklace. Hector noticed her hesitation, the way her hand lingered as if she yearned for the piece but couldn’t bring herself to take it. Her mother’s voice cut through the air, sharp but not unkind, calling her away. She turned swiftly, her skirts swaying as she retreated, leaving the necklace behind.

Hector’s chest tightened. As she disappeared into the throng, he felt an unexpected ache, as though a thread had been pulled loose from his very being. He moved closer to the stall, his eyes still fixed on the spot where she had stood.

“She seemed interested,” the merchant said, mistaking Hector’s approach for interest in the jewelry. The man held the necklace aloft, its golden pendant gleaming in the fading sunlight. “A fine piece, fit for a noblewoman.”

“I’ll take it,” Hector said, his voice steady despite the storm of thoughts within him. He handed the merchant a few coins, hardly registering the transaction as the necklace was placed in his hand. The chain felt cool against his skin, the weight of it strangely significant.

As he walked away, he turned the necklace over in his fingers, the polished pendant catching the light. It was beautiful, but more than that, it was hers. She had looked at it with such quiet longing, and Hector found himself resolved he would find her.

But how? he wondered, frustration flickering in his chest. She was a shadow now, a fleeting figure in a sea of faces. Yet he could not forget her the way her smile had warmed the air, the quiet elegance in her every movement.

Hector made his way back toward the palace, the necklace safely tucked into the pouch at his belt. His thoughts swirled like a storm-tossed sea. He thought of her mother’s urgency, the way she had hurried the girl away. Was she the daughter of a nobleman? A merchant? A servant, perhaps? The possibilities only deepened his intrigue.

Why does she linger in my mind so? He frowned, shaking his head as if to clear it. He was Hector, Prince of Troy, commander of its armies, a man whose thoughts should dwell on strategy and strength not on the fleeting image of a girl in the market.

And yet, as the day waned and the city grew quiet, she remained vivid in his memory. Her smile, her timid grace, the way her fingers had brushed the necklace all of it played over and over in his mind like a song he could not forget.

By the time the stars had begun to dot the night sky, Hector had made a promise to himself: he would find her. Not for the necklace, though that would serve as his excuse. He needed to see her again, to learn her name, to discover why the sight of her had stirred something so fierce and unfamiliar in his chest.

You can read it at this link

Part 3:

Hector of Troy x Fem!reader

The morning sun was pale as it crept over the city of Troy, its light soft and muted, casting long shadows across the palace courtyards. Hector stood in the training grounds, sword in hand, sweat dripping from his brow as he faced Paris, who circled him lazily with a cocky grin. The clang of metal echoed in the air as their swords met, but Hector’s movements were slower than usual his timing off by fractions of a second, his footwork stiff.

Paris noticed. He always did. "Are you even trying, brother?" he taunted, deflecting Hector’s half-hearted strike with ease. "I might actually win today if you keep this up."

Hector gritted his teeth, forcing himself to focus. "Keep talking, Paris," he replied, though his voice lacked its usual sharpness. He moved forward with a jab, only to overextend, and Paris dodged, landing a quick tap on Hector’s shoulder with the flat of his blade.

"Victory!" Paris exclaimed, throwing his hands up dramatically. "The mighty Hector, brought low by his little brother!"

Hector stepped back, lowering his sword. "You’ve done nothing of the sort," he muttered, but his tone lacked conviction. His heart wasn’t in it, and he could tell Paris knew it.

Paris tilted his head, studying him. "You’re distracted," he said, his teasing replaced with curiosity. "What’s going on? You’ve been off all morning. Not like you to miss a step."

Hector didn’t answer right away. Instead, he turned toward the palace walls, watching the sunlight play against the stone. His grip tightened on his sword, the leather-wrapped hilt grounding him even as his thoughts spun. How could he explain something he didn’t fully understand himself? The girl’s face her posture, her voice, the pale set of her features flashed unbidden in his mind.

"It’s nothing," he said finally, forcing a neutrality he didn’t feel. "I’ve just been… preoccupied."

Paris raised an eyebrow. "Preoccupied? That’s a new one for you. Usually, you’re the one telling me to get my head out of the clouds." He paused, then smirked. "Is it a woman?"

Hector turned sharply, his expression a mix of irritation and embarrassment. "Don’t be ridiculous," he snapped, too quickly to sound convincing. Paris laughed, but Hector didn’t stay to hear more. He muttered an excuse about needing to see their father and left the training grounds, his steps heavy with frustration.

---

The afternoon dragged like a stone tied to his back. Hector moved from one duty to the next meeting with soldiers to review patrol routes, discussing trade shipments with counselors, and ensuring the defenses along the outer walls were in place. But none of it held his attention. His thoughts were like a restless tide, returning always to the temple, to her.

