Obviously I don't own an ancient Hellenistic religion (Quite happy with Faith in the one God).
Why should not the glorious Rainbow be included among the gods? It is beautiful enough, and its marvelous loveliness has given rise to the legend that Iris is the daughter of Thaumas, which is Wonder ~Cicero
Chapter: I
Sing Muse, of those sacrosanct slopes upon holy Olympus. Where the power and glories are the foundation of the world, above the ever reaching, ever spinning, ever longing grasp of mortal men. Sing of how on its mighty, indomitable summits there was the sound. The sound: the sound of purest revelry and merriment ever heard by the ear of Men, dripping from on-high to those Below like dewdrops off a golden leaf; alighting for the briefest moments a parched and famished land. Tell, O Megala Theas, of its unabashed elation, unaware of even the remotest sort of suffering or pain, and how for one to think such notes could have originated from tympanum beaters or bell-ringers on earth was idiotic, to the point of blasphemous.
Tell how it seemed to Men: that the sky, the heavens themselves, were rejoicing, with all their considerable majesty and might...for it was Rhea's daughter they were celebrate, the Shining Lady who blesses our unions having made an unparalleled match for herself among her honored peers.
Tell of how with the glorious Polos crown, Moirai, the apportioners of all our lives, ever merciless to those with ichor and those without it, granted with the burden a golden-wing gift to ease it, and too comfort the Queen who bore the weight of it. How this gift could often stay the Queen's wrath, terrible was it with, worse it would have been without her. For a time, the gift connected the Queen to her self-tomb, perishing heart, just the gift's varicolored pathway connected the immortals with the subjects below.
Tell of how her gift, so small and brief, was universally loved by Men, for alone of the gods, no harm could ever befall from its presence. So at the end of all days, her gift was truly given to Maker of Men, as the Deathless Ones fade…
0)o(0
In the land outside a humble Thessalian village, awed gasps reverberated through a dozen fields of swaying barley, the collative intake of breath weaving, interlacing, with the soft-spoken Aurae; and pleasantly stroked the golden shafts to simple cow-eyed demureness, so that they fluttered in the breeze.
This caused the barley's sweat-soaked harvest gatherers, clad solely in sheepskin loincloths, draped about their nether regions (the sole protection allotted them against Helios' barbed, ray-shooting chariot ) to halt their labors- clean in the middle of that dawn-streaked morning...just to hear the music unfurling in wind, straight from the Thronos Dios of defeated Cronus.
Their crude iron sickles, that were so similar in design to the famous one used, eons ago, by the ambitious Lord of Time to cripple -and unman- Father Sky slipped from trembling, callused bone-worn hands; cutting into sun-soft flesh of the earth mother's heaving, all-embracing breast. Besides them, the laborious brown oxen who had pulled the gathering carts behind them were standing still, in scared respect; their innocent eyes for once becoming wizened in instinctive wisdom.
And a short distance away from the men in the fields, before many a sun-dried, mud-clay shelters, their wives, sisters, and mothers (who's fair, dark, or graying hair was tightly bound with ragged clothing strips, keeping the tresses out of tried eyes) felt their quick moving hands paused while kneading dough for afternoon bread. Or hovering confusedly as they reached out, to wipe their own child's tearful eye. The child himself had fallen into dumb silence.
Dazed, Men of all tribes fell to their knees, thoroughly humbled as the notes violated their senses, intoxicating them like the finest of wine.
They knew beyond doubt that the new gods who now ruled the Mountain were celebrating –indeed, one would have to lack both ears not to know this. But in living memory, never had a divine feast been so great that the pathos of it rebounded down to them, scraps off the master's table to feed the dogs.
But some of the oldest amidst the throng of ever-dwindling elders, with their crooked backs swaddled comfortably in lined himation-shawls by dutiful wives –the clever women killing two birds with one stone here, as this was a polite way to measure a man for his upcoming-funeral shroud– who also lovingly placed red-ceramic cups of kykeon into the old men's gnarled, clenching, trembling hands would then lifted up their hands and unseeing eyes to proclaim that they had a notion to the significance of the heavenly occasion; a murmur deep down in their well-worn bones.
