|In the future-past|


When the Greek fleet set out for Troy, they first landed on the island of Tenedos. Thetis sent a message to Akhilleus warning him not to slay Tennes, for this would arouse the wrath of Apóllōn. However the messenger was lax in his duty and the warning delivered too late, for Akhilleus had already seduced Tennes' sister Hemithea, brawled with the king and slain him.


Pseudo-Apollodorus, Bibliotheca E2. 10 (trans. Aldrich) (Greek mythographer C2nd A.D.) :

"Atreus [father of Agamemnon] once told Artemis in a prayer that he would sacrifice his finest sheep to her, but they say that when a golden lamb appeared in his flocks, he was heedless of his vow. Instead, he throttled the lamb and put it in a chest for safekeeping [Artemis' wrath was inflicted on Agamemnon the son of Atreus, who demanded the sacrifice of his daughter before she would let the Greek fleet sail to Troy]


Pseudo-Apollodorus, Bibliotheca E3. 21 :

"After leaving Argos and sailing for the second time to Aulis, weather held the [Greek] fleet [sailing for Troy] in port. Kalkhas announced that they would not be able to sail unless the most beautiful of Agamemnon's daughters was offered as a sacrificial victim to Artemis; for the goddess was angry at Agamemnon because, after shooting a deer, he had boasted that 'not even Artemis' could have shot so well, and because Atreus [his father] had not sacrificed to her his golden lamb.

So Agamemnon sent Odysseus and Talthybios to Klytaimnestra and asked for Iphigeneia, saying that he had promised to give her in marriage to Akhilleus as payment for his military service. When his wife had sent Iphigeneia, Agamemnon placed her on the altar and was about to sacrifice her when Artemis spirited her off to the Taurians, where she set her up as her own priestess; she put a deer on the altar in the girl's place. Also, according to some, she made Iphigeneia immortal."


|Now|


"I suppose congratulations are in order," Hermês heard from behind him. He turned to see Apóllōn gazing down from the mountain to watch as Ariadnê and Hektōr and Aineías led their army. She had gotten everything assembled so quickly that most thought some foul play was at hand. Though admittedly, those were also the ones that brewed with hatred at her conquering the kingdom. Hermês had secreted away a message to her Family to halt their plans of gaining her back and to focus on expanding their own power as everyone else was distracted by the war.

"Oh," the younger asked as he too turned back towards Troy. "Whatever for?"

His brother hummed. "Aphrodítē has let no stone go unturned in her quest to provide everyone with the knowledge that you and Ariadnê have consummated your love." Hermês gave a slight wince. Perhaps that was why Peithô had given him such a look of irritability. He had been slated to marry her. "Word has spread amongst the lands that the smaller warrior had fallen for the sun, but instead fell for the wiles of Hermês Khrysorrhapis."

Hermês smiled lightly. It was very far from accurate, but he liked the thought of it. He turned to look at his brother once more. "Does it bother you? I did once promise to not steal your love away."

Apóllōn laughed lightly, fondness dripping on his tongue: "O arkhos pheleteon." Hermês gave an answering smile at the name that his favored sibling had gifted him so long ago. "It does not bother me. One could look at her and see that her affection for us both has grown far more than even she can handle. It would not take much for her to fall for you completely. And well..."

The god of Sound Health turned to look at the plains of Lacedaemon. "Well, my loves never prosper; Dáphnē and Huákinthos were my great passions; she so detested me that being turned to a tree was more attractive than I; and him I killed with a quoit. Nothing is left me of them but wreaths of their leaves and flowers."

Hermês walked closer to his brother, placing a gentle hand on his shoulder.. "Ah. Remember it was not thee who killed the young prince. 'twas Zéphyros who allowed jealousy to consume him so." Anger swirled within the gods as they remembered those years. The seemingly endless hunt as they chased the west wind to the ends of the earth and back again. The god had paid greatly to the House of Poseidón once the god of seas had caught him and dragged him to the sea bed.

The elder god leaned into the comforting touch. "Aye. and yet still, I cannot condemn you for pursuing her. The love that the two of you share will be something that the Mousai Nine, kourai Olympiades of Ζεύς will sing for eternity."

Their attention turned towards the throne room in which their Father and Themis were calling for an assembly. They shared looks before flashing to their thrones. The years had not been kind to either side moreso the Akhaians as Ariadnê drove them away viciously though not without placing Paris in tauntingly fatal positions.

Still— tension had grown between the deathless as the war was not falling in the direction that they had foretold. The Argives were facing countless losses though it went without saying that the Trojans and her allies were not facing their end either.

Ariadnê was not one to let any perceived slight pass. Athênê and Árēs had been quick to note that those that fell at the swords of their enemies were mainly the perpetrators that lended their sword to abduct she and Helénē.

The room was filled to the brim with the Olympioi, Ouranioi, Einalioi, and Khthonioi. Ζεύς went inside his house. Their father present, all the gods at once stood up from their seats. No one dared stay put as he came in—all rose together.

Ζεύς seated himself upon his throne and all eyes settled on Ζεύς Hypsistos as he gazed down absently at the fighting on the mortal plane.

(Ariadnê glanced towards the sky; her face a mimic of Mêtêr Rheia yet her eyes held the same cruelty as Patros Kronos. Ζεύς wondered if anyone, even his soft-hearted children, could see the soldier within the child. The girl was a soldier before she was a child; the type to place her duty before herself. And if the destruction of demigods was her duty, then she will see that it was done.)

It was quiet for another moment as their King trailed his gaze across the battlefield. He did not speak for a while but when he did, he said: "Perverse Temptation, the overmastering child of designing Destruction, drives men on; and every remedy is futile. His evil is not hidden; it shines forth, a baleful gleam . . . Such was Paris, who came to the house of the sons of Atreus [i.e. Menelaus] and dishonoured the hospitality of his host by stealing away a wedded wife [Helénē], who ventured to the house of the homes of Castellan and stole away with the daughter of Poseidón."

The gods in the assembly shifted uneasily. Ζεύς had not looked upon them once. The Supreme god turned his gaze to Castellan whose power had grown in subtle movements. They were slowly overtaking both the Aigian Sea and the Asia Minor. "At the outset of this war, you all seperated into pro-Greek and pro-Trojan factions. My son, Árēs, who was indifferent, and at first promised his mother Hḗrē and sister Athênê that he would side with the Greeks in the War. Instead, you have been persuaded by Aphrodítē to break your alliance and join her in support of the Trojans."

The father of gods and men continued on: "Don't hope to understand my every plan. If things are as they are, then that's the way I want them. Do as I say. If not, then all the gods here on Olympus won't be any help, when I reach out to set my hands on any of you, for they're invincible."

The gods lowered their necks in submission as the cloud-gatherer turned his gaze upon them. In his eyes, lightning flashed as he swore his words. "The doughty son of the dark-haired Nereis (Nereid) Thetis answered the calls to arms," he stated calmly. "Many good warriors have fallen to his sword. And Thetis warned Akhilleus not to be the first to disembark from the ships, because the first to land was going to be the first to die."

His gaze landed on the beautiful sea-nymph: "Often he [Akhilleus (Achilles)] had word from his mother [Thetis], not known to mortals; she was ever telling him what was the will of great Ζεύς. She recognize the truth of Prôteus' [the prophetic sea-god's] warnings that underneath the battlements of the armoured Trojan Akhilleus should be destroyed by the flying shafts of Apóllōn."

