Authoress's note: My thanks to Snapegirlkmf, who gave me permission to write this tale which is based upon her excellent story Two Hawks Hunting, specifically Chapter 18.
In that chapter, she deviates from the books by inventing another Horcrux called The Dagger of Discord for Harry and Severus to destroy. Some of the history of this weapon is given, but I thought it would be fun to write a story which goes into more detail.
Knowledge of Snapegirlkmf's alternate universe in both Broken Wings and Two Hawks would be helpful for reading this story.
That being said, this is not a fic which takes place in the world of Harry Potter, though there will be references to H P scattered throughout this tale. This is meant to give the dagger which Snapegirlkmf created its own unique history, until the events she has described in Two Hawks Hunting.
I will cover events from world history and mythology in this fic, so I hope you will have as much fun reading this as I am having writing each installment.
Comments are always welcome.
Enjoy.
It was not often that an Olympian felt the need to surrender to the passions which governed humanity. But on this occasion, Eris felt that she was justified in letting herself indulge in an emotion which mortals would equate with joy. Except that this joy was warped and twisted triumph turned to dark exaltation within the essence of a goddess devoted to strife and corruption.
She was ecstatic at the success of her plan, especially because she knew that none on Olympus suspected her true purpose behind making and offering her golden apple as a prize for the fairest amongst the goddesses.
All of her hopes that her cursed apple would cause mischief at the wedding of Peleus had been more than fulfilled. She had not received an invitation, but then again she hadn't expected one either. No one in their right mind would think of inviting a goddess devoted to spreading discord to a marriage celebration, especially when the bride was being bound to a mortal against her will. Her one consolation was that he was of royal birth, and the Moirae had foretold that a son born of this union would be a great warrior.
At first Eris pretended indifference, steadfastly ignoring the other gods' interest that an immortal goddess of the sea was to wed a mortal prince. But as she listened an idea slowly began to take root, and she pretended to be furious. Athena so calm and logical pointed out the reasons why she could hardly be expected to be a guest at this event, while other Olympians cast her looks of incredulity that she should even entertain the hope of being asked. Only Ares remained silent, casting his fellow Olympian a glance in which curiosity and speculation were mingled. She answered it with a quiet smile of satisfaction and an arrogant toss of her luxuriant fiery curls, before picking up an apple from the silver bowl at her right and biting into it hungrily.
Like all deities she had no need for mortal food, but found herself indulging in this pleasure in the faint hope that it might alleviate the monotony of eternity. As she tasted the sweetness of the juice and the crisp flesh, she reflected that an apple would make a wonderful tool of destruction. And in that moment her pretence of anger was set aside as she considered the mischief she might cause at the wedding of this mortal prince.
So she crafted the fruit with patient care, placing at its core a single spark of immortal fire which would lend it a glory and radiance which no mortal or goddess could resist. But mixed with divine fire were the things which made her existence bearable. Envy and malice was always a potent combination, and Eris was sure once her treasure was complete that it would cause trouble which would be spoken of on Olympus for many centuries to come.
She made her entrance while the feast was being served, tossing her golden treasure with careful precision so that it bounced and rolled merrily to the end of the table where the greatest of the gods were seated. All eyes followed its progress, and Eris was pleased to note the look of raw hunger which the bride Thetis cast the apple as it rolled passed her goblet. Many hands reached to claim it, but it was Hermes the swiftest of the gods who finally captured the illusive bobble and held it up to the light. In a clear authoritative voice, he read out the inscription.
"For the fairest." Immediately three goddesses claimed that the apple should be awarded to her alone. Eris couldn't help smiling as the sound of voices raised in anger echoed off the vaulted ceiling. Having three of the most powerful deities quarrel over her treasure was an outcome she hadn't dared to hope would ever happen. Joyfully she drank in their bitterness and envy, savoring it as one would the finest of wines.
Hera seated at Zeus's right glared around at the wedding guests, protesting that as queen she should rightfully claim the apple. Wise Athena calmly pointed out that as she was Zeus's favored daughter and the fairest on Olympus, then only she should have the privilege of accepting the golden fruit. Aphrodite, who represented the passions of men, was the most vocal, arguing that she should be awarded the apple because her beauty was beyond compare.