These oracles and wise men, through their various means of bone reading and libation pouring; devised, discovered, and then told their families in fervent whispers that this was no mere gathering. This was a joining, they claimed. An awaking.
The dawning of a new age was here, and it was indeed a wonder, the Old Ones marveled, chuckling and slapping their toothless gums, that they had lived to see it.
They said august tones that Zeus Aegiochos (Aegis Bearer), King of the Grecian gods, and Lord of hollowed Olympus, was taking for himself a new Queen. And for the first time...he was taking for himself a wife. And the gods from the seven corners of the world had come to pay tribute, and honor the match with both their presence, and their gifts.
With their sun-worn faces, and ever decaying bodies, the Men of Greece tiredly lifted their eyes to the forbidden slopes and tried to stop themselves from imagining the glories that were taking place, right above their heads...
0)o(0
But in the most outlandish of dreams, most indulging of fantasies, the minds of the mortals bound to the planes of Ge couldn't have begun to envision the amount of renowned and wealth off-handily displayed, in the all-encompassing realm of the sky. In that whiten citadel, alluringly cloaked behind the sliver spun clouds, and its gleaming walls of limestone, gold, and bronze, the deities of Greece and the rest of the world -many of whom had their own remarkable realms, back in their own lands- were gazing around like wide-eyed children as they took in the richness and majesty of the seat of Grecian power.
Their limbs dripped with heavy bangles and anklets of silver and gold, while from their necks and ears swung the finest specimens of amulets, and lapis lazuli. Beads clinked together in the braids of their hair. Their lovely, yet occasionally ugly, forms had been clothed in sheets of linen (or nothing at all in some cases), and a variety of faces had been smeared with ornamented lines of kohl and henna, turning loveliness into splendor...and yet all still managed to pale somehow, when compared to the radiant beauty of the future Grecian queen, that stood just before them.
They gathered in the greatest of halls before the gold-platted Thronos, surrounded by twelve columns of quarried Epirus stone which gleamed red, in the falling light of evening, with its terrible promise of authority and consequence. Here in this hollowed chamber, the gods of the word witnessed their Greek counterpart accept possession of his fair bride, before leading her to the dais; where in mournful black robes, the daughters of Nyx, the Moirai themselves, were waiting to crown her, their gray lips pulled into an unsmilingly front. But the bride didn't pause, didn't hesitate, not even for a moment.
Because her back was turned to the crowd they couldn't glimpse the eagerness in her shinning eyes, or the cautionless hunger in her smiling mouth. It was constant and ever-present, even as she cordially bowed her head to accept the crown. But the Moirai saw it, of course –for the daughters of Nyx saw everything. Everything that was, is, and was yet to be.
So later on in the night, the Theai Arkhaiai (Ancient Goddesses) would dryly cackle over that, like the hags they truly were. But for now they held their peace and held their tongues. They said nothing nor felt the urge to, and this didn't surprise them. Why on Gaia's earth would it? Why would they speak? To what point and purpose would that serve? After all, they had long known that this hunger –this heedless desire– was there. And they knew how it would end. They had known it before even the first of this goddess's two births.
The bride knew this too, which was why she hadn't bother to conceal it from them – a mark of intelligent on her part, the Diantaiai thought vaguely, more so that they had originally figured. In turn, this earned for her their rarely given regard; due to the respect being shown to them by such a choice. The Relentless Ones had never thought highly of those who thought they could play them for fools.
But regard or no regard...just as the bride didn't pause in accepting her destiny Moirai didn't –couldn't– either. Seemingly without remorse they lowered the tall, cylindrical crown, and condemned the cow-eyed goddess before them to fate.
The moment the diadem touched her head, the crowd roared, a thunderous noise that shook the twelve columns holding the golden ceiling from the tile floor of Pentelikon marble. But Moirai themselves remained more stoic than statues carved of the same material; their withered features impassive, even while hidden in the dreary folds of their all-shrouding shawls.
Had this event taken place at some point in their youth, they might have sighed at the girl's obliviousness; which for a time had been the only outward manifestation of their pity allowed to them. But the day when they were young enough to think such things was aeons passed, and they were far to experience now to waste the breath. Even if sometimes...they wished they could.
