Author's Note: I seem to do that thing that the Ancient Greek poets did: talking a lot. With some minor tweaks, 10,000 words here according to Microsoft Word and about 2,000 worth of stuff written up that badly needs to be added to and edited before it's post worthy. (I'm a perfectionist and lately I've been driving myself nuts with my need to have everything just so, and that definitely makes the writing process go much slower for me-I swear I'm not one of those writers who holds a chapter "ransom" until they get a certain number of reviews/favorites/followers, and never will be. That being said, I've noticed that several people have ended up deleting it from their follow/favorite list which makes me a bit sad because I've worked really hard on this in addition to having two jobs, but I'm so, so grateful for everyone who has stuck with me over the last few months and even years).
So let's just call this part 1 of Hephaestus' revenge-and I really think he comes into his own.
In the last chapter, I promised there would be a whole lot of angst and Olympian family drama, so hopeful there's plenty here and there's still more to come because let's face it, the gods get off on creating drama. Also included is the introduction of Hephaestus and Ares' biological sisters and a potentially OOC Zeus, although in my defense he's trying really hard to be on his best behavior for Hera's sake.
Hephaestus' marital status may have changed, though the appearance of his palace remained the same. Handsome oak-wood furnishings, brightly patterned tapestries upon the walls (which went with the earthy color scheme of the coverlets, curtains, and woven rugs that permitted the artistic works to truly shine), bronze sculptures of his own creation placed here and about, a magnificent stone-laid hearth, all once lending themselves in his eyes to a comforting, homey atmosphere, now reminded him painfully that he was still its sole occupant. His spirits were not even brightened when he moved forth into his bed chambers and he looked upon the painted mural that spanned the length of one wall of Lemnos, the place he loved above all others.
Well, it was not as if he had transported himself here from his forge to rest his weary bones, but rather to lay his trap. With the utmost care, he laid upon the bed his newest creation, a net woven out of spite and golden fibers, thinner than hair's breadth, but strong enough to hold fast whatever captive, or two, it might ensnare. The night before, he had come to the harrowing conclusion that he knew absolutely nothing about his wife's true character, although his brother's ways were as predictable as they were abhorrent, and the blacksmith god's instincts told him that there was nothing that would please Ares more than laying claims to Aphrodite in what was supposed to be their marital bed.
As for luring the adulterous pair into the bed and catching them in the act, he was sure that he would think quickly of some way. She, after all, would be meeting him here—his palace that was, certainly not his private quarters—in a couple of hours as they had agreed upon some time prior.
The immortal smith frowned, shutting his eyes and rubbing his temples to stave off the onset of a throbbing headache. Trapping…plotting…this trickery was not his way, it was not in his nature to inflict harm upon another being…now his only full-blooded brother he would not mind humbling, humiliating even, hanging in a net for all to ridicule, but he could not bear the thought of inflicting any injury upon his wife, though she had not paid him such consideration. He decided then that he would settle on a more peaceful solution; he would seek an audience with Hera and entreat her to annul his union with Aphrodite, leaving her free to marry her lover, leaving him to his own devices just like he had always been.
Emotion lodged in his throat as the hurt at her betrayal made its presence again known and, sliding down his hand to pinch the crooked bridge of his nose, he bowed his head as tears clung to his down swept eyelashes. Why? Why had she allowed him to believe that she had come to care for him? For her own amusement, his brother's, mayhap? Did she, after enduring his offensive existence for as long as she could tolerate, run immediately back to the comforting arms of the God of War so that the pair of them could laugh at his gullibility? The undeniable attraction that he had seen last night through Helios' eyes made suddenly all the more sense to him: equals in beauty (she the feminine embodiment, he the masculine), equals in cruelty (he reveling in the physical aspect of it, she in the psychological aspect), hand-chosen by the Fates as mates, denied their destiny by his interference.
Anger came now, and roughly he wiped his eyes free of tears. There would be no more of this utterly pathetic sniveling, no more whimpering like a wounded animal. With strengthened resolve, he disappeared in a puff of dark smoke…
…and, upon resuming his solid form outside the doors of the heavenly queen's bedroom, near collided with a fair-haired, hazel-eyed version of Hera, his eldest sister Eileithyia, Goddess of Childbirth, who bore a tray laden with nectar and ambrosia. As the chinaware rattled ominously from the contact, the startled siblings struggled to steady her wobbling serving-tray, managing not to spill a drop of nectar or a speck of ambrosia between them, before they could concern themselves with pleasantries.
With her balance restored, Eileithyia expertly shifted the weight of the silver tray atop one palm and her bent wrist as though she were simply a common servant as opposed to being the firstborn of the second generation of gods and stood on her tiptoes to wrap her freed arm around his neck, uncaring of the fact that doing so made her gown sooty as his peplos, giving him a peck on the cheek. Mindful of her decidedly smaller form he gingerly returned her embrace. He had always been fond of her; though possessing nowhere near the amount of power as Ares, or indeed himself, as he so often forgot, she had a gentle and kindly disposition that elevated her above the rest of them. (When she was very young, Poseidon had doted immensely on his first niece and gifted her a small, stocky 'child-sized' horse that she almost never rode out of distress at the idea of hurting the animal, preferring instead to lead it about on a halter or braid its mane and tail). Whilst she, Ares, and Hebe, the Goddess of Youth, had grown to maturity together, she acting as something of a surrogate mother to them as godlings, she alone had welcomed him, their absent brother, with open arms. (Hebe, a more cherubic variant of Hera with a tumble of tawny tresses, made no attempt to hide her revulsion of him when they encountered each other, scrunching up her button nose and narrowing her large amber brown eyes to slits). His arms encircled her more tightly.
