MARK MY WORDS, if he is allowed to live , my brother will bring about the destruction of troy! the towers will burn, women will scream as their children die in front of their eyes. is he really worth all this?

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priam admired the city he had rebuilt
out of ashes of humiliation and deceit.
the towers were taller than ever,
the turrets more magnificent,
the walls higher and the gates intricately designed.
troy was not a city that would fall in the coming years.
queen hecuba stood at his side,
with tears in her lovely eyes,
her hands shaking as she spoke,
"my lord, I had the most terrible dream!"
priam didn't spare his queen a glance-
why should he, she was the one who answered to him-
and said, "what did yo dream of, my sweet?"
"our unborn child turned out to be a fury!" she wailed, petting her swollen belly, "it rushed through troy, setting fire to the city!"
"it was only a dream." priam answered though his brow furrowed a little.
it was his magnificent city, after all and
the king would take no chances.
he sent for all the wise men
and all the seers
who told him that if he lived,
priam's son would bring ruin to his county.
"kill the child, my lord," they urged the helpless father in monotonous, wicked voices.
when his son was finally born,
a pink squealing child,
wailing for his mother's breast and
wrapping his hand around his father's finger,
priam did not have the heart to watch his son die.
he gave his son away to a faithful servant and chided, "carry him to the lonely slopes of mount ida! and leave him there, where he shall be devoured by the wild beasts that roam the land."
the servant-
shocked and terrified-
did as he was told.
five days later, the old servant decided to check on the prince, paris.
no child deserved such a death, he though and to his surprise
the babe was alive and well in the bear's very lair, lying among the cubs
as though he was with his brothers.
"the child must be fated to live," he decided and carried Paris to his own cottage.
he raised him as his son, teaching the boy
to hunt with precision,
tend to the flocks.
paris, the son of priam grew into a handsome man,
one of the most handsome in the land.
so handsome he was indeed that the nymph oenone fell in love with him and he married her in a spectacular cave on mount ida,
where she bore him a son named corythus.
one warm morning, a immortal approached him.
Paris recognized the winged sandals and herald's wand and fell to his knees, dropping the pipe he was playing, and abruptly stopping the sweet music he was producing.
"do not fear, herdsman. I have been sent by zeus himself. he knows your fair judgment. I bring with me three immortal queen and you must choose which of them is fairest."
paris was shocked, and politely terrified. "my lord, how can I judge three immortals?! and furthermore escape the vengeance of the ones who aren't chosen?"
"they will abide by your decision, paris." hermes answered though his voice held mild pity.
three beautiful immortals approached them and paris was dazzled by their beauty, his jaw dropped by a centimeter.
queen hera spoke first, tall and stately, with a shining diadem upon her forehead with her long hair spilling down her shoulders, "pick me and I will make you lord of asia. you shall have power greater than any king."
paris looked at her and beauty he saw was the beauty of power, his dreams shaping up into something more exquisite than he could imagine.
he blinked and before him stood athena, her eyes bright with wisdom and her posture graceful, her grey eyes regarding him with years of wisdom an beauty.
"choose me," she said, "and you shall be the wisest of men. kings will come to you for council and your wisdom shall know no bounds."
paris looked upon her and saw knowledge and skill, what else could he possibly want?
paris thought of himself and an old wise man from mount ida,
basking in knowledge and radiant with wisdom acquired from the goddess of wisdom herself.
before he knew it, the lovely lady aphrodite stood before him, her eyes twinkling and her lips the color of the dew on a rose. her face was a dream in itself and her smile enough to kill a man.
"choose me," she sang, "and forget these promises of war and knowledge. I shall give you the most beautiful bride on earth,
her name is helen of sparta and no man who has looked upon her has been able to break the enchantment she cast.
no, she is no enchantress but
her beauty is greater than any beauty
you could fathom."
paris did not hesitate, he did not pause to think. he handed the golden apple to aphrodite who took it, her face still modestly beautiful. "now I shall be at your side constantly and lead you to your bride!"
but athena and hera turned away, anger and bitterness in their eyes,
with hatred for paris and hatred for troy, seeping out of their throats.

paris could no longer find joy with oenone,
his heart had already fluttered off the the bride he was yet to meet.
he wandered the slopes of mount ida, waiting for aphrodite to snatch him away and lead him to helen.
meanwhile king priam, who believed his beloved son dead,
held funeral games to him our him every year and he sent his servants to ida for a bull to the be the chief prize
and o, they chose the magnificent white bull-
the one that was paris's pride-
and drove it away, despite paris's vain protests.
paris, indignant with shock,
a desire for sweet revenge
and a tingling curiosity
followed them to Troy to watch the chariot race.
he watched princes and kings in the race, recognizing no one and understanding nothing,
he quickly entered the boxing match king priam announced and he boxed so well that he earned himself the laurel crown-
he wore the golden leaves in his brown hair so proudly that even priam smiled.
priam's other sons were furious-
who was this strange herdsman and why was he winning all the events?
he outran them all in a foo trace and was declared victor of the day,
much the his pleasant surprise.
then hector and deiphobus, the sons of priam were so enraged that they drew their swords,
preparing to attack paris when
the old servant-
his skin hanging off in pouches fell at the king's feet and wailed, "my lord, this is paris, your son!"
his brothers forgot their anger and his father the prophecy as they welcomed him with a grand feast,
where Paris feasted on things he hadn't even set eyes on before.
but one person was not joining the festivities-
paris's sister cassandra,
the doomed prophetess who lived
with a curse- that nobody would believe her prophecies.
she cried that if paris lived, troy would be doomed.
she cried and cried but
nobody listed to her.
a few sunrises later, aphrodite appeared to paris and instructed him to build ship and sail to sparta to acquire his bride,
she also sent her son aeneas with him for she had angered Zeus and as a punishment had to marry a mortal man to whom she also note a child.
the ships were finally built,
huge towers masses of wood,
bobbing in the water,
waiting for paris to ride them to victory.
somewhere in mount ida, oenone,
bitter and lonely,
wept in her cave and her son
called for his absent father.