Now they had a different way of showing pity. For despite what the poets would say of them in their foolish epics, Moirai was not heartless. Dutiful, yes. Unrelenting, certainly. Cold…oh frigid was the better word.
But they were not heartless, nor were they pitiless. Even the harshest of fates were allowed their moments of joy and laughter; peace before extinction.
The Moirai had often debated this among themselves...silently wondering whether allowing such things were truly acts of kindness...or ultimately crueler in the end. But nevertheless, they followed the same patterns throughout history, again and again. The universe did not seem to be unraveling around them, so if it wasn't braking, why fix it? Their pity made for some excellent stories if nothing else – that was their reasoning.
And their pity for the white-armed bride (now the Queen) would make a great one.
With this in mind they returned their attention to the celebration around them, and waited.
Zeus Koronides was the image of Kingship, they noted absently, vaguely -and with as much enthusiasm as noting Helios' sun was yellow, or that Uranus's un-maned sky was blue. They saw the gold-embroidered folds of his purple himation was comfortable draped around his waist, and over one arm, with pristine regalia and sensation; the designs woven upon its linen being those of the cyclops forged lightening-bolts. The very weapons that had titled Zeus Thunderer, and won him the war against his Titan predecessors.
The extension of his chest was left bare, to remind all present of the new king's youth (by gods standards that is) and vitality – as though his roguish grin weren't reminder enough. The diadem wrapped around his dark head was glowing with rays taken from the sun to testify to his power...as if the lightening shooting within his sky-colored eyes didn't. Or the fact that Cronus's sapphirus ring of state now crowned his finger –having been forcibly removed from its former owner.
He certainly looked the part of the King, but as always, it remained to the combined weathering of Time and Power to see if he would be a good one. Or no different that he before
...though admittedly, Moirai mused silently, it would be a feat indeed, worth of a great story, to be a worse king than Titan lord of Time; so whatever the Olympians got would be better than before. Zeus had a head start in that regard. But enough about him...his stories were certain to be told. Great stories certainly, of exquisite majesty and resounding lore, essential for inspiring the minds of coming millennias...but it was the unknown tales that caught their eye.
So they turned their eye now, to rest on the former bride.
0)o(0
Besides him now stood his new wife and proud new Queen - Hera Leukolenos (the White Armed). And here, they knew, was where she would first lay eyes on a certain little goddess-child - right now during the conclusion of this wedding ceremony, if one were to be precise.
0)o(0
Ah...the wedding ceremony. Without doubt this wedding had been one of the proudest moments of her Deathless-life. She exhaled slightly at the thought...yes...yes, that was that right. It was the proudest day of her life. Not the happiest. Nor the most content.
And gods knew that this ceremony wasn't going to be one people remembered as the most dignified of occasions. The only time the hall had been silent was when the vows between Zeus and herself were being exchanged, and now that those were over, the wedding feast promised to only enhance the resumed chaos.
Blushing slightly at the thought of such disorder, Hera lifted her chin and banished it from her mind. But today...it was the proudest. And with good reason too.
Today was Hera's crowning achievement, archfully planned and calculated over the last few centuries: the one that would be spoken of in the millennia to come. The one that guaranteed her sacred name a shining spot amongst all eternity. Today immortalized her highest, holiest, and most glorious triumph. It was the day she fulfilled the destiny that Moirai had spun for her, on the days of Hera's births; in becoming the reigning and undisputed Queen of Olympus, and consequently the Olympians.
And Hera reveled in it, her smooth featured face glowing with the twin torches of supremacy and victory.
At long last endless years of plotting and scheming -of silly flirty smiles, and pinching her cheeks to redden them; of wearing the scandalously revealing sheaths and malachite kohl of the Egyptian ladies, and resisting Zeus' ardent efforts to seduce her favors –had finally bore fruit. So now Hera had every intention of reaping in the rewards of her harvest...and now she could, for she now had the right. As well as the unquestionable authority.
If possible, her chin rose even higher into the air, to the point where her nose almost faced the ceiling (though she was carefully to keep just a few degrees below that point, wary of the ridiculous image that would present. She would not be a laughing stock).