Looks were thrown to the Divine Destroyer who did not acknowledge any of them as he kept his gaze on his Father. Ζεύς laughed suddenly as he looked at the fighters before them. "Be at ready, Aphrodítē."


The two armies moved in close towards each other.

Then godlike Paris stepped out, as Trojan champion, on his shoulders a leopard skin. He had bow and sword. Brandishing two bronze-tipped spears, he challenged the best men in the whole Achaean force to fight— a single combat, to the death.

Ariadnê raised her hand, smiling in amusement as she halted Hektōr and Aineías from moving forward.

War-loving Menelaus noticed Aléxandros striding there, his troops bunched up in ranks behind him, and he rejoiced. Menelaus had in mind taking revenge on the man who had dishonoured him.

At once Menelaus jumped from his chariot, down to the ground, his weapons in his fists. When godlike Aléxandros saw Menelaus there, among the fighters at the front, his heart sank. He moved back into the ranks, among his comrades, avoiding death.

Seeing this, Hektōr went at Aléxandros, insulting him: "Despicable Paris, handsomest of men, but woman-mad seducer. How I wish you never had been born or died unmarried. That's what I'd prefer, so much better than to live in shame, hated by others. Now long-haired Achaeans are mocking us, saying we've put forward as a champion one who looks good, but lacks a strong brave mind."

And Aineías stood to his side, picking up on his words: "Was this what you were like back on that day you gathered up your faithful comrades, sailed sea-worthy ships across the ocean, went out among a foreign people, and carried back from that far-off land a lovely woman linked by marriage to warrior spearmen, thus bringing on great suffering for your father and your city, all your people—joy to your enemies and to yourself disgrace? And can you now not face Menelaus? If so, you'd learn the kind of man he is whose wife you took."

And Ariadnê turned her gaze to the heavens as she quoted: "You'd get no help then from your lyre, long hair, good looks— gifts of Aphrodítē—once face down, lying in the dirt. Trojans must be timid men. If not, for all the evil things you've done by now you'd wear a garment made of stones."

Godlike Aléxandros then replied: "You're right in what you say against me. Those complaints of yours are not unjustified. Your hearts are strong, filled with confidence; fearless in the face of sure death. But don't blame me for golden Aphrodítē's lovely gifts. Men can't reject fine presents from the gods, those gifts they personally bestow on us, though no man would take them of his own free will. You want me now to go to battle. Fine. Have both armies stand down and I shall face Menelaus in single combat. Whomever wins will have Helénē as their wife and the war shall be called off. Let others swear a solemn oath, as friends, either to live on in fertile Troy or to return to horse-breeding Argos, land of the lovely women of Achaea."

Hearing those words, Hektōr and Aineías felt great joy whereas Ariadnê scoffed quietly to the heavens. Hektōr went to the middle ground, between the armies, halted Trojan troops, grasping the centre of his spear shaft. The men sat.

But long-haired Achaeans kept on shooting, attempting to hit Hektōr with rocks and arrows. Ariadnê raised her palms slowly, water swirling through the air in the shape of hands catching the weapons being casted.

Then Agamemnon, king of men, roared out at them: "Argives, Achaean lads, stop hurling things. Hektōr of the flashing helmet wants to talk to us." Once Agamemnon spoke, the men stopped fighting, quickly falling silent.

Hektōr then addressed both sides: "You Trojans, you well-armed Achaeans, listen now to what Paris has to say, the man whose actions brought about our fight. He bids the other Trojans, all Achaeans, set their weapons on the fertile ground. He and war-loving Menelaus here will fight it out alone between the armies for Helénē and for all her property. Whichever one comes out victorious, the stronger man, let him seize all the goods, and take the woman as his wife back home. Let others swear a solemn oath as friends."

The soldiers all grew silent.

Then Menelaus, loud in war, answered Hektōr: "Listen now to me. More than anyone, my heart has suffered pain. I agree that we should lay down our swords for a battle between myself and Paris, a fight in which he began. Whichever one of us death takes, our fate, let that man perish. You others quickly go your separate ways. So bring two lambs here—white male, black female— for earth and sun. We'll bring one more for Ζεύς. Lead out great Ariadnê to administer the oath in person, for her warriors are untrustworthy. None should transgress by violence oaths sworn in Ζεύς's name. Young men's minds are fickle. A being favored by Anankê thinks of past and future, so with both groups things happen for the best."

Achaeans and Trojans were elated, full of hope that wretched war would end. They pulled the chariots back into the ranks, climbed out, disarmed, and placed their weapons next to each other on the ground, with little room between both groups. Hektōr sent two heralds to the city, to fetch the lambs with speed.

Ariadnê slid from the top of her horse, crowned adorned with jewels on her regrown long hair. Aineías led her to stand at the side of Hektōr though her gaze never left the sky. She imagined she was glimpsing in the eyes of her Uncle-King, and she pondered if the wheel of Fate was still set in stone.

Agamemnon sent Talthybius to the hollow ships, instructing him to bring a sacrificial lamb. Talthybius obeyed god-like Agamemnon's orders.

So Agamemnon prayed.

With his bronze dagger, he slit the lambs' throats, placed them on the ground, gasping in their death throes as their life ebbed out, their spirit sliced away by Agamemnon's knife. Next from the mixing bowl, they drew off wine in cups, poured out libations to the deathless gods.

Then Trojans and Achaeans all spoke out this prayer: "Most powerful, mighty Ζεύς, and you others, you immortal gods, may you make sure the men who first violate these oaths will have their brains spill out onto the ground, just like this wine, they and their children. May their wives be carried off by other men." So they prayed. But the son of Kronos did not grant their wish.

Then Ariadnê, daughter of Poseidón, addressed them all: "Hear me, you Trojans, you well-armed Achaeans. I have no desire to see with my own eyes Aléxandros fight war-loving Menelaus. Ζεύς and other immortal gods know well which of them is fated to end up dead."

Then Hektōr, heir of Troy, and lord Odysseús first measured out the ground, took lots, and shook them up in a bronze helmet, to see who'd throw his bronze spear first. Then every Trojan and Achaean held up his hands, and uttered a prayer to the immortal gods: "Father Ζεύς, ruling from Mount Ida, mighty, all-powerful, of these two men, let the one who brought this war to both sides be killed and then go down to Háidēs' house. And grant our oath of friendship will hold firm."

So they prayed.

Hektōr of the flashing helmet turned his eyes to one side and shook out the lots. Aléxandros' token fell out immediately.

The troops sat down in their respective places, by their high-stepping horses and their inlaid armour. Paris, husband to Helénē with the lovely hair, hoisted his fine armour on his shoulders. On his shins, he clipped leg armour fitted with silver ankle clasps. Then he put around his chest the body armour belonging to his brother Lycaon. It fit him well. On his shoulder he looped his bronze, silver-studded sword, his huge strong shield. On his handsome head he put a fine helmet with nodding horse-hair plumes on top, full of menace. Then he picked out a brave spear which fit his grip.

Menelaus prepared himself as well. Ariadnê smirked as she took in the difference of their stances. It was easy to see who was a warrior and who was not. When the two men, standing on each side with their troops, had armed themselves, they strode out to the open space between the Trojans and Achaeans, staring ferociously. As horse-taming Trojans and well-armed Achaeans gazed at the two men, they were overcome with wonder. The two men approached each other over measured ground, brandishing their spears in mutual fury. Aléxandros was the first to hurl his spear. It struck Menelaus' shield, a perfect circle, but the bronze did not break through, the point deflected by the sturdy shield. Then Menelaus, Atreus' son, threw in his turn.

