A/N: An early (very early) Halloween gift!fic for Erin, because she deserves it. She inspired, beta'ed and basically brought this fic to life (which is more than my muse, flighty thing that she is, ever did). Do tell me what you think!

A Memoir of Wisdom

(or, A Fistful of Worthiness)

I: Needs

(or, the choices a mother must make)

"Every man is guilty of all the good he didn't do."

-Voltaire.

Because love is a foolish emotion, she has dispensed with it. Because it controls, and will not be controlled, she has discarded it.

She is rationality. She is control. She is an unyielding strategist, the most brilliant of tacticians.

And the girl is an invaluable means to an intricate plot, as are all her siblings.

Not that she doesn't care; but compassion mustn't precede reason. Compassion is too easily swayed, effortlessly governed, readily manipulated. Emotion is a fickle ally, and must be held under check. Never neglected – for then it will flit to another side and turn against you where it may have served.

Sometimes, she wonders if she is heartless.

"But you hate his children," her aunt protests. "As you hate him!"

She looks up from the chessboard, at the small, blonde woman seated across from her on the porch swing. One small, dainty foot pushes off the ground, moving the swing back and forth rhythmically in an almost hypnotic manner. Her eyes are a soft hazel with little flecks of green that brings to mind early wheat fields scintillating under a warm summer sun. (Gentle breezes, and the soft kiss of sun rays on bare skin… )

A gold pin shaped like a spray of roses holds back her hair, and a pair of knitting needles clicks back and forth rapidly in her deft, capable fingers. She fixes her niece with a look that is meant to be penetrating, but only serves to look curious.

"Only because it's advantageous," she smiles brilliantly at her, then turns her face back towards the board, aware of the still-on-going scrutiny. If she moved her queen next to her knight …

"Advantageous." Her aunt's tone is skeptical.

She plucks the corner of her shawl with long, pale, battle-marked fingers. She could have the scars removed, but she chooses not to. Although, of course, it would be occasionally convenient to have an opponent underestimate her due to dainty, blemish-free hands …

"Yes," she says. "Advantageous." She makes the move. Her aunt sets down the needles, and turns her head to look her full in the face. Twilight sun rays catch her hair, making the fine strands glow like burnished gold.

Advantageous, she muses, because her 'rivalry' with her uncle and his children allows her to weave a web of deception – lets her make everyone believe she can be blinded, subject to an eons-long grudge …

"I don't believe you would do that," her aunt muses. "Sacrifice a child? You aren't heartless. You wouldn't have her hurt willfully, would you? She's your daughter."

Another pawn forfeited, and the game is won. "Oh no," she says, earnestly. "She won't be hurt. Not at all. That isn't needed."

It isn't true, of course, that long-standing grudge. She'd gotten over it almost immediately. It doesn't do for one to quarrel over petty matters with their own relatives, for Zeus's sake. Otherwise … Olympus would crumble from within …

***

"I cannot believe his nerve," she growls, staring across the rows of olive trees nestled in the grove beneath the palace. She knows she sounds convincing. She's been venting about the Children of the Sea God for the last three millennia. Sure enough, the goddess of love, staring up at the full moon, gives her a look of complete distaste.

"Oh, puh-lease," she waves a hand, sending a waft of Poison-scented air her way. "Your girl kissed him, and I think it was adorable! Honestly, they're sooo cute together – I don't know why you get all worked up about it! I mean," looking down at her manicured fingernails and rubbing at a non-existent speck of dirt, "He'd do anything for her, and she'd totally do anything for him. It's so sweet I want to cry, and you …" She rolls her eyes at the moon. "Bloody virgins."

Aphrodite turns and leaves the verandah in a huff, the tail of her robes trailing behind her.

"She'd totally do anything for him," she repeats out loud, then laughs, hand clenched into a fist for victory.

***

Because emotion cannot be forced, you need to learn how to make it work for you. To lead emotion, you must first be free of its power. You must cut the ropes it binds you with. Then you must discover how it acts upon others.

If you are careful, and precise, you can then have them work for the greater good, whilst they labor under the impression that they follow their own heart's path.