She was the Queen, she marveled, and her limbs shook with awe at the fact. She was now the highest ranking goddess in the newly forming Pantheon.
And while the marriage goddess knew, well enough in both troth and truth, that she did bear a strong measure of love for her new lord husband...she willingly confessed to her inner-most self that this affection was overshadowed by the mountain of superior devotion she held for the dignity of Rhea's gleaming circlet, the Polos diadem that now rested so carefully atop her tightly bounded chestnut-tresses.
Putting it bluntly, Hera loved it - loved it with the cool satisfaction of fulfilled purpose, and completed duty.
So there the Queen of Heaven stood, in the place her heart had always coveted, always craved. She was atop the royal dais, elevated by all before the Thronos of State. The marriage goddess was dressed to unequivocal perfection in a carefully pleated chiton, woven of cloud white linen upon her sisters' loom, a shawl of gold having been tightly -strategically- tied beneath her breasts and downward around her hips, flawlessly emphasizing the willowy slenderness of her waist, while granting the chiffon a number of attractive folds; tumbling like mist over her ivory-carved legs.
The nearly translucent fabric was held securely in place upon her shoulders, and then at her elbows, by ties and a set of sliver fibula. Meanwhile a stately himation of royal purple, matching that of her husband's –though her's was embroidered with peacock feathers, rather than lightning bolts– adorned Hera's slim frame perfectly, like a vine clinging to a tree.
Having possessed the desire to add elements of her glorious wealth and prestige to her elegant dignity, Hera had, with help from her ladies, bedecked herself in the finest of jewels freshly minted from the workshop; the delicate golden chains of flowers and pearl raindrops gleaming from Hera's sleeve-clad wrists, swan-like collar bone, and danced like wind-chimes from her ears. Meanwhile, her original emerald orbs shined with the cool regality one would expected of royalty; containing within themselves a brilliant fire of acute sharpness, worth of a xiphos, though outwardly providing little warmth.
Inside however...was another story altogether. Inside, Hera had to combat the absurd, and girlish urge to squeal as the gods of the world began to lay wedding presents at the feet of the bride and bridegroom.
And such presents! Presents of the most magnificent kind!
From the slim hands of modestly Veiled Hestia, whose amber eyes had shone with all her best, deeply held wishes, Hera was given a clay oil lamp, with the promise from the hearth goddess that its flame was charmed to changed color, to revel either one's honesty…or treachery. Dear gentle Hestia… Rhea's soft-hearted eldest daughter was Hera's favorite, dearest, and most beloved sister, who had given the gift with a smile…she couldn't possible have known how much pain that candle would give her.
From the clever hands of Golden-Haired Leto, Hera received a collection of exotic frogs, trained to sing in harmony. Later when that whore slept with her husband, Hera would take great pleasure in crushing those unfortunate creatures underneath her saddled foot.
The shy hands of Blue-Eyed Maia had offered her a wreath woven of rare flowers that would never dim, which were only able to grow on the slopes her father's significantly more infamous mountain. And when that whore slept with her husband, Hera would burn that garland to cinders in her rage.
By the cautious hands of Reserved Selene, with her moon-white cheekbones, the Titan goddess graced the Queen with a necklace of gleaming sliver and moonstones. And when this whore slept with her husband she…oh forget it.
These gifts were given and many, many more. Gifts of the finest cloths and jewelry. Of the exotic perfumes and spices. Of potions and fruit trees that bore further immortality, and charms to damn her enemies. But only one gift would prove to be invaluable -irreplaceable. Only one would be proven as completely, absolutely and utterly priceless.
Surprisingly, Moirai seemed to have decreed that it would be Poseidon Tavreios' (The Bull) gift. Poseidon of all deities.
Even aeons later, Hera would shake her head at it. It was inconceivably, truly it was.
When at last the King of the Sea came strutting before the Thronos, the three pronged trident was naturally in the crook of his tide-strong arm, while it's lord was draped confidently in the seaweed green folds of his chiton that swept his feet, crowned in a diadem of pearls and coral, and smelling of the ocean salt, smugness had been engrave on his sun-brown face. Engrave to such an extent, that the marriage goddess carefully arched a haughty eyebrow almost to her hair-line, upon seeing that the god's free hand was empty of any gift whatsoever.