First he made this prayer to Ζεύς: "Lord Ζεύς, grant I may be revenged on this man, who first committed crimes against me, lord Aléxandros. Let him die at my hands, so generations of men yet to come will dread doing wrong to anyone who welcomes them into his home as friends." Menelaus then drew back his long-shadowed spear, and hurled it. It hit the son of Priamos' shield, a perfect circle. The heavy spear pierced through it, went straight through the fine body armour, through the shirt which covered Aléxandros' naked flesh. But Paris twisted to the side, evading a black fate.

Pulling out his silver-studded sword, the son of Atreus raised it and struck the crest of Paris's helmet. But the sword shattered into three or four pieces, falling from his hand. The son of Atreus, in vexation, looked up into wide heaven, crying out: "Father Ζεύς, what god brings us more trouble than you do? I thought I was paying Aléxandros for his wickedness, but now my sword has shattered in my fist, while from my hand my spear has flown in vain. I haven't hit him."

Ariadnê watched as Menelaus launched himself at Paris, dragging him by the helmet on his head towards the Achaeans. She raised a hand, stilling the guards who made their sworn oaths to protect the House of Priamos. The leather strap was strangling him to death, but Ariadnê said nothing. The war does not end here. She cast her gaze back to the heavens as Aphrodítē broke through the strap, leaving Menelaus' hands empty.

He threw the helmet at his soldiers, rushing to kill Paris but the goddess had snatched him up–for a god an easy feat— concealed him in a heavy mist and placed him back in his own sweetly scented bedroom. Atreus's son paced through the crowd, like a wild beast, searching for some glimpse of godlike Aléxandros. But no Trojan nor any of their famous allies could reveal Aléxandros to warlike Menelaus.

If they'd seen him, they had no desire to hide him. For they all hated Paris, as they hated gloomy death.

Agamemnon, king of men, addressed them: "Listen to me, Trojans, Dardanians, allies— victory clearly falls to war-loving Menelaus. So give back Argive Helénē and her property, compensate us with a suitable amount, something future ages will all talk about." As he finished speaking, the other Achaeans cheered.

And Ariadnê turned her gaze back to the Achaeans. "Peace will not come so easily," she announced. Both sides quiet it to a whisper to hear the words that she proclaimed. "For it has been foretold that the war shall not end until Ahkilles is brought to Death's Doors by the hand of Troy's chosen and Troy is but rubble amongst the earth."

Each army shared looks between each other. Her eyes turned to look at Menelaus and Agamemnon. "Know that what comes next is the work of the gods as they ensure the will of Fate."

"Are you not favored by Anankê? How can you let the gods rule over you as such," Eumelus spat.

"Watch thy tongue, boy. I worship the gods. I do not worship you. I have staved off the destruction of Troy for the nine years we have been at war and I shall do so for longer, but know this Menelaus, your honor shall be restored for it has been foretold that Aléxandros is to fall in this war. Now let Gaia be my witness in this, and wide Ouranos above us, and the dripping water of the Styx, which oath is the biggest and most formidable oath among the blessed immortals that I swear the house of the sons of Atreus shall have the revenge that they desire. On the divinity within that flows through my veins as my Father is Poseidón Aigaiôn this war shall end when Fate and Death meet."

She turned to her gaze to the heavens.


The father of gods and men met her gaze with ease. He spoke up to Athênê—his words had wings. "Go quickly to the Trojan and Achaean troops. Try to get the Trojans to break their oaths first, by injuring the glorious Achaeans."

Ζεύς's words stirred up Athênê's earlier desires. She darted from Olympus summit, sped off, like a comet sent by crooked-minded Kronos's son, a beacon for sailors and the wide race of men, showering sparks behind her as she flew. That's how Pallas Athênê shot to earth, then dropped right down into the middle of the soldiers.

Horse-taming Trojans looked on in amazement, well-armed Achaeans, too. As they saw her, each man said to the person next to him: "There's going to be more war, more wretched combat, or else great Ζεύς, who serves up war to men, will make the troops on both sides friends."

That's what troops muttered, both Trojan and Achaean. Athênê went down into the Trojan crowd, looking like Laodocus, Antenor's son, a strong spearman, seeking godlike Pandarus. She met Pandarus, Lycaon's powerful son, a fine man, standing there with his sturdy soldiers, shield-bearing troops who'd come from the river Aesopus.

Standing near him, Athênê spoke. Her words had wings: "Fiery hearted son of Lycaon, why not do as I suggest? Prepare yourself to shoot a swift arrow at Menelaus. You'd earn thanks and glory from all Trojans, and most of all from prince Aléxandros. He'd be the very first to bring fine gifts, if he could look at warlike Menelaus, son of Atreus, mounted on his bier, his bitter funeral pyre, killed by your arrow. So come, then, shoot an arrow at him— at splendid Menelaus. Promise Apóllōn, illustrious archer born in Lycia, you'll make fine sacrifice, some new-born lambs, once you get back to holy Zeleia."

Athênê spoke and thus swayed his foolish wits. Pandarus took up his bow. His brave companions held their shields before him, just in case Achaea's warlike sons attacked them, before he could shoot Menelaus. Pandarus took out an arrow, swearing an oath to the archer god, Lycian-born Apóllōn, that he would make splendid sacrifice, first-born lambs, when he got back to his city, holy Zaleia.

Gripping the arrow notch, the ox-gut bowstring, he pulled back and once he'd bent that great bow into a circle, the bow twanged, the string sang out, the sharp-pointed arrow flew away, eager to bury itself in crowds of men.

(Ariadnê pushed Aineías behind her, subtly inching back to her chariot.)

Athênê cloaked herself in mist as she stood at Menelaus' side. She brushed the arrow away from him, leading the arrow to pierce through the leather strap of his armor. Dark blood at once came flowing from the wound.

The war began anew.


Aineías rushed Ariadnê to her chariot, but she would not stand back idly.

Stormsurge elongated into her hand as she spun on her feet, weapon locking with another. She scowled, leaning her weight onto Aineías before kicking upwards. Her legs wrapped around the chest area of the soldier in front of her, sword dematerializing into its natural state as she flipped over. Her hands touched solid ground as the warrior landed directly on top of his head.

She would need to send word to her Family that if they were to join then the time was now.


Ζεύς watched from his place in the heavens as the war started once more. Ariadnê kept a wide divide between the armies, conjuring storm after storm and shaking the earth apart as she led a retreat for her troops.

A long chasm separated them, keeping them apart even as she muttered vows and oaths and pleaded to Gaia to raise the land after they ventured further to safety.

(Not that it did much as the opposing army was never more than three steps behind. She was tiring quickly.)


Her eyes burned with fury as she strolled through her troops searching for Pandarus. She pushed him to the ground, snatching his bow from his hands. "You, idiotic boy, how big is your ego to think that glory would come to you for bringing more war to the fates of your friends and family. I warned you all that the gods would do anything to ensure the Will of Fate, and you, like a fool, played right into their hands."

"I was to earn thanks and glory from all Trojans, and most of all from prince Aléxandros."

The gods watched as Ariadnê sneered, "Foolish boy. You think that you would gain glory from those whose livelihood that Aléxandros has ruined? I am Queen. Prince Hektōr is the heir of Troy. Prince Aineías is heir of Dardania. You do not move lest I give you order to, and for that, I shall hand your head over to the Archives while I attempt to salvage what you have cost us." She turned on her heel, Hektōr and Aineías at her heels.

