CHAPTER XXI
Warning: Dark, Mature Themes
As the sun began to set over Olympus, painting the sky in hues of rose, gold and indigo, a pair of light footsteps entered the fragrant confines of a little garden.
An ornate glass door, veiled by delicate curtains, led to a terrace garden whose construction Hera oversaw herself many centuries ago. Olympus had hundreds of gardens, each as elegantly designed and expertly maintained as the next. However, this little enclave of the Queen was particularly special for reasons even unknown to the King.
Allowing the chill of the air to brush against her skin, Hera took a deep breath, drawing her shawl tight around her shoulders. A pain racked her chest as her eyes fell upon the flora that adorned her quiet garden.
Dozens of flowers and plants, their names and existence unknown to Olympus, thrived in this secret place. Some had impossibly tall stems, round heads and woeful petals that emitted an ethereal, violet glow at dusk. Others sported a striking magenta colour with winding thorns that were as unforgiving as they were spectacular. Delicate, gossamer leaves fluttered against the breath of the wind, curious plants peered over one another with ghostly sentience, and translucent petals stole and reflected the glossy hues of the flowers around them. The garden was much like a capsule that stored the memories of another brilliant world, right here in Olympus.
As Hera gazed upon them, a few pensive plants turning to gaze back at her, her mind was brought back to the day before. The hearing was over, the council had left and yet the air of the palace was still so thick she could barely stand to be within its walls.
Making her way across the terrace, she stopped at a bush of flowers whose meek appearance belied their strong fragrance. Gently, Hera brushed a finger against the petal of one flower. As though instructed by dire instinct, every petal quivered before slipping off of the head, disintegrating into a fine dust that swept up into the air. Just as quickly as the petals had left, a new set grew in, their colour a proud plum that contrasted the mauve of before.
In truth, this garden was a gift whose grantor would visit often beneath the silver gaze of the moon on late, cool evenings.
The ethereal flora of this garden was brought to Hera by Hades.
The Queen was full of secrets, naturally. Millenia spent in the palace, operating surreptitiously to keep the position of Olympus firmly grounded amid her husbands most grandiose and lofty plans, she was well accustomed to conducting covert liaisons. Not to mention, her husband was notorious for his near impressive selective hearing. While she often used this to her advantage, it proved to only do her a disservice when her heart weighed heavy with the burden of her station.
Of these secrets, her greatest was her affinity to Hades and his affinity to her.
It was truly an unbelievable tale and an unlikely friendship. To the outsider, Hades and Hera existed literal worlds apart, and as the Queen of Hades' greatest rival, it seemed only natural that Hera would want little to do with her wayward older brother and that Hades would detest his younger, haughty sister. But their story was far from what any outsider could imagine.
Since their birth into the greater realm, Hades and Hera had remained close, much to Zeus' chagrin. When the realms were divided and Hades was sent to govern the Underworld, a rift grew between Hera and himself that seemed nearly impossible to bridge.
However, it was a simple interest that brought the two back into one another's orbit: botany.
It was at a Realm Council meeting, millennia ago when Hades still visited Olympus frequently, that the two discovered this shared interest in passing conversation. Hades commented on the loveliness of the palace gardens, going so far as to offer landscaping advice as he overlooked the grounds. Hera laughed, surprised that the "gloomy" King of the Underworld appeared to be a rather unlikely gardening enthusiast. With a cryptic smile, Hades informed Hera that there was much about him that would surprise her.
Shortly after, Hera would come to agree as their correspondence began.
What started with a few letters – that took far too long to travel across the realms – lead to clandestine meetings in the many gardens of the palace under the cover of night.
The two would walk down winding stone pathways and recall tales and adventures of their past, discuss the state of affairs and of course exchange gardening tips. Where Zeus dismissed the burdens of Hera's heart as trivialities, Hades was invariably attentive. He listened deeply, offered advice where he could and investigated Hera's thoughts to lengths that she would never imagine to go to herself. She was moved by the candour of their being together and did well to digest the council he offered her. However, it was soon after she realised that seldom had she ever done the same for him that Zeus suddenly became suspicious of her evening activities.
Aware of the frequency of their written correspondences and with ever growing discomfort, Zeus interrogated Hera to no end but the Queen quickly dismissed his disquiet as a triviality. Naturally though, she knew that to quell suspicion, their letter correspondence had to cease and their meetings had to become more infrequent. While it vexed her deeply, knowing that her husband had conducted in quite literally thousands of lecherous affairs while her meetings with Hades had remained wholly innocent, the news did not stop Hades from paying an occasional visit.
As she lounged in her quarters, afforded some respite from her duties, a small bird, blacker than the night itself, would arrive and perch itself upon a windowsill. She knew then that if she followed its fluttering form down a dark garden path, hidden among the stalks of equally solemn flowers would be Hades, his stern features softening for a moment to offer her a welcoming smile.