What game does he think he's playing at? She wondered bemusedly, while she waited like the low tide for an explanation. This would be good.
"Where is your gift to my wife, Brother?" Her husband demanded to know, the flashing of his eyes and the warning in his tone declaring that he would allow no disrespect -no matter how small- even from his kin; and Hera's heart swelled to see the quickness with which Zeus sprang to defend her honor.
But rather than looking intimidated, or enraged, as Hera had thought he would...the great teal-eyed sea god instead grinned broadly, quirking his eyebrow in a flamboyant way.
"My gift for the Queen is waiting outside, shall I summon her?"
Her? Hera repeated to herself, with a healthy bit of incredulous distrust. Biting the inside of her cheek, she tried and failed to banish a brief burst apprehension from her sculpted features. What, what on Grandmother Gaia could Poseidon have gotten her? A pet of some sort? Her thoughts whirled as she considered the possibilities. She had never been overly fond of animals, with very few exceptions.
...Could...could her gift actually be one of those strange new beasts -those horses- that the Earthshaker had recently created from the tumbling waves of his ocean, and was forever bragging on about?
If so...then Hera wasn't sure how she felt about that. She quickly began to juggle the odds in her head. True...the beasts were beautiful. Beautiful in the way that the gods by their nature always longed for - always craved. That no one would dare deny.
But from what she had personally seen of them, Hera had gotten the sense that their spirits still carry aspects of the untamed sea within them, and would thus be as rebellious and troublesome as their maker -if not more so. And Hera had a very strong abhorrence of things she couldn't organized or controlled.
With that her mind was made up. Please Gaia, don't let it be a horse, she silently prayed.
"Yes, yes summon her," Zeus ordered impatiently with a flick of his hand, though it was clear that he himself was curious.
Well with that, the Earthshaker brought his trident down onto the palace floor, the noise resonating throughout Olympus...and probably down to the mortal villages that rested at the mountain's based.
Subtle as always, the Queen thought sardonically. Very tactful.
For a moment, absolutely nothing happened.
Just as Hera -and the rest of those assembled there- began to feel that Poseidon had somehow dared to trick them, a sharp gasp was heard from the back of the hall, near to the doors. It was quickly followed by a series of others, and to Hera's irritation, she couldn't see what was causing it over the heads of so many gods.
This become a nonissue, however, when the crowd parted like grass in Zephyrus' Wind in order for her gift to make its way to its giver's side.
Hera's mouth actually fell open. Oh…oh my.
0)o(0
Coming forward towards the dais was a child-goddess. A very young child-goddess, and Hera knew that she was a goddess, and not a nymph, due to the fact that only by divine ichor alone could one be blessed with beautiful golden wings, currently tucked tightly against her thin shoulder blades. She appeared around the mortal age of... twelve, Hera would wager; considering that her youthful frame was still clothed in a short coral-pink chiton, the hem lapping against her bare knees like retreating sea foam.
On her brow the girl wore a diadem impressed with flattened sea pearls, one that was a size too large for her to wear properly –Hera knew this from the way the child's quick hands kept adjusting it, her delicate features expressing an annoy frustration – with matching sets placed on her limbs as anklets and armbands so that they jingled like fetters with her movement. Despite this, she was a lovely little thing.
If rather...unique looking.
Hera blinked to make certain she wasn't seeing things. Though the child's skin was relatively normal –her complexion being the light olive shade commonly found amidst the Grecian deities– her loose hair was…putting it bluntly...rather eccentric. Now, when her head was still, it was a most appealing shade of ambrosial gold –like the darkest of honey– but the slightest twitch or nod caused, from her ears downwards, certain strands of it to shimmer in an utter barrage of color, rippling more so than the scales of ocean fish: Blue and Green. Yellow and Red. Just to name a few.
Then there was the child's eyes, large and luminous as pearls as well, they made up three-fourths of the girl's face, and were an enchanting shade of purple and blue –azure one moment, violet the next. They sifted like the ocean, vast and deep, and piercing in their intelligence. The White Armed could tell that they were, by the way the varicolored orbs sweep over the hall and took its stock; weighted it, measured it, before determining her course of action. And she determined it now, with every step she took towards the dais. Looking into the little girl's gaze was like peering down into a spice jar that held only gemstones...and a good deal of wisdom too.