If Zeus had not parted the three quarreling goddesses, Eris was certain that war would have broken out. Wearily the ruler of the skies declared that a mortal should decide who was the fairest, and chose young Prince Paris of Troy to settle the dispute.
Eris smiled triumphantly, for she had meant the apple to fall into mortal hands, for the outcome was always unpredictable whenever a human was involved. So she watched as Hera, Athena and Aphrodite appeared on Mount Ida, and presented Paris with the choice which would eventually lead to one of the greatest wars ever fought.
With amusement Eris listened as Paris tried to be diplomatic, suggesting that the apple should be divided amongst the three deities. That idea was immediately rejected, as each goddess stepped forward to offer the young prince of Troy bribes.
"Your choice is simple Paris. "Choose me gentle youth, and I will give you great riches and honor." Hera spoke."
Next wise Athena stepped forward to address the prince. "If you choose me son of Priam, I will make you the wisest of all mortals. The kings of the earth will come to you for advice, and bards will sing of your greatness for many ages after your thread is severed." This declaration moved the young prince, and he eagerly stepped forward to place the apple in Athena's outstretched hand.
But like countless mortals before him, Paris had not reckoned on the sheer power Aphrodite's presence always produced. Even the gods knew to tread carefully around her, for beneath that radiant beauty was a cruel and vindictive goddess who enjoyed using her power to cause mischief amongst gods and mortals alike.
The goddess stepped forward to stand beside Athena. Divine and mortal gazes locked, and Paris found that he could not look away as the goddess spoke to him in a voice which held the promise of passion.
"If you will give me the apple mortal prince, then I will reward you with the most beautiful woman on earth for your consort. Only I can offer you such pleasure."
Eris had hoped that this mortal would be able to summon some resistance to the fair goddess's charms. But it was not to be. Scarcely had Aphrodite finished her final sentence before the young prince of Troy let the apple fall into her hands. Eris did not stay to witness Hera and Athena's anger; instead she fled back to her realm, her keen mind turning over a dozen scenarios that could occur because of the prince's hasty judgment.
But beneath her speculation lay an unfamiliar emotion, one which it took her a few moments to identify as dissatisfaction. No longer was she content with causing mischief amongst mortals and do what she was born to do. Eris did not possess the gift of foresight, but she sensed that what had just happened on Mount Ida would be the catalyst for an event which would be remembered for untold centuries.
She craved that glory and place of power in the minds of men.
A cold smile played about the fair goddess's lips as she considered the possibilities. Her strengths were the fields of war and conflict, the breakings of friendships and quarrels which led to misery and pain. What then could she create that would embody all that she was, something so powerful that it would endure long after the worship of her divine brethren passed into the realms of legend?
With an ease born of many centuries, Eris stilled her thoughts, seeking that state of mind where ideas are born from silence. This was a depth of focus which humanity and immortals alike struggled to attain, for from it came the creative imaginings which helped to shape the thoughts and destinies of empires. And as Eris had hoped one single thought emerged, fashioned from the things which lay at the very core of her essence.
She would forge a dagger, one deceptively decorative and beautiful, and yet it would possess the power to forever alter the fates of mankind through subtle seduction. No mortal fire lit at a peasant's hearth would help her fulfill this desire, for those flames served merely as a means to live in comfort, to cook food or fashion the tools for peace or war.
She dared not seek out the current abode of Hephaestus either, for he would be far too curious about her reasons for using his tools to say nothing of the strength of flame he so effortlessly commanded. No she would not seek out the forge of Hephaestus; instead she would do her work at the hearth of ultimate power, where the forces which governed the world met in counsel. Olympus.
She chose her moment carefully, waiting until Hestia was absent and the throne room of Olympus lay empty. Only then did she dare to approach and lay her small hoard of gold upon the smooth stones of the hearth. Few knew of the power this place could bestow, indeed she suspected that only Zeus was acquainted with the ancient secrets which sacred fire held. The truth that it fed and absorbed whatever an immortal willed it to accept, so that anything forged within it would be imbued with those emotions and would answer to that deity's prompting alone.
With great care Eris focused her power upon the glowing heap of metal, molding it to her will with a soft word of command. As the heat grew more intense, she poured all of her malice and cruelty, every memory of bloody conflict and senseless killing that she had known over the millennia of her existence into the molten gold. Excitement coursed through her as she worked, and gladly she added the sound of her voice to the music of flame. Rich, low and glorious, the notes became interwoven with the goddess's thoughts, until it could not be said where one ended and the other began.