"It has been too long, Hephaestus," she said earnestly once they broke apart, "a decade at least." She enjoyed the company of her younger brother, finding him to be a refreshing change of character from so many other Olympian residents, remaining truly good-hearted despite the hardships inflicted upon him in his earliest days.
"Apologies," murmured the master smith, casting down his eyes in contriteness at the thought of neglecting his dearest sister. "I fear I have no decent means of excusing myself." Briefly he wondered if this was too how Aphrodite had felt, that his duties had taken priority over her, wondered if his extended absences were what had driven her to seek out a more attentive lover. He was an inferior husband and inadequate brother, really just a miserable excuse for a god altogether. He had told himself that he was through with this pitiful, self-pitying display, but Eileithyia's genuine affection was his undoing. How badly now he realized that he just wanted to be loved.
Seeing as he could not find it with the Goddess of Love herself, was there really any hope for him?
Whatever response the elder goddess had anticipated from him, that was the furthest from her expectations. Letting the serving-tray remain suspended in midair (she might not have had powers enough to make her worthy of entry into the Dodekatheon like her brothers, but she could still bend the world and natural laws governing it enough to suit her purpose), she turned her full attentions to him, sensing the depth of his pain. She curved a small hand over his cheek, his tears dampening her fingers as her own filled with moisture, his sad, red-rimmed eyes making her feel as though her heart were breaking in two.
"Dearest Hephaestus, what troubles you so?" she asked beseechingly.
A large, calloused hand covered her own as he squeezed his eyes tightly shut. "There is no need for you to concern yourself with my tales of woe," he insisted when he had a moment to compose himself. He took her hand from his face, curling it into a fist and placing a reverent kiss against her knuckles. "Once I have spoken to Hera, all shall be resolved."
If she thought it odd that he was seeking out their mother—their mother who seemed to completely revile him for reasons unknown—for solace, the Goddess of Childbirth said nothing of the matter. "Mother and Father had…adjoined…the night prior," she mumbled instead almost more to herself than the patron of the forge, a deep blush coloring her cheeks as she stepped back, "it would be highly improper…she wished for no visitors, hence why she requested myself as opposed to Ganymede to attend them…" Eileithyia appeared be at war with herself before she seemed to make up her mind, jutting out her chin determinedly and looking undeniably like the immortal royalty she was.
Plucking the tray out of the air and resting it back atop her hand, she declared firmly, "I shall announce your arrival," and with no further preamble, magnificently contradicted her earlier ferocity by noiselessly easing open one of the double doors that lead into Hera's bedchambers, ever-so-demurely walking forward into the room and closing the door daintily behind her.
In an attempt to keep himself from standing about idly and allowing himself to retreat too far into his gloomy thoughts, Hephaestus brushed the soot from his workshop off his garments for nothing as filthy as he in living memory had ever entered the sky queen's chambers and he supposed he owed her that small courtesy. His efforts only rubbed the black ash more thoroughly into the fabric and finally, heaving a sigh, he gave up trying to make himself more presentable. Little did it matter, he could have come here wearing his finest robes, his hair and beard groomed immaculately, and would still be just as poorly received by the royal divinities. Going against his nature and confronting Aphrodite about her infidelity, coaxing an admission of guilt out of her, began to sound more appealing to him than a face-to-face encounter with the frigid goddess who had borne him.
Soon after his sister's departure, came a rather cross-sounding female voice bidding him entrance. Tamping down his distaste and schooling his expression into that of careful neutrality, he entered and was unsurprised to find Eileithyia waiting in the foyer for him. She offered him a tremulous smile and slipped her hand into the crook of his arm, leading him into the much-too gaudy parlor where his 'mother' awaited him.
The gown she wore was simple in its cut, unadorned, unspectacular in color, not something she would dare wear in public and while her dark tresses were swept up into an elegant chignon; her face was devoid of any her usual makeup, and she seemed tired, though she looked no less lovely for it. On a different goddess perhaps, a more natural-looking appearance might have made her look all the more approachable, but not so Hera, who wore the same haughty expression as she did always. A goblet of nectar clutched in a delicate hand, she was sitting ramrod straight in a wing-backed armchair as though she were presiding over an Olympian council meeting as opposed to meeting with her own son in the privacy of her chambers. Even as he and his sister both bowed respectfully, she continued to eye him as though he was a particularly revolting insect that she would have liked nothing more than to squash with the heel of her shoe.
"I do hope you realize how highly inappropriate this is," she admonished her second-born son, "encroaching upon your queen in her personal quarters, especially at such an unreasonably early hour, but Eileithyia…" Here she glanced tersely at her firstborn who bowed her head and stared down at her interlinked fingers. "… was adamant in her insistence that it was imperative that you speak to me. Very well, Hephaestus. Speak."
"Mother," began her eldest in a quiet but reproachful voice, leading Hera to think grudgingly that mayhap she should not have spoken so coldly to him, for his face was drawn, his eyes rimmed red and puffy as though he had shed many tears. His manner too was curiously subdued.
To be fair though, did not she deserve some time uninterrupted with her lord husband? The evening before had been their one thousandth anniversary. Her hopes had not been high when the night began, as, true to form, neither hide nor hair of Zeus was there to be found anywhere on the highest peak. She had traced his aura to the mortal realm, to one of Dionysus' debauchery-filled spectacles nonetheless, Zeus' common hunting grounds for prey. Yet he had eyes only for her that eve, it seemed, his coming here a cleverly-laid trap to ensnare her. So loving and attentive, so charming was he—not since their honeymoon had he behaved as such—and she feared she may have fallen in love with him all over again. (There might still have been an ulterior motive, but that she would puzzle out at a different time, when her husband did not lay ever so enticingly in her bed).