She let out a sharp whistle, a small hellpup emerging from the shadows. Aineías passed her a sheet of paper, watching as she quickly scribbled something on it before sending the pup off. Her gaze turned back towards the chasm as she felt the earth heal itself.

"Come," she ordered. "We must make haste for the walls, impenetrable as they are infused with the power of divinity. This war will end as I will it too."


"Father," Hermês called aloud. The King turned his gaze to the youngest of his divine-born sons. "What are your orders?"

Ζεύς gave him a small smile, saying nothing as he turned his attention to those of Castellan. The eleven children that occupied the lands were moving towards the cluster of trees that somehow managed to obscure the view of the gods.

They were planning something. He was sure of it.


Then Athênê, eyes glittering, took her brother, headstrong Árēs , by the hand, and said: "Árēs , Árēs , insatiable man-killer, destroyer of cities, why don't we leave Trojans and Achaeans to fight it out? Father Ζεύς will make one group victorious. Let's withdraw, avoiding Zeus's anger."


Aineías saw Diomēdēs cutting his way through ranks of soldiers.

"My Queen," he started, drawing her attention. She turned, and throwing her hands out, pushing Diomēdēs away from Xanthus and Thoön, two sons of Phaenops, both of whom he loved. Worn down by sad old age, he'd have no other child, no person to inherit all his property.

"Send them back to the kingdom," she ordered. "Guard our home!"

Diomēdēs didn't let her interference stop him. He challenged two sons of Priam, son of Dardanus, both in a single chariot—Echemmon and Chromius.

Ariadnê sneered as she remembered that he was favored by Athênê. Her sword, Kuklôn, emerged into her hand.

"I shall face him myself," she declared. "Hektōr, draw our troops back! You have a son waiting for you at home. Go! No more families will be torn apart on this day! Aineías, Pandarus; with me. Do not engage unless I give word."

This was the battle in which Diomēdēs injured Aphrodítē.

And rumor has it that if you make a god bleed, people will seize to believe in them.

She shall paint the skies red.

"Let us defend you first," Aineías pleaded.

She looked at him, scoffing low in her throat to step back. "Do not die, son of doves. You are to be the leader of a great empire." The heir of Dardania (and probably the future founder of Rome, she honestly doesn't know what the timeline looked like now) winked at her with a smug smile as the chariot turned towards Diomēdēs.

Pandarus spoke first, shouting out: "Great spirited, warlike son of Tydeus, that noble man, I see that my sharp arrow, a bitter shaft, did not destroy you. So now I'll try to hit you with my spear."

Ariadnê could not wait for the day that modern english returned. The archaic language was not something that she was good at even if she was good at pretending.

He threw his long-shadowed spear which hit Diomēdēs' shield. The bronze point pierced it, but stopped at the body armour.

Pandarus let out a mighty cheer: "You're hit, right in the ribs. You won't last long. I think you've given me a glorious triumph."

Unperturbed, powerful Diomēdēs said to him: "You're wrong. You haven't hit me. In my view, this matter won't end for the two of you, until one of you falls dead, and his blood satisfies in full hard warlike Árēs."

Ariadnê snarled as he threw his spear. Athênê guided it straight to Pandarus' nose, directly by the eyes. It smashed through his white teeth. The tireless bronze sliced through his tongue at its root, coming out his chin, right at the tip. Pandarus fell from the chariot, his brightly shining armour rattling round him. The swiftly running horses swerved aside. Then and there his life-force, his spirit, left him.

Aineías then leapt down with his long spear and shield, fearing Achaeans would somehow haul away the corpse. He made a stand by Pandarus, like a lion, confident of its strength. He held his spear in front, his round shield, too, with fearful shouts, fiercely eager to kill anyone who came up to confront him.

Diomēdēs picked up a stone, a massive rock that no two men now alive could lift. He threw it all by himself with ease. It hit Aineías' leg, where thigh meets pelvis, what people call the hip joint. The boulder smashed the socket and both tendons round it. The rough edges on the rock scraped off his skin. Ariadnê swiped her sword through the air, a cyclone of water emerging from the skies blasting the chariot back.

Falling to his knees, warlike Aineías stayed down, supporting himself with his strong hand on the ground. Black night came down and covered both his eyes. Aineías, king of men, would have perished there, if Aphrodítē had not seen him right away. Wrapping her white arms around the son she loved, she hid him in the folds of her bright gown, to ward off any spears, should some Danaan driving with swift horses hurl a spear into his chest and take his life. She then began to carry her dear son from the fight.

But Diomēdēs with his ruthless bronze had gone to run down Aphrodítē —knowing she was not a god who could do much in battle, not one of those who control men's wars. She started them, finished them, and preferred to watch than to interfere.

(It was best that she did not interfere, for Love could bring even the gods to their knees.)

She was no Athênê, no goddess Eris, who destroys whole cities. He chased her through the crowded battle zone, dodging the attacks of Ariadnê who pushed him back for every foot he gained.

Ariadnê twirled through the air, laughter as airy as the wind escaping her, as she pushed and pushed.


Athênê was amused if her actions were against her. The girl strategy was unpredictable at best, dominating the battlefield through the sheer strength alone. She seemingly looked past all of the goddess' carefully placed attacks instead focusing directly at Diomēdēs as she closed in on the goddess of love.

When he met her, Diomēdēs charged, lunging with his sharp spear at Aphrodítē. His weapon wounded her slim wrist, piercing the skin above her hand, right through her godlike robe, a garment the Graces had made for her themselves.

Immortal divine fluid then flowed out, ichor, which circulates only in the blessed gods, who do not eat food or drink down gleaming wine. Hence, they lack blood, and men call them immortal. Aphrodítē screamed wildly, echoed by a distinct scream of rage, and let go of her son.

But Phoibos Apóllōn caught him in his hands, then shielded him with a dark cloud, just in case some fast-riding Danaan threw a spear into his chest and took away his life.


Diomēdēs, expert in war cries, shouted loudly: "Daughter of Ζεύς, leave war and fights alone. Isn't it enough for you to fool around with feeble women? If you start loitering on the battlefield, I think the war will make you shake with terror, even though you learn about it from a distance."

The ground shook beneath the feet of the daughter of Poseidón as she lunged forward. Her sword shifted into a club that she brought down harshly onto his chariot as Athênê yanked him out of it.

She landed in a crouch, the blue hue of her eyes spreading from her pupils to her sclera as she looked back up at him.


Aphrodítē left in agony, distressed and fearful. Wind-swift Iris came to her, led her off, out of the crowd, moaning in pain, her fair skin stained and wounded. She came across fierce Árēs, seated on the left flank of the fight, his spear and his fast horses resting on a cloud.

Falling on her knees, she implored her dear brother, pleading hard for his golden-bridled horses: "Dear brother, save me. Give me your horses, so I may go back up to Mount Olympus, the immortals' home. My wound pains me a lot. A mortal man struck me with his spear, Tydeus' son, who'd now fight Father Ζεύς himself."

At this, Árēs gave her his golden-bridled horses. She climbed up in the chariot, her fond heart suffering. Getting in beside her, Iris picked up the reins, then lashed the horses forward. They flew on willingly. At once they reached the gods' home, steep Olympus.


Diomēdēs eyed Ariadnê warily as she prowled forward. Her club shifted forms once more, changing into a kērū́keion.

Sweet, sweet Erebos converged upon the battlefield, covering the aureole of the sun atop Hêlios' head. Her voice was soft, and enchanting, a sickly saccharine promise sat at the tip of her tongue: "You will pay for that."


|Ten Minutes Before|


There was no better time to do this with his Father distracted by the schemes of his Mother and Athênê as Aphrodítē focused on her son. He would have to be quick about it.

Though, as he walked into the kingdom, he wondered if he were a moment too late as Hermês was filling the godlings with justified passion.

None of them were the ones he was looking for though he wondered if Father knew of the actions that his second youngest was taking.

The god continued on through the kingdom, finding the twerp on the outskirts of what they affectionately called "Nakumara Town". A man made lake had been placed there. He was thankful that he was not in that strange Grove of trees that hid them from the view of the gods.

Árēs could see Perse–Percy working on his water manipulation. It was as if he were trying to mimic the way his sister threw around whips of water and sailed through the air on strips of water.

The god watched him silently as the boy pushed and pushed and pushed his body to limits that his mortality could not contain. 'Twas a wondrous thing that they were deathless.

His voice echoed around the clearing, "You are too angry." And the godling spun around sharply, the bullets of water that he conjured splattering on the ground a few inches before they could touch him. He was furious, and it had nothing to do with the wrath of Árēs.

"What are you doing here," he spat, nostrils flaring before hastily tacking on, "Mi'lord." He bowed with a small amount of reluctance, but not as much as his anger would infer.

Árēs waved away the disrespect for he too would be out of sorts if it were any of his siblings that had been stolen from him by lesser beings. (Not that he'd tell them that). "You called for me," the god stated, laughing aloud at the offended look that appeared on the child's face as he immediately protested. "I did not."

The kid still had much to learn about being immortal and how godly domains worked. "Your soul is crying for war. I am war."

Perseús appeared shocked for a moment before his features calmed as he turned away. He took a seat on the bank of the lake, kicking his feet within the water as it switched between his legs and tail.

Árēs hesitated. He wasn't really good at encouraging talks. He never really had one. "You know war is not as bad as people make it out to be. Aphrodítē could write sonnets about it if she so dared. The passion and love that is bred from war is one that she adores even as she cradles the widowers in her embrace as grief overcomes them." He sat beside the child. "Though, when most people think of war, they tend to only acknowledge the physical aspects and cast away those mental battles. They speak not of those that still suffer from the whistling heat of stones from the ballistra. Those that could hear the echo of their comrades as they fell into the awaiting arms of Kêres."

"I didn't know that you were over that."

The god shrugged, "Not many people do." He summoned his supplies as he sharpened his sword. The godling tensed, relaxing slowly as the god seemingly remained unbothered. Not that the god could harm him anyhow, favored by Anankê as he was.

He wondered what battles these kids have seen. He knows battle scarred souls. "Not many people do. But my epithets include my time stuck in Lady Gaea's other children's jar. The mental anguish was almost enough to make one fade. I don't want any of our people to deal with that alone. My sister, Athênê, deals in strategic warfare and makes her plans to ensure success, but I am war. I deal in all aspects. The good, the bad, and the ugly."

Though, he suppose that it helped that when the Twin Giants emerged a bit after the Gigantomachy, Perseús and Katie had joined Dionysos in beating them back into Tartara.

"I do not believe that we deal with the same issues, Lord Árēs."

"Your mind and soul is at war with itself."

"It's not like my literal soulmate hasn't been kidnapped because of a freaking apple."

Árēs laughed a little bitterly and a lot of mockingly, "War is when the young and stupid are tricked by the old and bitter into killing each other."

The godling scoffed, eyes flashing dangerously, "Yeah the three of them do seem bitter."

"Careful, Perseús. None of them are as forgiving as me."

"You know I feel as if I had this conversation before," the godling smirked.

Árēs raised a curious brow before shaking his head. "Ah, it matters not, kid. You have bigger problems ahead of you."

"What do you mean?"

Árēs turned his head skywards, "Athênê may be willing to ignore it. She believes that you all will follow Fates' will, but I have been around you all. I know you all will not sit back idly."

"We just want Ariadnê back."

"And you shall. I do not doubt the lengths you will all go to get her. But I am war, Perseús. And this isn't a battle that you can fight alone. Only the dead have seen the end of war. And even then, not always. Yes, death is an awakening. One for limitless potential."

"Death? Someone is going to die."

"It might not even be who you expect."

"I don't know if you notice, Lord Árēs. But we don't have many allies"

"You'll be surprised by who is on your side. Oh and Perseús? Remember that sometimes by losing a battle you find a new way to win the war."

"What does that even mean?"

"You'll figure it out."

Árēs left back to the battleground before more could be said. And as he left, a familiar hell-pup jumped into the godling's lap with a sheet of paper between its teeth.

He knew that the godling would figure it out eventually. After all, he was a true soldier.

And a true soldier fights not because he hates what is in front of him, but because he loves what is behind him.


"Do you truly believe that you are a match for me," Diomēdēs questioned.

Ariadnê let the echoing claps of thunder and sting of the raging rain answer for her.

She was going to let him live and play his part with Odysseús in the later battles, but fuck that. She knew that Lady Aphrodítē got her own revenge in the end, but Ariadnê decided to not let her waste her energy on the ingrate. Athênê left him to face the battle alone, overseeing the battles above on Olympus alongside the others. Aphrodítē glared at her hatefully for a mere moment before deeming her unworthy of her attention.

"I suppose I shall take you for my wife," Diomēdēs continued, seemingly ignoring the way that the shadows spread across the land. "Aléxandros does not seem to be keeping you in check."

A strike of lightning brushed dangerously close to him from behind. Diomēdēs stood in front of her mockingly as she awaited his approach. Ariadnê was going to enjoy drawing it, pulling screams from his throat that echoed with the looming thunder around him. She would feast on his blood until her teeth were stained more red than white. She feast on his heart and show the world how love devours rational senses of those that come across it.

Her hand clenched around the shaft of her kērū́keion, gleaming an unnerving blue as it focused solely on him.

"I grow tired of your games," he stated when she refused to acknowledge him any further. Lunging forward, he blinked as blood trailed down his arm. She stood to the right of him as if she had never even moved.

"What?" She tilted her head, kērū́keion once more transforming into her sword. She swung the blade towards him and he jumped backward to dodge it and yet— blood trailed down his other arm.

"Witch," the man cursed. "I should have foreseen this for you have been living within the house of Priamos and his queen, Hekábē, is known to dabble in witchcraft."

She made no reply as she inwardly rolled her eyes, using the power of the storm to elongate the reach of her sword and make a cut was child's play. She remembered every cut and bruise she had when Percy first showed her the technique. And Hekábē couldn't teach her anything except how to not raise a child like Paris.

Diomēdēs turned away from her and sought out Aineías. Though he knew Apóllōn himself was shielding him, he had no fear at all of that great god, pushing on to kill Aineías, then strip his fine armour from him.

Three times he charged forward, in a frenzy for the kill.

Three times Apóllōn pushed back his shining shield.


But when for the fourth time he came on like a god, Apóllōn, the far shooter, in a terrifying voice, cried: "Take care, son of Tydeus. Go back. Don't think you're equal to the gods. The race of men who walk upon the ground can never match the race of deathless gods."


(Ariadnê turned her gaze into the god's direction, a familiar feeling echoing within her that made her heart ached just a bit.)

At these words, Diomēdēs drew back somewhat, avoiding the anger of Apóllōn, the far shooter.


Apóllōn put Aineías some distance from the fight, on sacred Pergamus, where his temple stood. There, in the large shrine, Lētṓ and Artemis, the archer goddess, healed Aineías, restoring him to his former power and magnificence. Apóllōn then made an image, a copy of Aineías, with matching armour, around which Trojans and brave Achaeans fought, hacking away at ox-hide covering their chests, at the round shields or smaller shields with fringes.

Phoibos Apóllōn then called to his elder brother: "Árēs, Árēs, you bloodstained man-killer, can't you go back to Diomēdēs and remove him from the battle? Right now, he'd stand and fight with Father Ζεύς himself. First, he wounded Aphrodítē on the wrist, fighting at close quarters. Then he flung himself, like some god, at me."

After saying this, Apóllōn took a seat high up on Pergamus. Árēs went in among the Trojan ranks, inspiring the troops. In the shape of Acamas, Thracian leader, he yelled at Priamos' royal sons: "You sons of Priamos, that god-nurtured king, why are you still allowing the Achaeans to keep slaughtering your troops? Are you waiting until they fight by the well-built city gates? There lies great-hearted Ankhísēs's son, Aineías, whom we honour as we do prince Hektōr. Let's save our brave companion from the battle."

Árēs' words gave each man courage and blood-zest for war.


Diomēdēs scowled, but his attention was quickly captured by the reappearance of Ariadnê who looked as if she had not even moved.

The shadows twirled around him, dancing teasingly as she began to walk closer.

"Welcome back," she muttered and her fangs glinted from the glow of her sword. She laughed lightly, a whisper of a thing that echoed loudly across the battlefield drawing eyes from allies and enemies alike. "A foolish man that you are for not remembering the man who fights wars against immortals does not live long. His children have no chance to prattle to their father at his knee, once he gets home from war's grim butchery. You are surely powerful— you should take care. A greater power than me may come against you. Then Aegialeia, wise daughter of Adrestus and your brave wife, with cries of sorrow will rouse all her dear household from their sleep, lamenting the husband whom she married, the best of the Achaeans." Her smile was sharp, filled with a desire for the very blood within his skin. Her eyes screamed of madness that not even the nurture of a battle could contain. She was bore an insatiable hunger for war and she will shall have it.

Diomēdēs stumbled away from her, "You—you cannot kill me."

She tilted her head to the side, whips of water surrounding her. "Says who?"

"I—"

"Speak clearly, boy. 'Tis was you who tried to battle with gods," she snapped. "Aphrodítē Areia will see to it that she has her revenge or I can make it easier for you and take your life now. Your wound from Pandarus' arrow bothers you now and quickly becomes infected."


Bright-eyed Athênê quickly moved to Diomēdēs as the godlings' words were true. The sweat under the wide strap of his round shield was bothering him. The chafing made his arms grow tired. He was lifting up the strap, wiping off dark blood.

Setting her hand on the chariot yoke, the goddess said: "Tydeus had a son not much like his father. He may have been short, but he was a fighter. When I would not allow him into battle or to display himself, that time he came to Thebes alone, far from his Achaeans, in the middle of all those Cadmeans, I told him to be quiet at the palace feast. But he possessed a powerful spirit always active in him. So he challenged Cadmean young men and beat them easily. That's how much I helped him. Now I stand here, beside you, taking care of you, your friend. And I'm telling you to fight the Trojans. But you're either weary after so much action, your limbs worn out, or fear has made you timid. If so, then you're no son of Tydeus, the son of warlike Oeneus."

In answer to Athênê, mighty Diomēdēs said: "I recognize you, goddess daughter of aegis-bearing Zeus. I'll speak to you quite openly, concealing nothing. It's not that fear has made me hesitant or anxious. But I'm remembering your own instructions, what you laid down. You told me not to fight face to face with any immortal god, unless Ζεύς's daughter, Aphrodítē, should come to battle. With my sharp bronze, I was to wound her. I've pulled myself back, and told the other Argives to stay here since I see Árēs dominates the fight."

Bright-eyed goddess Athênê answered him: "Diomēdēs, son of Tydeus, you fill my heart with joy. Don't fear Árēs or any other immortal deity. For I'll give you all the help you need. But come, first let your sure-footed horses charge at Árēs'. Hit him up close. Have no fear of headstrong Árēs', that madman, born evil, that fickle god. Just now he gave his word to me and Hḗrē too that he would fight the Trojans and assist the Argives. But now, he's forgotten that and helps the Trojans."

Saying this, Athênê grabbed Sthenelus's hand and hauled him from the chariot to the ground. He jumped up at once. The goddess climbed up eagerly beside lord Diomēdēs in the chariot.

The oaken axle groaned aloud, weighed down, bearing the fearful goddess and the finest man. Pallas Athênê took up the reins and whip.


Ariadnê rolled her eyes, stepping aside to let the goddess have her fun but knowing that Diomēdēs would fall. After all, she was no deity. She waved a hand when Hektōr gave her a searching look as he came to stand at her side.


First, Athênê led the sure-footed horses against Árēs. He was removing armour from huge Periphas, Ochesius' fine son, by far the best of the Aetolians. Blood-stained Árēs was stripping him of all his weapons.

Then Athênê put Háidēs' helmet on her head, so she was invisible to mighty Árēs. But man-killing Árēs did see Diomēdēs.

He let the body of huge Periphas lie there, where he'd first killed him and ripped out his spirit.

He strode straight up to Diomēdēs. When the two came to close quarters and faced each other, Árēs thrust his bronze spear first, over the yoke and horses' reins, eager to take Diomēdēs' life.

Athênê, hands gripping the reins, shoved the spear aside, so its thrust was harmless, above the chariot. Diomēdēs then made the second thrust with his bronze spear.

Pallas Athênê guided the weapon right to Árēs' gut, the lower part where his waist band went around him. Diomēdēs wounded Árēs, piercing his fair skin, then pulled back on his spear. Brazen Árēs roared as loud as the screams of nine or ten thousand men when they clash in war. Fear seized Achaeans—Trojans, too.

They shuddered. That's how strong that cry sounded as it came from Árēs, insatiable for war.

Just as a dark mist moves upward from the clouds, when in hot weather a strong wind arises, so brazen Árēs looked to Tydeus's son, Diomēdēs, as the god at once soared up into the clouds, ascending to wide heaven.


Ariadnê gave a small chuckle, cracking her neck before she swung her sword downwards in a powerful slash.

The chariot in which they stood shattered into pieces.

Athênê shrugged as she left to oversee the other battles. She had told him that he need not to fear any other immortal deity and for all the gold that appeared within her mortal blood, the girl was no god.

The ground rumbled, knocking the various soldiers from their feet. Ariadnê held onto Hektōr tightly, casting her glance to the middle of the battlefield.

Nico, Clarisse, and Chris stood there, smiling at her as Katie's babies climbed from the chasm in the earth. Annabeth, Katie, Thalia smiled from the top of one of the beanstalks. Connor and Travis stood back to back, eyes glaring at each side.

And Percy— Percy stood next to her, a familiar hellpup curled on his shoulder and holding his hand out for her take: "Got your message. Get up, loser. We have a war to win."

Ariadnê smirked, placing her hand in her brother's, falling into his embrace as he hugged her tightly. "Never leave me again," he told her and she gave a small smile. She couldn't make any promises. She was beautiful and in high demand.

Diomēdēs stared at them, in shock and outrage. Ariadnê blew him a kiss. "Everyone, meet Diomēdēs. With the help of Athênê, he wounded both Aphrodítē and Árēs. He thought he was tough enough to face Apóllōn. He called me a witch and claimed he will take me as a wife with no dowry presented. Oh, he also believes that he cannot die by my hand and that Paris isn't keeping me in check."

Her Family snarled, wrath growing with every word she spoke. Rage almost tangible in the air as the shadows solidified, piercing the bodies of the warriors—both Trojan and Archives—surrounding them.

Nico screamed.

Ariadnê and Clarisse had taken him under their wing. And outside of them, it had been Drew who had done her best to teach Nico that his feelings for the same sex were okay with her rather obvious crush on Ariadnê. It had been Clarisse who cared for him when Ariadnê was off with the gods and he wasn't lingering in the underworld stuck on revenge. They were family. And may the gods have mercy on those that hurt them. Diomēdēs surely did not understand what he was in for. He stared unnerved as the shadows spread from the pupils within the eyes of the ghost king. The prince of darkness took slow steps towards the other. The shadows shrunk and wrapped around him like a cloak.

A crown of shadows sat atop of his head as his sword glinted through the flashes of the twins and Thalia's shared storm. Nico does not go easy on the man as continued to walk forward, shadows twisting up and around him like snakes and chains. Every step he took had the ghost of the dead flocking to his side. He made an impressive and intimidating image.

And yet—Diomēdēs' held his ground. He was wrong to think Nico was going to charge him in battle.

No, the Ghost King stood only an arm's length away. The shadows around him wrapped around Diomēdēs' arms and legs. The hero rained down slurs onto the younger boy, but Nico could hear none of it.

The son of Haidês' had only tilted his head to the side and spoke one word.

"Die."

The shadows had wrapped around Diomēdēs. Squeezing until the hero opened his mouth to scream, they forced themselves down his throat like some form of demonic possession. The shadows rattled around inside of him, closing around each organ tightly. Shadows streamed out of his eyes like tears. The man didn't have any room to scream from the shadows continuously plunging into his body.

It was brutal.

It was gruesome.

It was war.

In his rage of protection, Nico could see nothing. Feel nothing. Think of nothing. He was done letting Fate take away his family. It was time to step out of the shadows and take control. He probably would've gone further.

But Will... sweet Will stepped to his side and placed a hand on his shoulder. The son of the sun shone brightly across the field banishing Nico's shadows under the onslaught. Diomēdēs' body dropped to the ground uncaringly as Will did his best to bring Nico back down to reality.

The children of Castellan turned to look at both armies, and then they laid waste to all that stood in their way.


Aphrodítē glided sensually through the Trojan camp. No, through the Castellan camp which held warriors from both sides.

She would leave to join Árēs and Apóllōn soon enough. After all, there was nothing more entertaining than watching those that fell in love with war and the beauty of it all. To see how hatred bloomed from the love within them as their brothers and comrades fell upon their swords.

She was born from death. Simple things that mortals would find horrifying intrigued her... amused her... aroused her.

Still, the goddess had a task to complete as the war was slowly coming to an end.

And not in the way that they had all planned due to the interference of the Castellan brats.

She found them entertaining. The love that they shared between them shone almost as brightly and fiercely as the gods themselves loved. And the beauty that they all were graced with, it was no surprise that the blood of the deathless flowed through them.

And yet— there was something that wasn't right about those children. A secret that they seemingly only shared with each other and the gods who favor they curtailed so easily. Hestia, Hermês, Poseidón, Háidēs, and Persephónē looked at the children as if they had raised them from birth.

Though, she supposed that only she and her darling children had realized how long Hermês and Ariadnê had been in love with each other even if Ariadnê still longed for Apóllōn.

She wondered what would happen if Apóllōn acknowledged his mutual feelings for Ariadnê.

The love that ran through the twelve children though was so deep and unbreakable. She felt almost mad with the power of it. It made her want to sink her teeth in it and rip it apart. She wanted to pull and pull and pull to see how far she could go before it could break.

She wanted to tear it down to its barest bones and build it all over again. It was pure and tainted and happy and sad and spiteful and benevolent and beautiful and ugly.

She yearned for it as much as she despised it.

Aphrodítē could feel traces of her power on them, yet she had no recollection of them prior to them appearing on that battlefield. She played games with the boy. She could see that. She could see how she had tested the strength of his love for Athênê's brat as the two danced around their forbidden love. She played them and they still came out on top. She loved that for them even if she did have their parents shrieking in her ear to split them up.

She wouldn't. As cruel as she may seem to others, true love cannot be denied.

(And even if she did, both Poseidón and Athênê were her enemies in a war where her son could be killed, and Athênê had directly helped that monster of a mortal attempt to kill her son and wound Aphrodítē herself! If anything, she should be begging Aphrodítē to not fill her daughter with a passion for her lover that even a separation between the two would find them faded within the grasps of Khaeos.)

And for his twin?

It was clear that she ventured down a different route with the motherly love that surrounded the girl that the goddess had only placed on her own children. She held a very small immunity to charmspeak that even if Aineías knew how to utilize the power; it would not affect her.

She wondered what it was about the girl that made her power comfort her so. The girl had never looked at her in fear, Aphrodítē realized. Only annoyance and hurt and that was due to her kidnapping.

Aphrodítē believed she had misstep a bit in her plan for the apple of discord.

("They will not stop until Troy and Sparta are nothing but specks on the map," Hermês declared solemnly. Apóllōn gazed about the room as he said, "I do not believe this to be a wise decision.")

Mayhaps she should have awarded the Apple to Thétis.

(A small part of the goddess wondered what it would take to make amends though that same part of her chafed at the idea that she, a being of her status, should.)

Aphrodítē wondered what made the girl tick. Her brother had a lamentable ability to mimic even the deadliest of sirens. A skill that she could help refine into a weapon just as sharp as the swords he wielded. It was something that she had planned on teaching her darling son.

Was it the bonds that she held with the other gods? Ariadnê loved them all, cherished them in a way that would have suggested that she had been birthed and raised upon the mountains of Olympos.

She looked at them as if she could see them for who they actually were... as if she could see past the mortal visage and see the deities in their truest forms like a friend that followed her through the streets. It was impossible, but she looked at them as she were their equal and still unworthy to be graced with their presence.

She loved them even as those with loose tongues called them monsters and cursed their names.

She cherished them. She would bleed for them. She would gladly hand over her soul to them. She was a wonder, and for the first time, in the past nine years, Aphrodítē felt the slightest regret for the pain she had caused the girl.

(And yet she knew that for all she had hurt the girl's feelings, the godling would never hate her.)

(How foolish of her.)

Ariadnê nuzzled the horses from each opposing side. She held them so tenderly in her embrace as if she were the mare that birthed them.

The goddess didn't bother hiding her presence for she knew that the equine had already forewarned her. And even then, the godling was always in tune with the presence of the gods. Even her desire for blood and carnage spilled into the air around, murderous intent flowing through her bloods, she had rarely ever been surprised to see a god step before her, welcoming them almost teasingly.

Dialect switching to thalassini glossa, she cooed inwardly at the part of her essence that soothed as she acknowledged that part of her lineage. She was Aphrodítē Pontia just as she was Aphrodítē Ourania.

"You seem unhappy," the goddess muttered. "You have a loving husband, a beautiful sister-wife, a kingdom that expanded regions, and the lover of an Olympian? Your Family now stands at your side? Destiny and Fate are firmly in your grasp to wield as you so please? What is there to be sad about?"