With every short visit, Hades would bring small souvenirs from the Underworld: new and wonderful species of plants, unusual seeds and remarkable flowers. Quickly, Hera knew their presence in the palace gardens would cause too much of a stir – and she quite liked the idea that they were hers alone – thus the two concocted an idea to construct Hera's own private garden, displaying the whimsical rarities of the Underworld for herself alone.
With a bit of soil, a handful of seeds and an eye for design, the two managed to carefully craft the garden right under the King's nose. Upon the completion of construction, Hades cast an enchantment on the garden that would aid in shielding his presence from Zeus and the rest of the palace's hundreds of servants and staff. Thereafter, every so often Hera would hear the chirp of a bird foreign to Olympus and would know that just behind that veiled, ornate door was a new botanical mystery – along with her most cherished friend.
But not so long after, what had blossomed between them soon began to wilt.
The Realm Council meetings grew ever more tense between Zeus and Hades. Unable to meet on common ground, the two clashed at every conference. A dutiful wife, Hera stood behind every one of Zeus' decisions, stony-faced and resolute, much to Hades' disbelief. When he confronted her in the garden as to why she agreed to policies that she truly detested, she argued that she had a duty to her husband and consequently to Olympus. This never failed to arise upon Hades' visits and each time Hera assured him with welling eyes that her choices did not reflect her own feelings towards him. Regardless, the cracks between them were growing faster than she could repair them.
Hera looked out over the terrace and across Olympus. The sun slowly sunk into the horizon and a brilliant gold flooded the plains of the kingdom. Closing her eyes and letting the air rush over her, she remembered with vivid accuracy the events of the evening when the sun was quite like this.
That afternoon at the Realm Council meeting, the ever-present conflict that existed between Hades and Zeus had reached an irrevocable point. The conference ended with Zeus disbanding the council and effectively exiling his brother from stepping foot on Olympian soil without invitation.
Fuming, Hades met Hera in the garden at sunset.
He was indignant, he was infuriated and there was little she could do quell his fury. Up until this moment, she had presented herself as nothing more than an agent of the force that sought to alienate him.
Hera swore she would fix it. Hades questioned just what exactly she could fix in her position. She bumbled through an explanation he had heard before. He spat about the way she villainised him in the conference hall, but wanted his comfort only in the garden. She struggled through a denial. Like the flowers that swayed around them, they went back and forth and back and forth until the stem snapped.
'Why?' Hades boomed, 'Why can you not just…' his voice quivered, 'why does he have so much power over you?'
Hera stared at him. There was an anguish in his eyes she had not seen before.
'Hades,' her voice was barely above a whisper, 'I've told you…I'm…I just…It is my duty to—'
'Serve your husband,' Hades' eyes darkened, 'I know. How I know you, Hera.'
Her throat tightened. Struggling to breathe and with her dress suddenly heavy on her, she stepped towards him.
'Hades…let's not fight anymore,' her eyes burned with tears, 'let's just talk–'
She reached for his hand but as her fingers brushed his skin, his hand dissipated into a dark, glimmering smoke. Hera looked up and found his form being engulfed by plumes of black dust. Her eyes caught his.
There she found the seed of an incorrigible pain that she had cultivated.
A glimmer of warmth bloomed in his eyes before the dark, shimmering dust consumed him, transporting him back to the Underworld.
Hera was suddenly roused from her thoughts by a mournful tune. Beside her, three towering flowers with thick, firm stems caught her attention. As a gust of wind passed over the garden, the flowers, their stems adorned with small holes along their length, sang a melody.
There was no reason to the notes and the time was inconsistent, but the song haunted Hera nonetheless.
Hades had not come to see her since. That was well over a century ago.
'Shame on you, Hera,' She sniffed.
To shed tears now was a selfish pleasure she would not allow herself. She pointed fingers, acted in indignance and vilified Hades before the council, knowing full well that she did not believe him to be the culprit of the beast attacks.
Zeus had holed himself off in his wing of the palace. Still deep in deliberation and chewing his thoughts, Hera knew it would be some time before she saw him again – before he had the answers that Olympus was waiting for.
It took her aback then to find that at the end of the hearing, what seemed to preoccupy the fore of Zeus' mind were Hades words against her.
You told me the truth about how you really feel about this place. And him.
She escaped her husband before he could pry any further about the meaning of those words, but knew he was burdened by the rift of her betrayal nonetheless.
Hera breathed in. The scent of the garden was as hypnotic as ever. It was rich with an earthly fragrance; rich with sweet tones and dear nostalgia.
She watched the sun. It's petals of light withered and waned beneath the weight of the indigo sky as specks of dewy stars began to glimmer, bringing forth the night.
*.*.*
Athena glanced over the stern of the little boat that bobbed and rocked in the river. The water was pitch black and unnaturally thick, nearly viscous. Though nothing gave it light, the surface shimmered.
A grunt and huff came from the boats bow. She caught the ferryman's gnarled grimaced.
'Keep rowing.' She demanded with a glare. Charon clicked his tongue before turning away, pulling and pushing the ores through the water with a new found fury.
Athena looked up, her heart thundering as they came upon the looming gates of the Underworld.