They had drunk sweet wine, danced and gamboled about as though they were again wild, reckless youths as they shed their inhibitions, before returning to her palace on Olympus, where they made love on and off the for rest of the night. She had woken to sweet, languorous kisses that still tasted of wine, praises whispered to her in a voice still husky from sleep. Rightly so, she sought a lazy morning spent in the arms of her king when she might not get to do so for another millennium—Eileithyia she had summoned to bring refreshment so they need not even stray far from her bed, and then along came her youngest son, dashing her plans to bits.
Those accursed sons of hers! Ten times as powerful as their sisters, one hundred times as troublesome. Ares though had been strangely docile as of late, at least compared to his usual standards, and, grateful for his more civilized behavior, she had not given the matter much thought until now. Now she was fairly certain that the war god's quieted temper corresponded with his younger brother's untimely visit and could not believe that she had not sensed that something was amiss sooner.
Standing before his mother made Hephaestus feel about the size of the revolting bug that she had likened him to in his mind. Coming to her chambers to speak to her when he was at his most vulnerable had been exceedingly difficult in itself; after her cold, callous tone betrayed to him the true depth of her loathing, he found making any mention whatsoever of his wife's infidelity to be an insurmountable feat. (Perhaps returning to her with the deities who had caused him such despair entwined in his net would be so shocking that temporarily she would be rendered unimposing enough for him to make his request for a divorce without his courage failing him).
"My dear sister was most well-meaning in her endeavors to earn me an audience with you," said he at last, catching Eileithyia's eye and giving her a meaningful look. She understood better than any the strain of his relationship with their mother and would not fault him for his cowardice. "However, there is nothing of such terrible import that it need be discussed at this particular moment. You are otherwise occupied; I shall impose upon you no further." Offering a final bow of his head, he turned as abruptly as he dared and made to leave the room; though turning to smoke would have hastened his exit from this uncomfortable situation, he felt it poor form to dematerialize, still craving Hera's approval centuries later.
"I failed to realize that considered your marriage to be a matter of such terribly little import," the heavenly queen bit out, forgetting immediately in her red-hot rage her intent to appease Eileithyia by treating her brother more gently, and freezing him where he stood. She could always sense marital strife and Hephaestus' discontent in his union positively wafted out of his every soot-caked pore, and she supposed he had come here with the gall of entreating her to grant him a divorce. Just when she thought he could disgrace her no further, the spineless wretch proved her so very wrong.
While she did not know the means in which he had learned of Ares and Aphrodite 'acquainting' themselves with each other, that incident at the wedding had been a single, isolated occurrence. One such incident of infidelity (for she was certain that, while her new daughter-in-law's intelligence was questionable, Ares had a strong enough sense of self-preservation to not defy her again) and this miserable waste of immortal flesh was poised to flee from his marriage, expecting pity from her, she who had endured nigh a millennium of her husband taking mistresses! She had dared to hope that her younger son would share her views on the permanence of such a sacred arrangement, perhaps he only thing he was capable of doing that would please her.
Ice ran down the length of Hephaestus' spine and he winced. Try as he might not to offend his birth mother, he managed to do so regardless. Though his legs protested mightily and the frayed nerves pinched from the motion, he dropped immediately into a kneeling bow in a bid at forgiveness, not daring to raise his eyes from the light dusting of volcanic ash he had left in his wake upon the carpet.
"Not at all, my queen," came his hurried insistence, all the while wondering why in the name of Khaos he had thought coming here had been a wise idea. "From my earliest days, there was nothing I revered nor so ardently wished for as marriage."
And yet the Queen of the Skies was unmoved. "If that was to be believed, you would show infinitely more gratitude."
"Mother…" admonished Eileithyia more forcefully, lowering herself to the ground to lift her brother back to his feet, as Hephaestus cowed even more meekly at her hostile address.
He was expected to appreciate being wed to an adulteress? Well, if nothing else she was lovely to look upon, acknowledging that fact aloud might make him at least appear grateful enough to smooth Hera's ruffled feathers. "Truly," he said at last and after a good deal of contemplation, "there is no goddess more beautiful than my wi…" The word traitorously stuck in his throat—his so-called wife had since nullified their marital contract by taking his brother as her lover—and he swallowed hard, tasting bile. "…than Aphrodite."
"She is indeed beautiful," agreed Hera as though her daughter had not spoken at all. There was a trace of bitterness that for once had nothing to do with her son in her voice. "And thusly she was desired by every god on and off Olympus; you think it was willingly that she chose you?" Too wounded to speak, the blacksmith god gave his head, which felt rather like it had been turned to a block of marble, a single shake, but she seemed to feel the need to cut him even more deeply still, getting to her feet to loom imperiously over him. "Had I not needed the chit as a means of bartering my release from that cursed throne of yours, I would have seen her married off to Ares."
To the great surprise of Hephaestus, that intended barb bounced harmlessly off his hide; he expected nothing less if he were being honest with himself—his elder brother had been born with an immensely pleasing countenance and had therefore secured their mother's favor, and with it, the privilege of being gifted with bright, shiny new toys and lovely wives.
"It must have been by the Fates' design then that they found their way to each other," he whispered to the sooty carpet. Accepting his sister's assistance, he stood with difficulty—and how grateful he was for her presence, for he would never have been able to endure this heightened cruelty by his lonesome. He felt slightly less like an insignificant worm now that he towered head and shoulders over their queen but could not bring himself to meet her eyes. "Multiple times, given Helios' account of events, she has adjoined with him as only lovers can, invalidating the words spoken at our wedding. I cannot spend my eternal days wedded to a woman who does not love me." A pause followed before he decided to finally just say what needed to be said—it was not as though she could despise him any more than already she did. "I beg you to release me from my union."
"Your basis for divorce is a rumor of Helios, Helios, who is known to spread empty slander through the Olympian courts?" scoffed Hera with a raise of a shapely brow.