Therefore, all in all...Hera had to conclude that the girl was a lovely child. One who was sure to grow into a beauty, as did every goddess and nymph.
But this little one, Hera felt with a quickening of cunning, had the potential to become a valuable beauty –and of considerable worth– if her mind could be cultivated to grow alongside her other charms.
Poseidon clearly seemed to know this as well, or at least had a hint of it, if one were to judge from his immensely satisfied expression. Frankly, it made Hera wonder whether or not the Earthshaker was pleased to be rid of her...which in turn made the White Armed ponder all potential reasons why. It was clear that the child was not incompetent, or Poseidon would never have dared to present her as a gift.
What was clear was the obvious grandeur and pride which the sliver-haired god pulled the girl in front of him with, placing his hands on her shoulders in an effective show of ownership –halting like chariots the whispers that were bubbling up from the crowd about who the girl was, and who her parents could be. The Bull was enjoying the suspense.
"Your Majesties, may I present my gift to Queen Hera," he announced at long last. And not a moment too soon as Hera was a breath away from demanding the child's identity.
"This girl you see here before you is named Iris, the firstborn daughter of Thaumas," Poseidon announced with no small amount of flare. "-who as you know, I overthrew to rule the Sea."
Iris.
Ah. Aha. Yes, that would explain it, the older goddess' realized. No ruler wanted the remnants of a previous, and defeated, household to linger on long within his own. It simply couldn't be. They either had to be adapted in, or cast out. Or else locked away altogether -preferable were none would think to look for them. And seeing that this girl was still too young to be married either in or off…Poseidon had clearly taken the nearest chance to be rid of her.
Hera was quick to notice that the child winced at the reminder of her father's defeat, though she was quick to regain control. Meanwhile the entire hall had erupted in excited mutterings.
Thaumas' daughter!
On the slopes and hills of Olympus, the child was already something of a legend. As the story went, the minor goddess had willingly volunteered to serve the Olympian gods as their messenger, in the horrendous battles of the ten-year Titanomachy...after her twin, Arke, had defiantly raced to perform the same function for the Enemy. That little wretch had been punished severely for such an offence - but that was another story.
Since Iris was little more than a toddler at the time, and therefore small and un-suspicious looking, she had been successful in conveying messages across the brilliant road her sire had gifted to her, the day his daughter had been born. That exceptional service was the only reason she was not currently in Tartarus like her sister, and every other traitor.
"-and ever since my victory," the sea god continued on. "Thaumas' family has lived under my roof, this child serving as a handmaiden, and her mother Electra-"
Here Poseidon's smile turned into a smirk, and there was no mistaking the Conquerors' gleam that cross his eyes. Hera had often felt it herself, and had a sense of what was to be said.
"-Her mother Electra has had her hair cut, and serves on my couch, and will soon bear my son."
Ah, yes, Hera acknowledge, pleased with having been correct in her assumption. Such was the fate of women from a conquered House, a defeated people -they were the prize and spoils of the war, along with the other riches that had previously adorned and graced them...riches that now graced and glorified the Olympian women by right of conquest, granted to them by their men, after they had removed it from their former owners.
Amidst the resulting wolf whistles, and her husband's roaring laughter, Hera saw Iris' wince turn into an all-out flinch. She saw the girl's face flushed with a humiliation a child shouldn't have to feel. Normally, Hera would have been laughing with the crowd at the wretch Electra's humiliation…but this time she found that she couldn't, not when said goddess' daughter looked like she was trying her hardest not to cry for her mother's shame. Shame that Hera's mother had also known, in bitter length. Before her children redeemed her.
But multicolored liquid had soon gathered at the corners of her eyes, regardless of the girl's wishes. But she earned Hera's approval when she quickly wiped them away, rather than let them fall. Just as Leukolenos herself had done, as a young girl before the Dark.
Now if Electra's daughter could only learn –as she did– to hold them back altogether, and turn them into honey-words, shrewdness, and planning then that would be something...perhaps she would, Hera figured. Pain and suffering were good motivators for the gathering of skills, the collection of Power. If for no other reason than not to hurt again.
"I give the child to the Queen to be her own personal handmaiden and messenger, seeing that Iris already has expertise in both of those area. She is clever and obedient, and has the required purity and lineage to serve the Queen of the Gods," Poseidon declared. Then his face turned sly. "Is it not true that the bride is in need of one?"
"...Yes it is," Hera replied delicately, after taking a moment to gather her wits. Her mind whirled with the new thoughts, trying to work them into already made plans. A handmaiden...this colorful slip of a girl... was to be her handmaiden? It was true she needed one, as her sisters had their own responsibilities and duty to Greece to attend her as she would require...but it was also true the one she picked must be of a moldable mind, chaste conduct, high blood, and honest nature...could this child serve? Youth would soon fade to true maidenhood, which would be where the true test would be.
However, her lord didn't seem to see it like that.
"That has a nice ring to it," Zeus mused thoughtfully, stroking his beard. Caught up in the merriment, the Lord of the Sky raise a hand and made a sweeping arch (crudely similar to the child-goddess' archway) announcing in a loud voice:
"Iris, Personification of the Rainbow and Handmaiden to Hera…a much kinder fate than either her sister or her parents. Let it be written, and let it be done."
Glaring down at the child with fading interest, the King of the Gods inclined his head in his wife's general direction.
"Well go on girl -go up to your Mistress," he said in a bored tone with a lazy smile, well pleased with his brother's gift after all. "Serve her faithfully and without blemish, and your lineage will not blush to call you their daughter."
Snapping to attention, the child-goddess sucked in a deep breath, as though she was about to be submerged into dark, and uncharted waters. Swallowing hard, Iris' fingers grasped her chiton in a death grip as she climbed up the dais towards her fate, those vivid doe eyes wide and fiercely alert, as though they had caught sight of the hunting hounds.
Coming to stand before the Queen of Olympus, the girl bowed with her hands extended, her palms out in offering, and knees bending as delicately as swans wings.
"My Queen and Lady Mistress, it would be an honor to serve you all my many days," she muttered, in such a careful and formal way that it was obviously rehearsed...but rehearsed in such intonation and prose, that an approving hum began to rise up at Iris' dignity and composure.
Such form for one so young, they marveled. Such grace and maturity as well! All were impressed, and no one more so than the Queen herself.
...Clever child, Hera thought bemusedly, feeling the beginnings of a smile tug at her lips. She's young...but that's what I was looking for. I'll be able to build her up. With a little time and polish...she could be perfect.
Gazing down at the kneeling child-goddess, Hera felt the first stirrings of warmer affection for the girl…a sort of mad desire to guide and nurture the little one, and watch those marvelous wings carry her into Kleos that would surely come from her patroness.
It had been long since Hera, or any who knew her, had regarded or identified herself with sweetness, with softness. She had willingly chiseled it, as such things did not make a Queen. But she had processed it once, was reaching down to Iris before she knew what she was doing. Taking Iris' chin in her hand, the Queen gently tilted it upwards, and peered down into that delicately featured face that was filled to the brim with intelligent sweetness…but also a distressing amount of fear.
Hoping to relive some of that fear, Hera graced the child with a smile, a small one with the promise of genuine warmth...if she could earned it.
"I accepted Iris, the daughter of Thaumas, into my service," she announced out loud to the crowd. "I trust that she will fulfill her duties faithfully, and be a joyful delight in my household. Thank you, my Lord Poseidon, for a most thoughtful gift indeed."
The crowd immediately began to cheer again...and behind them, unnoticed by all, the Moirai's lips had twisted themselves into what might have been smiles.
Yes...the good and bad aside, their pity certainly made for excellence stories. And that was reason enough to allow it no? Unlike most deities, their existence was not one of unending leisure. They needed some amusement for themselves, every now and again. Was that truly so bad?
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Reviews make me happy, so tell me what you thought and I'll update sooner.
I've always like the thought of Hera and Iris having a mother-daughter relationship. Hera needs a female friend. Also how did you like how I wrote the Fates?