"Everything," the girl mumbled. Aphrodítē hummed. "Fate and Destiny are one in the same and how can I lead these people to their deaths? You know what awaits them at the end of the year no matter how hard I fight against it. I am the daughter of Poseidón Ennosigaios; from his divine power, my soul was crafted. Holy be my name and yet my hands bring forth nothing but destruction. Am I not the monster they whisper about? Am I not a threat worthy to be brought to low beneath the earth struck by the bolt of Ζεύς Palamnaios?"

To the astonishment of Aphrodítē, tears gathered at her eyes but did not stream down her face instead they poured from the heavens attuned with her emotions as always. "I am but a lady of wily mind and wily snares. I craft hope within the hearts of my army and allies, and the people that wait for me in my kingdom, both Castellan and Ilion. Yet a fraud I am as their defeat awaits them surely like death waits for no man nor woman. Deathless I may be and yet I long to fall on my sword as their defeat draws closer. I promised them salvation and yet I led them to damnation."

Her body was wracked with shudders as she stubbornly refused to let her tears run free.

"Look at me, child," she ordered. The girl obeyed her without a second thought. She inhaled sharply, an almost whistle of wind.

A small secret to those that stood before her. She barely utilized it, deeming to appear in forms that one believed to be the ultimate form of herself. But in the case as of now, she appeared in a form that represented the soul of the person that stood before her.

Her hair had darkened as if Nýx fixed the night sky within the strands, and her eyes filled with a hue of blue as if Pontos trapped the waves of the ocean within. There were cracks within her face like the chasms that were carved into the earth.

(There was a stubbornness in her eyes that spoke of defiance and pain and the resolve to make the world bow at her feet or she'd carve obedience from the blood of her enemies.)

Ariadnê was looking face to face with herself. An older version, yes, but it was still her.

Aphrodítē hummed, eyes darting over the godlings' face: "I have been remiss of your feelings. If I were to be honest, I had truly to believe that I was helping you. The love that you hold for Apóllōn even under the adoration that you hold for Hermês was poisonous to you as there was no clear relief in sight. It was breaking you, smothering you into a pale comparison of who you could grow to be. How can there be Twin Swords when one was dull in the face of adversary? And yet, it seems as if my effort to correct the mistake was one incorrectly executed."

The demigoddess' glare smoothed away into something shy and vulnerable. Aphroditê let her own features swirled until her more preferred form. She wondered why the demigoddess brought out all these motherly feelings within her. Does she not have her own mother to care for her?

"I thought I was helping," the goddess pouted. "You were losing your sense of self. Love is as beautiful as I, but what is Love if you do not feel the same for yourself?"

"I do love myself," Ariadnê argued, weakly. "I do."

"Do you," the goddess questioned. "If not for acceptance of Hermês' desire for you, and your affairs with various mortals, you could have joined Artemis' flock of maidens or one similar."

She could tell that she struck a nerve with the mention of Hermês. (And yet, she could also see how the girl relaxed as if the mere mention of his name washed away all her worries. The skies cleared as her tears dried once.)

"I love myself," she repeated, firm.

But—

"Continuously stating it will not make it come true. You put your love for Perseús, for Apóllōn, the gods all around, and Hermês before the love you hold for yourself. You put everything before yourself."

The demigoddess refused to comment out of stubbornness she was sure, but the words were true. She would sacrifice herself happily, write herself out of history and beyond if it meant that those she loved and cherished would be safe.

"What am I supposed to do?"

"I believe you already know the answer to that, Sealight," she answered easily. The godling stiffened as if she had spoken something that was forbidden; like the Nephelê moving across the vast sky.

"It would be as simple as facing all my issues... all my trauma?"

"Not all at once and not all at all."

Ariadnê pursed her lips before turning back to the mare in front of her. Brushing a hand over its mane, she sighed. "I did not have a good relationship with my mother," words falling from her lips reluctantly. "I'll never tell my brother this, but I hated her. I loved her, but I hated her. She never wanted me. I always knew it."

"I am not trying to invalidate your feelings, but how do you know that for sure?"

"It was the look in her eyes. My brother was everything to her. He represented all the love that she shared with Father," Ariadnê pursed her lips forcing herself to keep from crying. It seemed the girl had used all her tears up long ago. "Me? I was nothing more than extra baggage. A physical representation of the consequences that followed with having relations with a god."

Aphrodítē ached. Even if she didn't understand why this godling was covered in her maternal love, she could feel herself wanting to protect her.

Ariadnê looked to the heavens, and she wondered if the girl knew that she was drawing the affection of all the Mothers that resided in realms around her. "For Percy, she was a super mom. She would have fought the stars... fought the gods, battled with the monsters all around us if it meant keeping him safe. But for me? I had to be more than just a daughter and a sister. I had to learn to be a Father. I had to learn to be a Mother just to keep me safe. And it still was not enough as I had to extend that responsibility to keeping Percy safe also. Not that it mattered as my brother's safety is my first priority."

She shook her head as if she was moving away from a bad dream. "I only remember one instance where she defended me as that was due to my first step-father's desire for me even when I was far from marrying age."

The girl sighed once more, pulled from the depths of her soul. There was a heaviness to her that not even the war compared to. "It was not fair how I was raised, but the life of a demigod is never fair. I love her, my Mother. I always will. But when the day ended, she was Percy's Mother. Not mine. Never mine. And for that, I hate her."

She wiped stubbornly at her face as Hermês appeared at her side. She leaned into his embrace easily as if she had been carved from his side. "How can I love myself when my Mother never did? I had asked her once why she had never given me up. I told her once that I rather she had did."

Her shoulders sank with a deep boned exhaustion that would have pushed her to her knees if Hermês was not holding her up. "My own brother, twin of my soul, had put me last behind everyone in his life. My friends have their own problems, allowing me to be the shoulder for them to lean on. My Father has other children to raise and adore. I've always been the placeholder. No one had ever put me first. And it was just so easy to love Apóllōn and give him my all. What kind of love would burn brighter than the sun?"

Aphrodítē moved without thinking, drawing the girl from her Brother's embrace and into her own. "You are loved so very much even the unseeing could see. I'm so sorry that you feel this way; that you feel so alone. I wished you could see yourself the same way you once did. The way everyone else sees you. You're on the path of self love, sealight. you need to forgive them for the hurt. You're holding on waiting for an apology for their actions and it's weighing you down. You need to let go of it for yourself."

"I don't know how."

"Stop running and listen to the voice inside of you."

"I will help," Hermês told her as he gently pulled her back into his embrace.

Aphrodítē left as the girl buried her face into his chest, and let go of some of the hatred that she held for herself.


WORD COUNT: 12,248

WORDS TO KNOW:

Hermês Khrysorrhapis - Hermês Of the Golden Wand

Poseidón Ennosigaios - Poseidón, the Shaker of the Earth

Poseidón Aigaiôn - Poseidón Of the Aegean Sea

thalassini glossa - language of the sea

Ζεύς Palamnaios - Ζεύς, the (Punisher) of Murderers

Ζεύς Hypsistos - Ζεύς the most high

Aphrodítē Pontia - Aphrodítē Of the Sea

Aphrodítē Ourania - Heavenly Aphrodítē

Aphrodítē Areia - Warlike Aphrodítē

kourai Olympiades - Olympian maidens

Comments from the Author:

1) The funny thing about this is that I was rereading the Iliad and doing researching and realized that next to Aineías and Hektōr... Menelaos and Diomēdēs became my favorites.