Whatever the answer it was music of pure darkness which was composed in that hour, a melody of awful majesty where the virtues of friendship and loyalty inevitably bowed to the will of darkness and devoured the hollow pain of blood innocence forever corrupted. None who heard her song would be able to resist, for it called to that part of the soul which so many fought to deny or forget. The unacknowledged desires which grew ultimately into the rending of friendships and blood spilt in rage.
Eris had decided when first she conceived this plan, that her voice would be inextricably woven with the purpose of the dagger. Even when she was no longer worshiped, or her name faded into obscurity, she would still live on in this object, a dark siren ever ready to lure any who crossed the dagger's path to destruction.
The final step of her plan was in many ways the most difficult, for it required her to trap a spark of sacred fire at the dagger's core. With slow and precise movements Eris reached into the very heart of the fire where the hottest flames were born. A moment later her hand emerged from the flames, a single brilliant spark grasped possessively in the slender fingers. At her bidding it sped towards the dagger, which trembled as if in some twisted mockery of a lover's caress as it merged with the cooling gold. Eris smiled in relief, knowing that the dagger would guard that spark well brought her comfort, for she had no desire to share the fate of Prometheus if Zeus should discover what she had done.
But there was one final thing which this golden dagger, tempered and strengthened in sacred fire still required to make it complete. With great care Eris set into the hilt a flawless ruby which she had taken from the kingdom of Hades. It was right that a tool meant for destruction should be born of materials taken from the realm of the dead. The ruby had been a wonderful find, for it had been taken from deep within the earth which had nurtured the pomegranate that had forever bound Persephone by trickery to her dread lord. Eris had immediately grasped the significance such a jewel would lend her creation, for any object with such a powerful history would help to increase the dagger's power to effortlessly seduce and tempt an innocent into darkness.
With her task complete, Eris's thoughts turned to wondering who should receive the dagger. There were many possibilities, but at last she settled on Agamemnon the powerful king of Mycenae. Yes he would be a warrior more than worthy of the gift of this blade.
Her course set, she descended from Olympus, cloaking her true form in the guise of a young widow before approaching the gates of Mycenae. With practiced ease she mingled with the crowds in the agora, until she spotted Agamemnon dismounting his horse.
Approaching him Eris greeted the young king courteously, and launched into the story she had prepared.
"My lord king, I've traveled many days to find you. My husband served in your army for seven years, and came back to me after he had done his duty to you and the kingdom. But not long after his return he was stricken with fever, and two weeks ago he was called to Hades' realm. He asked that I present this dagger to you as a token of his loyalty and respect, for he always said that no soldier could ever ask for a greater commander or king to serve."
Moved by her story, Agamemnon reached out to take the cloth wrapped bundle from the stranger, offering his sympathy for her loss. Carefully he withdrew the dagger, admiring its balance and exquisite workmanship, and noting with practiced ease the care that this warrior had taken with his weapon.
Eris immediately felt the dagger stir as if it recognized that here was its first victim. And no wonder, for the house of Atreus bore a curse which stretched back over many generations, to the time when Tantalos sought to trick the gods into eating the body of his only son. Mortal eyes would not be able to glimpse the weight of the curse which rested upon the young monarch, but to Eris it was plainly visible. Strands of ancient power were intertwined with this mortal's destiny so thoroughly that she knew he would have much work to do to keep from offending the gods. As she looked into Agamemnon's eyes, Eris could see the knowledge of great responsibility and suffering within the cool gaze of this warrior, and wondered that a mortal could bare such a dark curse with such grace and dignity. Now it was even more potent, for the dagger's essence had at once woven itself with the power of Atreus's curse, thus tripling an already heavy burden.
Thanking this stranger for honoring her husband's request, Agamemnon returned to his palace, unaware that he bore a weapon which would forever change the fates of countless mortals. He could not know that it was destined to play a part in the shattering of friendships, and the ruin of great kingdoms.
Nor could he know that many ages hence this seemingly innocent dagger would become a means to keep death at bay. It would be sought and wielded by a youth born to command the darker magics, who was destined to become the most feared of his people. Until the day when two souls marked by darkness, both skilled in the arts of war and magic found the strength and courage to destroy Eris's accursed gift to humanity.