"It is no rumor. I viewed instances of Aphrodite's infidelity with my own eyes." Much as he wanted to, he could not find the nerve to conjure a fireball and show her the incriminating scenes that Helios had borne witness to, effective though it would have been, and instead shoved his fisted hands into the pockets of his peplos. "You told me in not so many words that, essentially, my marriage had been doomed from the beginning," he reminded her. "Two woefully mismatched gods brought together in matrimony because of, to put it delicately, a fluke, the bride intended originally for another."
"It was not just Helios who observed such an occurrence," Eileithyia piped up in a barely audible voice, visibly conflicted with herself, though she forever played the peace-keeper in their dysfunctional nuclear family. Laying a reassuring hand upon Hephaestus' arm to keep from wringing them, she murmured, "When I had last spoken with the Kharites, they, or rather Kharis more specifically, made mention that, among the many other lovers their mistress entertained, they believed one to be Ares because they often heard the sounds of armor being shed during an…amorous greeting." She revealed that piece of information all this in one rushed breath, blushing at the mention of intimate activity, and noticeably dismayed at having had betrayed one of her brothers for the other's sake.
"I care little if she has lain with Ares or every willing male atop the summit, you spoke the same vows promising an eternity of unity before me," the Queen of the Gods snapped, rounding like a lioness back on Hephaestus, who had sucked in a startled breath upon hearing that his wife had taken not just one, but many lovers (Helios may have made mention of a multitude of lovers come to think of it but he had placed the greatest emphasis on her attachment to the war god and so it went unnoticed), "and I expect you to honor them! Perhaps, if you are so concerned with your wife's fidelity, you should implement a second cursed chair."
Perhaps you should implement such a device yourself, thought the immortal smith unbidden in a burst of subsequent loathing. A gilded bed to ensure that your husband lay with no other. After centuries of hoping for a shred of affection, he found now that he really and truly hated his birth mother—even when he constructed the infamous throne in which to imprison her he had not felt such a visceral abhorrence. Pure shock at the revelation made the sudden fury, burning with a heat unknown to even he, ebb away to a dull simmer. The sense of irony was not lost on him—the blinding ire that had engulfed him marked him a true son of hers—and he nearly threw back his head and roared with delirious laughter.
A single derisive laugh did end up escaping his lips, but there was no humor in it.
"After causing me a lifetime of grievances, I should have known better than to think you would ever do a single kind thing for me, Mother," he sneered, finding the acknowledgment of his hatred of her oddly liberating, finding himself emboldened enough to speak plainly for once. His sister, aghast, gave his arm a gentle but firm squeeze and uttered his name in a plea to desist such talk, but he rebuffed her warning. "Let her cast me from the sky, Eileithyia," said he as if to the Goddess of Childbirth, although his eyes bore insolently into Hera's, "this would not be the first time she had done so—perhaps I will fare better this time, considering that I am no longer a helpless babe."
"I shall throw you from the heavens if you so much as draw another breath," thundered the voice of a fourth speaker, lightning crackling in his usually sky-blue eyes as Zeus stepped into the parlor from a second door that lead off into the bed chambers. He crossed the room in several quick strides (poor Eileithyia's cheeks blazed scarlet—he was clad only in his undergarments, revealing a very similar build to his legitimate sons), wrapped his arm around Hera's waist, and tucked his wife protectively into his side, which she permitted. If this had been a confrontation between herself and Ares, Hera would not have batted an eye, for such clashes were as commonplace as the changing of day into night and back again, but never had Hephaestus, her soft-spoken, submissive younger son, lashed out at her.
His venomous words tore unexpectedly at her heartstrings and she leaned into her husband, welcoming the unanticipated comfort he brought.
She was the Goddess of Marriage, yes, but never had she claimed to be a motherly figure—in fact, a small part of her had always envied the ease in which her siblings had bonded with their children and hers. Poseidon had appointed his son Triton his second-in-command, wrestled with and engaged him in mock battles (always 'dying' dramatically) when he was a godling, as had he with Ares. Eileithyia had been a particular favorite of Demeter's, the Goddess of the Harvest seeing the fields filled with her niece's most-loved flowers, and her devotion to her daughter Kore bordered almost on obsession, practically keeping the child in a gilded cage as though she were a rare and exotic bird. Hestia had forgone motherhood to maintain her maidenhood but adored her nieces and nephews, even those with pricklier dispositions or homelier visages, like they were her own. Zeus too had his favorites amongst his legions of offspring—Athena was his chief advisor, Apollo and Artemis he had gifted the sun and the moon respectively—though he showed no such partiality to the children she had borne him.
Though it seemed the furthest thing from it, casting Hephaestus from the heavens had been perhaps the sole maternal act she had ever performed. She knew from her first glance at him that she could not present him to the immortal court, let alone love him, she scarcely had formed any sort of bond with his brother and sister and they were both beautiful; the least she could do for him was to give him to a goddess who could love him. She had aimed for the ocean when emptying her arms of the wriggling babe, for she knew that some of the nurturing-to-a-fault residents of the sea would adopt him unhesitatingly, yet the infant Hephaestus struck the unforgiving earth instead, thus doomed to be crippled in addition to being unsightly.
"How dare you address your queen in such a manner, insolent wretch!" the King of the Gods snarled. Though his hot-white eyes did not leave Hephaestus', he assured his wife in an only slightly gentler voice, "Say the word, my dear, and I shall see him punished however you see fit."
Eileithyia uttered a horrified squeak; between them, their parents were a highly innovative pair when it came to doling out particularly cruel punishments to those who displeased them. Sometimes she could not help but think guiltily that their mutual appreciation and liberal use of such harsh sentences was one of the ties that so strongly bound them. No stranger was she to her mother's cruelty.
When Zeus had lain with the Titaness Leto, the first of the multitude of mistresses he would take, Hera persecuted her relentlessly, allowing her no place to rest so that she might give birth to her children and viciously forbidding Eileithyia's involvement in aiding the suffering mother-to-be when finally came the time for Artemis and Apollo to enter the world. (Her newest siblings would soon overshadow herself and Ares, but never had she found it in her heart to begrudge them; the domain of childbirth now fell under Artemis' jurisdiction and the two got along with ease; as for Apollo, he brought such wonderful gifts to their worshippers—music and poetry).
"It is not punishment enough to be confined to a loveless marriage for the rest of eternity?" Hephaestus demanded, speaking directly to Hera as though Zeus did not exist (a difficult feat considering the imposing figure he cut). "Perhaps," he added more insolently still, knowing that there would be consequences for his brazenness but finding himself incapable of caring what they might be, "it will suffice when, one day, my wife bears my brother's child and I am forced to behold the fruit of their union. Tell me, Mother, after the first bastard is born, does it over time grow easier to endure the sight of every subsequent 'reminder' of your spouse's infidelity?"
Suffice to say, his taunt left the room in upheaval: his birth-giver sucked in a sharp breath and recoiled as though he had made to strike her; his sister gasped and at once threw herself between himself and their sire like there was any sort of possibility that her small frame would conceal his, beseeching Zeus to do him no harm, for the King of the Gods' hand had curled into a fist as he took a menacing stride forward, aglow with electricity as though he intended to smite the younger god where he stood, demanding loudly that his eldest stand aside. Hephaestus too tried to sweep her out of the way—he would not have her suffer on his behalf—but there she remained, as solid and unyielding as a mountain in her resolution, before entreating Hera, who watched the chaos unfolding before her with a sense of detachment, in her anguish, tears clinging to her lashes.
Her regal demeanor firmly back in place, Hera appeared to make up her mind on how to proceed and returned to her husband's side. He started at the feel of her there and the white light engulfing his hand faded instantly away as she laid hers placatingly atop his and unfurled his fingers.
"I have made my decision," said she imperiously, as though she had been presiding over an especially raucous assembly of the Dodekatheon in which weapons had been crossed rather than a familial dispute in her parlor. All eyes went to her, Zeus' not so hard as they been but still holding a predatory expectance, Eileithyia's wide and worried, Hephaestus' still smoldering with a simmering loathing. A beat passed before she chose to elaborate in a tone that allowed no room for question from any of the three of them, "You will be granted a divorce, Hephaestus, provided that you are able to bring me definitive proof of your wife's affair." Consider it a reprieve for my failings. "Until then, you shall consume no more of my time. Eileithyia, see him removed from my presence."
Hephaestus resisted the urging of "Come," and the light but insistent tug on his arm from his sister, who wanted nothing more than to put some substantial distance between themselves and their parents, as though the inner-family conflict was confined alone to overtly-luxurious sitting-room. "Believe me when I say that I will bring you the 'definitive proof' you so seek for my liberation." Not a promise at all, but a threat that again made Zeus' eyes blaze hot. Her proof would come in the form of a stark naked Ares and Aphrodite in his net dumped in the prettily pristine parlor of hers, no matter what he had to do to make it so. It was then he who dematerialized, intent to be good-manned before the queen forgotten and leaving scorch marks on the carpet for good measure, his will overriding the Goddess of Childbirth's and forcing her transformation to vapor alongside him and her return to solid form in a destination of his choosing (an action of which he was not proud and would apologize profusely for after).
When the smoke cleared from the departure of her son and daughter, Hera permitted herself to sit upon a low-rising divan, slouching forward in a most unrefined manner so that her elbow rested on her knees and pinching the bridge of her nose to stave off the onset of a pounding headache while Zeus wordlessly poured a goblet of nectar for himself and refreshed the one she had taken for herself, watching her with a troubled frown. "Were the Fates kind, I would have borne only daughters," she sighed.
"Given that that is how you feel, my dear, I would consider it my honor to give you another," her husband replied roguishly, causing her aching head to snap up so that she could glower sharply at him (the last thing she desired was to bear a fifth child, and had told him so numerous times), only to be met with a teasing little smirk and eyes gentle and warm as a spring day making her foolish heart flutter as though filled with a thousand butterflies. "There again is that ferocity that first made me fall in love with you," he murmured, lifting her chin and leaning down to brush her lips in an otherwise chaste kiss. One more he gave her, before pressing one of the goblets into her hand, ordering firmly but gently, "Drink. Gather your strength, my queen, I know how tiring the dissolution of a marriage is to you."
Whatever else he intended to say was cut off as, with an uncharacteristic impulsiveness, Hera took from him a more proper kiss, not thirsty at all, but positively ravenous for her king. Her husband. The tenderness he showed her was both heart-stopping and heart-racing at the exact same moment. Never had she wanted another, and she was certain that never had she wanted him more than she did now. Very unconcerned was she suddenly with her glass and returned it, not breaking contact with his mouth, to the table-top with a bump that had nectar splashing over the rim, before hastening to free him of his undergarments and pulling him down to join her upon the chaise.
Aphrodite had no way of knowing that, when the pain in her chest started anew in the dwindling hours of the night and jolted her awake for a second time, it was Hephaestus' heartache she was experiencing vicariously. Ares stirred at her whimper of agony and, scarcely piercing the veil of consciousness, wrapped himself all the more tightly around when she curled again into a small, miserable ball. His large, powerful frame forming a sort of protective cocoon, his skin smooth and warm against her back, his breathing deep and rhythmic in her ear upon his return to slumber, all made for a combination that helped gradually to reduce the sharp, stabbing sensation to a considerably dulled but persistent pang, though even still sleep was a luxury that eluded her for much the remainder of the evening. Soon enough, the first morning's light brightened the room, and she decided that she best greet the day and ready herself for her meeting with her husband.