The girl in the market. The girl in white robes. The girl who had somehow unsettled the unshakable prince of Troy.

By the time the sun began its descent, painting the sky in hues of amber and crimson, Hector’s patience had worn thin. He sat in his chambers, staring at the maps spread out before him, but the lines blurred together. His hands curled into fists on the table as he exhaled sharply, pushing the maps aside. Enough. He couldn’t take it anymore. He needed answers, though he had no plan for how to get them.

---

Without thinking, he stood and strode toward the temple of Apollo.

The temple loomed ahead as the last rays of sunlight caught its marble columns, bathing them in gold. The air here was quieter, cooler, a reprieve from the noise of the city below. Hector’s boots echoed faintly against the stone as he entered, his steps slowing as the familiar scent of incense and aged wood surrounded him.

At first, he saw no one, and a part of him was relieved. What was he doing here? He had no excuse, no reason to intrude, yet he couldn’t bring himself to leave.

Then he saw her.

She stood near the altar, her white robes catching the fading light, making her look almost ethereal. Two older priestesses flanked her, their voices calm yet firm as they gave instructions. Briseis was there too, standing beside the girl, her expression attentive but softer than the others. She glanced occasionally at the girl, her concern evident.

Hector stepped back instinctively, positioning himself near one of the massive pillars that lined the temple’s interior. He watched from the shadows, his eyes fixed on her. Her posture was straight, almost too straight, as though she carried a weight she couldn’t bear to let show. Her shoulders were tense, her movements measured. And her face Hector felt a pang in his chest. It was paler than he remembered, her lips pressed into a thin line, and her eyes, though focused on the older women, seemed distant, clouded by something he couldn’t name.

The priestesses finished their speech, their voices fading into the quiet hum of the temple. They bowed their heads to Hector as they left, and he returned the gesture automatically, though his attention remained on her. She and Briseis moved closer to where he stood, and in a moment of panic, Hector ducked behind the pillar, his heart pounding.

What am I doing? he thought, scolding himself. This is ridiculous. I’m a prince of Troy, not some lovesick boy hiding in the shadows. He was about to step away, to leave before he made a fool of himself, when he heard it a quiet, broken sound.

Sobbing.

Hector turned, his body moving before his mind could catch up. She was in Briseis’s arms now, her shoulders shaking as she cried. Briseis held her tightly, one hand stroking her back, her own face a mixture of sadness and quiet strength. The girl looked as though she might collapse, leaning heavily against Briseis, her sobs muffled but heart-wrenching.

"I can’t," she choked out, her voice trembling. "I really can’t."

Hector’s chest tightened as he watched, helpless. A thousand thoughts raced through his mind, none of them coherent. Why was she crying? What had brought her to this point? And why did it hurt him so much to see her like this?

Before he could step closer, a familiar figure entered the temple. It was the older woman he’d seen in the market the one who had hurried her away. She looked exhausted, her face pale and drawn, dark circles shadowing her eyes. She moved quickly to the two girls, taking the girl from Briseis and wrapping an arm around her.

Hector couldn’t hear what she said, but whatever it was made the girl nod slowly, her movements sluggish. The older woman guided her out of the temple, her hand firm on the girl’s back, and Hector found himself stepping out of his hiding place, following them instinctively.

He didn’t get far.

"Hector?"

He froze. Briseis stood behind him, her arms crossed, her expression accusatory. "What are you doing here?" she demanded, her voice low but firm.

Hector hesitated, scrambling for an answer. "I was… here to pray," he said, the words sounding weak even to his own ears. He straightened, trying to regain some semblance of composure. "I didn’t want to disturb."

Briseis’s eyes narrowed, but then her expression softened into something sadder. "You saw her, didn’t you?"

Hector nodded, his throat tightening. "Who is she?"

Briseis sighed, glancing toward the temple’s entrance. "She’s the daughter of Lord [Father’s Name]," she said. "A friend of our family."

Hector hesitated, then asked, "Why was she crying?"

Briseis’s gaze returned to him, and for a moment, she seemed to weigh her words carefully. "She’s… been struggling," she said finally. "Nothing in her life is going the way she wants. That’s all I can say."

What had brought her to this point? And why couldn’t he stop thinking about her?

Hector wanted to press for more, but he knew better. Briseis’s tone left no room for argument, and he respected her too much to push. Still, her words only deepened his concern and his curiosity.

As they left the temple together, Hector’s mind was a storm of questions and emotions. He had come here to find answers, to put an end to this madness, but he was leaving with even more uncertainty. And now, worry gnawed at him, sharp and unrelenting.

Part 2: