Another day, another set of arms, Hephaestos thought as he filled the cast for the helmet with white hot iron, his strong arms having no problem handling the heavy bucket with molten content, the heat not bothering him the slightest. But this armour was special, had to be special, as he was doing it for one of his best friends, the goddess Thetis. Or rather, for Thetis' combater of a son, the demigod Achilles. The helmet cast had been modelled with the perfect proportions of Achilles' head, it would fit him like a second skin, not straining, itching or scafing anywhere. Still, it would cover every tender and soft mortal flesh possible. The openings for the eyes would give the young man a perfect view over the battlefield, not a single corner obscured by shadowing metal. For a while the god had been toying with mounting polarizing glass in the eye openings, but he had yet to discover a way to make glass less fragile. And he couldn't risk the young man getting a shard of cracked glass in his eye, blinding it. For a god that would be no problem, since their eyes would instantly shield, but mortals had no such protection. Hephaestos shrugged at the thought, gods had no use for polarizing materials anyway as their eyes polarized themselves when needed.
As he watched the metal solidify, he reached out and tugged at it here, smoothed it there. He loved the feeling of hot iron against his fingers, it was comforting. Something comprehensible, something he could rely upon that it behaved the way it was supposed to under certain conditions. Metals melted at certain hot temperatures, different for each one of them, and then they cooled off and solidified when the temperatures dropped. They all had their constant attributes, gold was glittering yellow and soft, iron was dark and hard, the steel alloy whitish and even harder. Silver had its certain beauty and copper its. Titanium made for wonderful scrying bowls and uranium emitted that strange kind of heat that melted even stone and phosphor glowed in the dark. Glass was marvelous, transparent and smooth but ah so fragile. He had created mock-armours of coloured glass for the muses to wear while performing, red and blue helmets and shields with gold threads as inlays, very beautiful but nothing for real battle.
But still, all these things were foreseeable. Not like people. Sometimes – no make that often – people pissed Hephaestos off by being so unpredictable. He never knew from one hour to another how they would react, and that made him uncertain and edgy. Like this darn war. For years, his family and friends had been going about this Troy thing, sometimes it seemed to him that it was just a pastime, a fun competition, then the emotions could heat up and they'd be at each other throats even at dinner time. And from time to time Zeus had forbid them to engage, but the next day or even the next hour he was too busy to pay attention and then the gods sneaked down there in spite and messed the war up even more. Darn dad, you could have stopped this the very first week. So why didn't you? Before it got all out of hand? Isn't it true that you find this interesting and exciting as well, even though you pretend otherwise? Hephaestos sighed and reached for an awl and pierced two holes in the helmet, by the neck, where the leather strap would fasten. And what about myself, he then admitted. This is fun. Making arms is enjoyable. Always a challenge to make them both efficient and great looking. And to come up with some new ameliorative things to add. Like those special glove-joints I made for Athena the other week. If I hadn't been so interested in this and so ready to jump at it when asked for, then I imagine the war had ended sooner too, because no one had been down there showing off their new apparels.
But the other week, what a mess that was, he took a step back and then he used divine powers to hasten the cooling process and also annealing the metal. Ares goes down there of course. So what else is not new? Then he took the ceram cast and broke it carefully apart, to reveal the helmet. But then my wife goes there too! And THAT was a new one! Damn you Aphrodite, war is so not your scene! You should be making love and pairing, you're as wrong on a battle field as I would be in a matchmaking workshop. I'd probably throw Nemesis together with Dionysos or something equally stupid.
The helmet was a beautiful piece in all its simplicity. But the guys down there didn't like simple, they wanted decorative. So he'd have to give them decorative. Aphrodite, wish I dared to say this to you face to face, but I have a certain feeling that you never got over Ares. You'd probably be mad at me for saying this, but why the chaos did you marry me? Oh, I remember clearly that day almost 400 years ago now when dad demanded of you to make up your mind and choose between me and my older brother. Ares was so cocky that time, so darn sure that you'd take him. And to be honest, I thought so too, I had almost given up the hope of ever getting you for real, heart and soul and not just that delicious and hot little body of yours. So why did you take me? When it was Ares you wanted all the time?
In a hot stone bowl there was a simmering soup of molten bronze. Hephaestos reached down there and pulled out a handful which he poured over the smooth stone table. Then he cooled it down until it became a soft, dough like structure and from that he began to shape long, thin threads which he wound around his fingers, braided and began to make patterns. Patterns which he covered Achilles' helmet in, creating an artwork of abstract, flame-like decorations. He also made two small lions, which he placed on the head, each of them on each side of the crown where he'd later mount the helmet crest. He also made an eagle and placed that one in front of the crest-holder. He'd done something similar for Ares earlier, but at that time he used other beasts, horses and a rooster, so no one could blame him for not being original. And now you go down there to join him in battle, dear wife, what was it that got into your lovely little head? I've always been defending you when Artemis has called you 'stupid blond', telling her off that hair colour has nothing to do with brain capacity. Besides Athena is blond too, and she's as far from stupid as you can get.
Athena yes, she goes to Troy too, and that's when the real mess starts. Dear wife, she's apparently still holding it against you that you cheated in that stupid beauty contest. As if she didn't do that too? Not to mention mother! That kind of shit should be below her, shouldn't it? Women! Actually I understand women even less than men! He held up the helmet in the light. A beautiful piece! Thetis is going to be glad, and Achilles will be proud to wear it! Or perhaps Athena just wanted to show off HER helmet. The one I made before I started on this project, it was after all a cool piece too. Three helmet crests, now that sure had them talking!
In any case, first Athena goes down there and disguise herself as a mortal girl, and flirts down that brawny no-brain grunt Diomedes, getting him to let her drive his chariot, and she goes right for my Aphrodite. And I swear I had no idea that Athena could do metal transmutation too, that she could turn Diomedes' spear into adamantine at that very crucial moment. And Diomedes tears up my wife's waist, arm and right hand, the horror of it. And I wonder what hurt the most, dear wife, your injuries or your pride, because obviously you didn't see your sister in law driving that chariot but you only had eyes for the Greek. Where you looking at his pecs or what? Distracted much, cupcake? And the next moment you flash back home and storms into dad's office where he's in council with Poseidon and Hera and a few others, bleed on his carped and demands of him to heal you. Of course he got mad at you! And of course you have to come here and whine to me that you were unfairly treated. I love you dearly, but sometimes you're a bit too much.
And Athena? Mrs. smartass wasn't content with you apparently, now she steers Diomedes' wagon towards Ares. Yes, the arrogant sod sure had it coming for him for quite some time. But neither he saw Athena until it was too late and she had her little toy boy wounding him too. And we'll get almost a re-run of what Aphrodite did about half an hour earlier. Now dad is so mad it's a wonder he doesn't electrocute everyone around him. Because Ares is even more wounded than dear Aphrodite and he's bleeding on the sofa too! And still he can't refrain from boasting about how the war is going his way. As if anyone could care less. Jerk! And if that's not enough he runs off to comfort Aphrodite too – and I know very well how these two ended up comforting each other. What I do know less well is why on Earth I keep up with it. Why I don't tire and kick out Deetie on her pretty little ass, telling that is over. Perhaps because I still love her. Do I?
And sorry dad, but you've got yourself to blame too, you could've stopped this crap earlier on if you were afraid for your furnishing. You could have forced the Trojans and the Greeks to sit down and do some serious peace talk. And never mind that bimbo Hellen, after all she was just a lousy excuse for starting a war about trade routes, it's the old money talks syndrome again.
Putting down the helmet, Hephaestos went over to the anvil where he started on the next part of the armour bundle, a new sword for Achilles. This, he'd promised himself, was going to be some kind of masterpiece!
Hammer time!
He brought up the large iron hammer and began working on the metal, his annoyance with big brother Ares and with Aphrodite had ignited his strength, and furiously he banged away on the metal, still with the sharp control to not destroy the sword-in-making.
Hammer time!
Damn you, Aphrodite! Damn you Ares! And damn you all for messing this up so completely!
Hammer time!
The thing with Patrokles was actually a disaster. If it wasn't for Thetis, I wouldn't make this piece for Achilles! If he wasn't his mother's son I'd tell him to go screw himself.
Hammer time!
