Hector leaned on the balcony, silently cursing the Achaeans. On account of them, on the morrow his heart died. Steps sounded behind him, and a man settled next to him on the balcony. He waited for the newcomer to speak, but he remained silent. Hector refused to look at Aeneas, refused to acknowledge his presence. He had already memorised his face, with its peculiar beauty, and could imagine how the starlight showed his high brow, outlined his jaw, but cast his eyes into shadow. They had spent many nights up here as children, telling stories and watching the stars rise and set. In all of Troy this was his favourite place, with its unobstructed view of the ocean, and he had never invited anyone else up here. He continued to curse silently, moving on to his fool brother, the whore Paris had brought back from Sparta, the Achaeans again, and finally the war that had recalled his foster brother to Troy. The constellations slowly faded as Eos approached, lightening the sky, when Aeneas finally spoke.
"I came to Troy's aid when your father promised me Creusa, but I would have come sooner with all my men and more, had you but asked."