Sometimes, if she were being honest with herself, particularly in moments like this when she and the God of War lay tangled up together in one or the other of their beds, giving the temporary illusion that they were the only beings on earth or in any of the world's other realms, she wished that it was they who were the married pair. That being said however, she had nothing but deeply fond feelings for Hephaestus, still not possessing an iota of a romantic inclination towards him but adoring him as a most cherished friend—had they only met under different circumstances.
Between them both (thank the Fates for the sons of Hera!) showering her with the affection that was essential to her being, she could say with certitude that she was in want of nothing more out of life…except perhaps a means of 'escaping' the war god's clutches. He half-covered her like a heavy duvet, his arms still encircling her possessively, legs pushed between hers, and face buried in her hair. Experimentally, she wiggled against him to see if she might be able to break his chain-like grasp, only for her efforts to have the opposite effect—even soundly asleep, Ares did not appear willing to share her with Hephaestus (though, unlike his younger brother, he at least was made aware of her spending time with the blacksmith god, however grudgingly he might have accepted this inevitability)—and she could not help but give a soft, knowing laugh before fading away to smoke and materializing again at the side of the bed.
All the more amused she grew at her lover's apparent displeasure: his brow furrowed, marring his otherwise serene features and he gave an indignant grumble as he shifted more onto his belly than his side, twisting his hands in the pillowcase.
"So greatly I mistreat you," she crooned, smiling, bracing one knee and hand on the mattress and leaning over to kiss his temple. She then stroked through his tangled hair from scalp to shoulder until he settled in again, sighing contentedly, which made him appear oddly vulnerable. "Truly, your suffering at my hand rivals that of those in Tartarus."
Literally speaking, last night her hands had certainly done a considerable amount of damage to his skin—she had torn up his back and front with her nails, even making a pass down his sides…and she had all but devoured him, shamelessly covering him in love-marks…and then there was that giant bite mark she had left in her desperation to find release, the puncture wound now clotted with dried ichor. Continuing to absently run her fingers through his hair, Aphrodite could not help but wonder, as she admired her handiwork (which he would proudly display for days when it could have been willed away instantly) like an artist surveying their latest masterpiece, if she looked anywhere near as…well loved…as did he.
Confirmation came in the form of a nerve jumping in the section of her shoulder where he had bitten and she gave him another kiss in parting before rising from the bed. On silent feet and somewhat aching legs, she crossed to the bathing-room, which, like the training arena beneath his palace, was painfully simplistic in its militant functionality, to give herself a further perusal in the mirror and uttered a surprised laugh at the sight that met her there—she looked positively wild, lips swollen to twice their usual size, her skin dappled with massive, dark marks like that of the hide of a leopard!
"You know," came a lightly mocking voice as Hebe, the younger sister-cum-attendant of Ares who ran baths for him (and now herself seeing as she was all but mistress of his palace) materialized in the washroom with her, unfazed by her nudity, "I do not leave spreads of food at the ready for my own entertainment. If you and my brother would pause every now and again in your strenuous activities to eat, he might not feel the need to consume you." (The love goddess decided wisely not to make any mention of the fact that more oft than not the aforementioned arrangements of delicacies were turned into a prop designed to inspire other interests: licking wine, nectar, honey, as it dripped down the planes of the other's body, feeding each other pieces of fruit with a nip or prolonged sucking of fingertips.)
"Says the goddess whose husband will throw her over his shoulder and steal her away from whatever else she may be doing when the mood strikes him," replied Aphrodite with an impish smile, now beginning to work her fingers through her impenetrable mane to coax into it a semblance of order as her makeshift 'attendant' took up a perch upon the countertop.
Largely thanks to their mutual fondness of the God of War, the two had since become close as sisters themselves, though there had been several misgivings when first they encountered the other. Very early into their affair, Hebe had happened accidentally upon them in the throes of a passion so heated that they simply could not wait until they had reached the privacy of his bed chambers.
More irritated than alarmed by his sister's intrusion, Ares had warned her in a stern but otherwise not especially cruel tone that were she anything but the pinnacle of discretion, there would be shockingly gruesome consequences that would befall her, of which he obligingly detailed. Noticeably not recoiling in abject horror at promise of her demise, she assured him that she would not even have to make mention of what had unfolded before her eyes, for, as careless as they proved to be, they would inevitably betray themselves, probably, she predicted, by pouncing upon each other in the midst of an otherwise uneventful Dodekatheon meeting. (Already, there had been several unspoken dialogues that were blush-inducing in their raunchiness as they detailed what they intended to do the divinity that each saw as their consort—not vice versa—with the close of the council conference). She then informed him with the sadistic glee of a child hastening to tell their mother of their sibling's wrongdoings and eagerly awaiting their punishment, that he was not near as inventive as Hera, who would be sorely displeased to learn of his participation in the desecration of Hephaestus' marriage.
Almost affectionately, the war god likened her to a viper whose sole purpose of existing was to spit venom and sent her on her way, anxious to resume the activity that had been interrupted, but Aphrodite had not been so easily assuaged by their flippant exchange. To that juvenile goddess, the situation might have had the makings of a merry game, but for a matured being such as herself, it reeked of impending disaster: her reputation would be tarnished beyond repair were she, the Goddess of Love, perceived as an adulteress, and never again would she be able to present herself at an Olympian council meeting without facing scrutiny, assuming that she was not stripped of her post.
Her self-preservation instincts had taken precedence over gleaning pleasure and ruthlessly she administered her influence to expedite their bout of lovemaking, and upon leaving him sated and teetering on the edge of sleep, traced his sister's aura—which was conveniently similar to his own—to a far less substantial palace further down the mountaintop, ready to resort to whatever means were necessary to guarantee Hebe's silence, even if it was outside the usual tactics she employed…and the solution to her problem was provided entirely unintentionally by the Goddess of Youth herself.
Aphrodite presided over all matters of the heart and, while the reception she received was frosty, suspicious, Hebe's had much to tell her, practically screaming out the name of her beloved. How interesting, said she with a predatory smile, was it that the very same name had so often been spat out in contempt by Ares, the name being Heracles, that of the greatest mortal hero the world had ever known. Were the God of War to somehow learn that his sister was enamored by his rival, it would not bode well for Hebe's champion, who, despite being an impressive specimen of a human, was still susceptible to death. Silence would be matched with silence, it was implied, lives would be ruined—ended—otherwise.
A threat being made against the man whom she hoped one day to marry should logically not have inspired any sort of amiable feelings, but nevertheless Hebe actually began to find herself warming to her brother's current bedmate. Like herself, it would seem that there was a coarser side to Olympus' newest resident, concealed carefully beneath her "court persona"—her own being an act of imbecilic innocence when in truth she possessed the same uncouth mannerisms as a hardened soldier (no small wonder having been raised alongside and later serving as attendant to Ares), whereas Aphrodite put force a sickeningly saccharine façade that masked an unexpectedly cutthroat disposition. The realization led her to concede that this so-called "love goddess" just might make a suitable match for the war god, who, already, considering the devotional drivel that she overheard pouring forth from his mouth, was laughably smitten. For his sake, she could at least ensure that her interactions with his lover (whom she suspected she would be seeing a great deal of should not inadvertently reveal their affair) be cordial.
And yet, a lifetime of etiquette lessons shoved down her throat as the child of immortal royalty had her swallowing her pride, apologizing for her earlier conduct, and falling immediately into the designated role of gracious hostess, inviting the love goddess to join her for a glass of wine. It was hours later that an immensely bewildered Ares would find them in the parlor, laughing immoderately over several emptied bottles as his sister animatedly recalled for his lover embarrassing stories from his youth, one especially cringeworthy tale detailing his interest in acquainting himself intimately with Athena and his subsequent pursuit of her.
"My husband has poor impulse control from his prior life as a mortal and ardently desires me, that is no fault of my own," countered Hebe smugly, swinging her legs as she made positively no attempt at assisting Aphrodite in her valiant struggle to tame her hair. "I refuse to believe that you would not enjoy such ostentatious attentions from Ares, were you and he wedded, being swept off like a Spartan bride on her wedding's eve before an audience."
"There is no sense to be had in entertaining such folly…you forget I am already married," the Goddess of Love answered more solemnly, suddenly more than a trace resentful that while she had been thrust into a political union, Hebe had been permitted, encouraged even, to enter into matrimony with the man she loved after he had been granted immortality upon his deathbed as a reward for a lifetime of noble deeds and courageous feats. She turned her attention back to the mirror, foregoing any attempt at fixing her hair (which could have been smoothed with a mere thought, but she enjoyed the sensation of a brush running through it) to begin methodically restoring her skin to its usual, flawless state. The Kharites were not to catch a glimpse of any suspect blemish marring her flesh upon her return to her own palace.
She grew increasingly dismayed with every mark she faded into nothingness, for an unbroken expanse of creamy skin was a reminder that she belonged only to Ares behind closed doors, and even then, just as his lover, not his wife. When again she was the embodiment of perfection, she heaved a gusty sigh, guiltiness being one of the many sentiments bubbling up within her chest. Hephaestus had never been anything but a wonderful husband, never once pressuring her to fulfill her wifely obligations, never even brushing her hand without ensuring her consent for him to do so, nor insisting that she take up residence in his home as opposed to remaining in her own. "I suppose I should be grateful: for being a married woman, I still possess absolute autonomy—an arrangement far more agreeable than many females in a similar position to my own."
"Do not credit your independence to his generosity; he has no claim to stake on you because your union was never consummated, and you are therefore married only in title," her sister-by-law pointed out, pausing in the task of buffing the edges of her fingernails with a file, a means of granting the older goddess the privacy of ridding herself of love marks (although there was a particular bruise the shape of a sizable hand upon her buttocks that could not be easily ignored). "You owe him nothing, especially not that warped sense of allegiance that you seem to feel so obligated to demonstrate."
"He may be my husband in name alone perhaps, but I have made him a friend by choice. I enjoy my time spent in his company."
Nail-file dropping to the floor, the younger divinity goggled disbelievingly at her. "Why would you willingly subject yourself to any duration of time longer than absolutely necessary in his presence? He is just ghastly." Just the thought of the second of her legitimate brothers—and she no more acknowledged him as such than Ares did Zeus their father—sent a shudder of revulsion racking through Hebe's slim frame as her lovely features scrunched up.
"That will do," came Aphrodite's command as her eyes flashed the same rose-tinted gold they had the night before in warning (of which she was unaware, but it did not do wonders for her credibility when jumping to the blacksmith god's defense while conspicuously laying with his elder brother), angered to no end by the abuse poor, harmless Hephaestus received regularly from his mother and the vast majority of his siblings, both full- and half-blooded—all because they found him to be physically lacking. He might not have the gall to defend himself against such maltreatment but she had no such qualms! As the goddess of beauty, she was perfectly aware of his…deficiencies… "Clear the condemnation of him from your judgmental eyes and you will see that the goodness of his character is more than accommodation enough to redeem him."
"Wondrous Hephaestus. You and Eileithyia should take up residency in his temples and devote yourselves to a life as his high priestesses," her companion sneered, sliding from the countertop to land with a feline grace upon her feet. (The two sons and daughters borne from the union of the king and queen of the heavens had long ago paired off based on similarities in disposition, the first possessing a deep need to nurture them all but most especially the third, the youngest and the second-born entering into a natural alliance.) "And yet, despite your insistence that his 'goodness of character' supersedes his hideousness, you can no more stand the sight of him than myself or any other Olympian for that matter, elsewise you would have not felt compelled to take a multitude of lovers. Perhaps, in your sanctimoniousness, you have forgotten that we are at present in the palace of one!"
The bathing-room began to fill with a combative aura, like moisture hanging thickly in the air on a sweltering day but rather than engage, as would she when provoked by said lover, being forced to face the enormity of her hypocrisy through the eyes of another temporarily rendered Aphrodite mute.
Not so Hebe, who savagely pressed on, a peacock-colored glow brightening her retaliating gaze. "Were your husband as truly remarkable as you claim him to be, you would have worn identifying marks of his affection after awakening in his bed. Oh, I forgot entirely," she added with feigned realization, giving her forehead a light tap with her hand as though only just recalling a long-lost memory, "you do, bedecking yourself in the jewels that he crafts for you. Readily you will accept the fruits of his labor, and in turn pretend that you are fond of him, thus ensuring you keep him as your obsequiously devoted slave. Howsoever did such a self-serving being as yourself come to preside over the domain of love?"
In addition to presiding over the domain of love, Aphrodite also happened to have a far greater power coursing through her veins, power enough to easily bring about an end to this verbal assault (other than that, Hebe posed no real threat, less a viper and more a garter snake, puffing itself up and presenting quite a show), but the sensation of hurt wrapping around her heart like a fist of marble wiped this knowledge from her mind. Fleeing seemed to be the most effective solution and so did she, vanishing abruptly in a puff of smoke, teleporting herself the mortal realm, or more specifically, an island that had been chosen arbitrarily so that she could nurse her wounds and take comfort in the sea.
Broodingly she stared out at the endless expanse of shimmering cerulean beneath a sky resembling a painter's canvas as droplets of saltwater dampened her lashes, wondering why her sister-by-law's words had cut her so deeply…perhaps because of the hateful implication that she exploited the blacksmith god—and mayhap Ares too—without shame.
Well, shame was about all she felt at present.
On one account, Hebe had been correct: that she had, in part, begun to take lovers because she was repelled initially by Hephaestus and therefore sought out intimacy elsewhere, but never had it been done with malicious intent; a life bound to one and one alone went entirely against her nature—even her beloved God of War did not enjoy her complete fidelity, though his regular absences to create havoc on earth were a largely contributing factor—and it was not as if her husband knew of her affairs, and if at all he did, he went unbothered, accepting her as she was. (Physically she was perfection, but she too was not without her shortcomings and many gods whom she could have been bound to instead would not be near so forgiving.) He appeared content in the arrangement that had become characteristic of their marriage for the last several decades, better than either could have anticipated from a forced union between two perfect strangers.
Certainly, her passionate affair with Ares came across as contradictory, but she knew then truly that she had come to love Hephaestus, just not in the conventional sense of a woman loving her spouse, and a further epiphany made her realize that her life would feel woefully incomplete without him in it. Despite what Hebe thought, the jewels were simply an additional perk, not a necessity: yes, they were beautiful and pleasing to the eye, each more spectacular than the last, but otherwise needless-he had given her so many in the earliest years of their marriage that she would need to distort her beauty and sprout more limbs, fingers, and ears to possibly be able to accommodate them, and once she had assured him that, with all the other tasks he threw himself into, he did not need to devote himself to yet another, although he insisted as had he on their honeymoon that she was his wife and it was his life's pleasure to ensure hers. (Bringing her tokens of affection and getting to watch her gush with genuine glee over them, seemed as rewarding to him as seeing him open up was to her. Whenever they would have a dialogue and touch upon a subject that he was passionate about, she took much delight in the sudden animation of his visage and the ease in which his few, normally carefully-mulled-over words would come. On the other hand-and perhaps it was bit cruel-any bit of physical attention would revert him back to his usual bashful behavior, often producing a blush, which, for a god who was perhaps not the handsomest, made him in her eyes positively adorable. Those little blushes meant far more to her than any gemstone, though yes, those too were alluring in their own right.) Over the passing years, she had been plagued by a growing complacency, although as of today, that would be a thing of the past and she vowed that she would redouble her efforts to better reciprocate and prove herself deserving of his affection.
Inspiration struck her suddenly and again her body turned to vapor. Upon her return for a second time to her solid, still unclothed form, wild hair billowing around her as it caught the crisp sea breeze, she came to stand upon a beach where the sand beneath her feet was a coarser grain than, say, the fine powder of Cyprus, blackened by telltale volcanic ash, for the isle on which she had materialized was Lemnos, the sacred land of Hephaestus, her intent to bring him a portable version.
When she meandered down the coast and approached the ocean, it was not entirely with the singular intention of gathering several of the beautiful shells that the waves had generously pushed to the shore. Almost mischievously, after nipping at her toes, the tide then pulled away the especially breathtaking one that she had been reaching for. (Sea foam was in her veins and she understood the language of the water well as any spoken dialect).
With a grin, she gave chase.
Author's Note, Pt. II: Isn't Hebe just a little brat? In my first draft, she was going to be the one who told Hera about Aphrodite and Ares rather than Eileithyia, in the second version, she was going to be left out entirely, but she managed to force her way in...and take a larger role than she was originally going to play, serving as sort of a much-needed conscience and companion for Aphrodite whose whole social circle was just Ares and Hephaestus...I mean, she's the Goddess of Love, so she's bound to have other gods come to like her, especially since she's not a newcomer anymore and hasn't seemed to wreck anyone else's marriage like they all thought she would, except her own. She's now seen the error of her ways, but she's just a bit too late to really do anything about it.
I also think I've officially decided who she will be paired with.
On a side note, if you're interested in a modern take of the love triangle between Hephaestus, Aphrodite, and Ares, I strongly encourage you to check out The Scarlet Crown by addine995. Very addictive.
And now back to working on part 2, which hopefully won't take another 2-3 months to finish.
Until next time.
-Impersonating Sugar