He could have done his thing down on the battlefield instead of pouting over a lass in his tent while his young cousin Patrokles goes out there pretending he's Achilles, wearing his armour and getting himself killed by the hands of Hector. I mean really, Patrokles! It was Hector! Not some two-bit squaddie with a badly crafted sword and as much fighting skill as a donkey.
Hammer time!
Still, Achilles will get the finest armour down there on that battle field, save for the gods themselves. Not that it'll help him in the end, I'm sorry Thetis beloved but I'm ready to bet my best pair of extension bellows that Achilles will bite the dust at the plains in front of Troy.
Hammer time!
Then it all comes down to the fact that the brat is a demi-god. Perhaps he chooses to join the circles of the gods. He has the genetic ability after all.
Hammer time!
Perhaps Hector kills him too.
Perhaps I'm a harpy.
Hammer time!
Nope, Hector won't kill Achilles, he might be strong and brawny, but Achilles is faster. Even I can see that he is the better of those two. And what was it Athena said, the lad has so fast reflexes that he might even challenge certain gods?
Ha-mer-time!
It's crazy times we live in! The things war brings out of people! Gods and mortals alike.
Hammer time!
Stop!
Hephaestos put down the hammer and lifted the newly made sword from the anvil, holding it up in the air, watching the reflections of the combustion fires flash off the flawless iron blade as he turned it, feeling its balance in his hand. Perfection! No matter that he knew just the slightest more than the basics when it comes to fencing, he knew well when the balance of a sword in a fighter's hand was perfect. Emulating Achilles' strength and size and shape of hand, he evaluated this new weapon. Then he put it down on the anvil again, brought up the hammer and gave it three final strokes. Finally, he adjusted the handler a bit, so it would fit the Greek warrior's hand effortlessly, even when he wore battle gloves.
"What's that?" her voice cut his thoughts off and he turned around. His wife was standing there just as handful of steps away, her cheeks slightly flushed from the heat of the forge and her short dress clinging to her body in an alluring way. He had been so caught up in his work that he hadn't sensed her arrival, but now he found himself staring at that single rivulet of sweat travelling down her exposed cleavage.
"That's a wagon's wheel, wife," he grunted.
"Oh, come on, I can tell that it's a sword! And I still have a name."
"Then why are you asking – Aphrodite?"
"I wonder, who's it for?" She reached out with a hand.
"You can't touch this!" the annoyance of his voice surprised even himself.
"Apparently you're still pissed with me for last week," her voice taking a frustrated tone too.
"War is nothing for you."
"I guess that's what I was trying to find out for myself," she put her hands to her hips. "I'm tired of everyone all the time telling me what I can do and what I can't do."
"The only thing I keep telling you that you can't do is fucking Ares!"
"That's not fair!"
"What?"
"Holding that against me!"
"I give up," he sighed and rubbed a big hand across his eye-lids, not bothering with smearing soot and grime across his face. "It's for Achilles?"
"What about him?"
"This sword is for Achilles, miss attention span gold fish!"
"Well thank you, I can tell my presence here is not appreciated, so maybe I'll go off fucking Ares."
With that Aphrodite swirled around and started heading out of the workshop, her heels slamming as she took the spiraling staircase two steps at a time, her back straight as a rod and her fists balled. Watching her leave, Hephaestos wavered between snarling something after her and pleading for apologize. But in the end he said nothing, the lassitude their relation suffered from was something similar to metal fatigue. It was coming apart shard by excruciating shard, cutting his heart like adamantine, a slow, painful agony which he knew only one remedy for. Distraction. Sweet distraction. Sweet exhausting work.
Now, a shield for Achilles. He would use the same cast as for Athena's, they were almost equal in height and while Achilles was broader and heftier, he couldn't lift as much as Athena. But it would only be the diameter and the concaveness of the shield that would be the same, the decoration would be pretty different. Athena's latest had got yet another interpretation of that Medusa head, she seemed to have a thing for dragging her late old priestess in the dirt. But for Achilles, Hephaestos had an entirely different design in mind. His old shield had carried a stylized ant, the symbol of the myrmidons. And the blacksmith god had decided to stick with the ant theme, although this insect was quite different. It was a head of an ant, complete with razor sharp and horrid looking mandibles and facet eyes, where every single facet would be a piece of highly polishing steel. Those facets would be throwing off reflections, blinding the opponent as Achilles flexed the shield arm. Yes, he's sure going to love that, Hephaestos mused as he got back to work.
Two hours later, Thetis was back in the forge, regarding the arms set on display, the helmet, the chest plate, the greaves, the sword and the spear, the shield.
"It's a masterpiece," she breathed out. "I don't know how I'm going to thank you."
"Just give it to your son, tell him to wear them well and to be careful out there. You and your sister sure did so much for me when I was young, that this is just a little bit on the way to pay you back for everything."
"I met your wife by the way, she didn't look all too happy."
"She's been cheating on me. With Ares."
"Darling," Thetis tilted her head and laid a slender, white hand on his broad, hairy arm. "But you did know that was going to happen already when you married her."
"That doesn't mean it's not hurting like a blast. My mortal apprentices, they tell me how much it hurts when they burn themselves. All they want to do is put the inflicted body part in ice cold water. I don't know what it's like, since gods don't burn. But I can just imagine it feels the same when learning that your wife is betraying you. Especially with your older brother."
"Oh, sweetest," Thetis engulfed him in a hug – or perhaps it was the other way around, she almost melted against his massive form. "Then let me be your cooling water. I so wish that certain things could've been different."
"Like what?" His arms folded around her petite form, sea goddesses were so small, almost like mortal women, and since he was broad and stout she more or less disappeared in his arms.
"When I married Peleus, Achilles' father, I guess I had hoped..."
"What?"
"That there would have been a way to make him immortal. The way Zeus turned people like Ariadne and Psyche immortal. But there was none, he didn't have the genetical ability, Zeus told me. Oh, I miss him so much. His humour, his low-keyed charm, his... well, sometimes we could just sit together being silent, just enjoying the presence of each other, do you know how rare that is?"
"I have no idea, I guess."
"And it's the same as with you, I knew I was going to lose him already upon marrying him. Although I hadn't expected it to happen so soon. I had guessed we'd get at least a few more years together. Then again, watching home to grow old and die would have been an equal and prolonged heartbreak. And now I fear for Achilles so much, that he's heading down the same road as Peleus. That he's not coming back to me."
"But he's got enough of divine blood within him that he can chose for himself, he can choose to be immortal the day his time comes."
"Yes I know," she sighed. "But I don't think he'd want to. He's not overly found of the immortals. Not after what he'd seen on the battlefield. How they play around with human lives. How this war is but a game to them. And how people's live are worth nothing."
"I can't deny he's right about that," the blacksmith sighed and then he buried his nose in her black, almost bluish hair. It smelled salty, like strawberries and thyme, a smell he knew so well. "Some of us, a lot of us more likely – we can be total assholes quite often. Perhaps he does best staying away."
Then he did something he'd have a hard time to rationalize away later. He let go and tilted her head back, her Aegean blue eyes met his cherry wood brown and the next moment he had cupped her little head in his large hands and were kissing her softly, tenderly. And she responded by opening her mouth and meeting his tongue. That kiss didn't last long, but it did something to them. It changed something, just like when you anneal metal. As they disconnected, they both felt vitalized, strengthened and less confused and at loss.
"Thanks again, Hephaestos. And thanks for the kiss as well. I guess I... it was good. But I hope you don't want more, because I'm not sure..."
"Don't worry about that, it was really a slip from my side. Now, take down the arms to your son, and tell him that he must live his life the way he feels is right. He must be Achilles, whatever that is a good or a bad thing. Otherwise he won't be pleased with myself."
"You're so wise, Heph!"
"Come on, Thetis, it was you who taught me that. When I was but a boy and did not know what to do with my life other than that I was good at making things. Then you told me that I had to be Hephaestos, and that I had to figure out for myself what that meant."
She flashed him a small smile as she opened up the large leather sack she had brought with her and then Hephaestos helped her packing down the arms in it. With a gentle smile she then hoisted it up on her right shoulder and gave him a tilted salute with her left arm. As a goddess she had no problem carrying all that heavy metal, as tiny as she was, and it must feel strange to her knowing that her son was not able to do the same.
Can she feel it, Hephaestos wondered. Does she know that she'll lose him too? That this cursed war will have his fragile life as well?
Then he turned towards his anvil, he had more things to do before he could call it a day.
Hammer time!