The night was abundant in laughter and music. Never had another wedding night been as grandiose as this of the new King of Olympus and his sister-wife. It had taken place around the great royal fountain, ten feet tall divided in four golden layers, with water that glistened in silver and refreshing blue. The pillars were adorned with sparkling ivy in intricate designs and colors – ivory, scarlet, and aquamarine. The universe around them was a pallet of carnation and turquoise against the black where the stars blinked.
All deity were present in colorful silk and sparkling gems, their faces painted where their skin glowed. It were the lesser gods who danced and sang together with the King. Diamond-studded fiddles and harps chorused, drowning the laughter of goddesses and muses alike.
Ares had already been drunk before the royal merriment began. Up in the dais he was a spectacle, handsomely clad in royal garbs befitting ang King but lacking too much of kingly manners. His hands were never empty with flagons after flagons of wine. The jeweled crown in his head had fallen around four times and is now lying unruly in his hair. When he roars in laughter he'd pounce on the table until something breaks or falls.
The queen never looked at him, at all of them. She never smiled. She saw them rats on her feet and her husband a swine. She stared at the table gleaming with all sorts of delicacy men had never before seen nor tasted. Beside the platters of ambrosia and nectar are gilded bowls of mushrooms and buttered snails, mutton and venison, berries, and all sorts of overflowing food the gods don't even need. And while they waste all these there are mortal children starving in the cities and men who would kill for an onion.
Ares was biting a chunk of turkey leg and as he pulled the bone a smudge of gravy made way in his dark stubble. Throwing the leg he grabbed a weapon, a bow to be exact but thicker and heavier. It was said to be another one of Hephaestus' inventions. The archer does not need to pull the arrow, but one good flick of a lock and the arrow would fly as powerful as a spear.
"A toast to my Queen!" Ares' strong but slugging voice roared and the deities applauded. "King Ares! Queen Athena! King Ares!"
Athena bit the wall of her mouth. He leaned over to make sure she was looking, the spirits on his breath was so strong Athena was sure to retch out the longer she'd smell on. "Watch this, Queen." Ares wiggled the tip of the weapon to her face where the arrow glistened, "This was my cock making way to your sorry cunt."
With a horrible laughter he drained the remaining wine on his wedding flagon, spilling some in the edges of his mouth, and letting the arrow fly unceremoniously at the marble statue of a naked woman holding a jar molded on top of the fountain. The deities howled and clapped at a marvelous hit as the head of the statue went missing. Ares maniacally laughed with arms wide open in recognition of the applaud he was too absorbed in, looking at the crowd and then at his bride.
The Queen's face only spilled disgust and abhorrence. Heaving an angered sigh she shook her head, hastily stood, and left the dais. As soon as she reached the hallway to the gardens she stopped and leaned in a pillar only to ease the pain between her legs. The thought of having those pangs filled hot tears on her eyes and she stifled a sob.
Athena remembered lying there, the air around her thickening as his fingers tightened around her throat. He pounded on her like she was his favorite whore, sending shrill soreness around the pit of her stomach. And when he finished with a satisfied grin he looked down on her, at the small red pool where her hips laid and commanded to keep it there. "This is a token of your defeat."
Like any other wound, she bled, but this was worst. This cost her purity and grace, the dignity she had been bestowed now tore from her. Only a god could inflict pain to another god. Only a god could make another god bleed.
Willing to forget, Athena gathered herself together and walked on, down to a spiraling staircase and another set of rows of marble pillars to the gardens. It was never her favorite place, but right now she felt the need to get lost without the need to meditate.
Tonight the gardens were peaceful. Everyone had gone to the fountain to witness what a pig her husband is. She walked amongst strange plants with leaves that glowed at her touch. Fireflies of gold and copper floated and the perfume of Persephone, sweet like honeywine, lingered in an incessant bliss.
"Strange,"
The Queen turned to a manly voice, light and summery. A golden head caught her eye.
"A bride away from her wedding ceremonies," Apollo was smiling at her, holding his precious lyre in a hand. Athena reciprocated the smile, only half. "What are you doing here?"
The Sun chuckled, "What are you doing here?" only to get a grimaced face as a reply. His chuckling turned to laughter, before a glint of feigned worry came on. "Ah – I'm sorry for the disrespect." He took her soft hand to kiss the back of her palm, and curtsied. "My Queen." This only spurred her on, pushing him away as he grinned.
"You know I would still be your sparring partner," she rolled her eyes.
"You know I'd still be in love with you,"
The Queen halted, staring at him unable to say anything that could offer consolation. Apollo had, in so many ways spoke his feelings for her through his poetry and songs, for eons and eons, but being vowed to celibacy she could not give it back. And this very thin chance she had been broken from the vow, she was already married. Oh Apollo.
"Apollo, I," Athena felt her tongue forked behind. But the other gave a shrug as if it weren't at all a matter. If he was masking his sadness, he'd done so very well.
"Now you are playing a dangerous game here," Apollo suddenly shifted in a more serious mood, "The King may look for you. It is your wedding night, you twit. The bedding will be right after."
Athena only shook her head after plucking a rose robust in silver petals. The sorrow in her eyes cradled pain and Apollo could do nothing but comprehend. He was a fool to believe that the war god could even wait after the marriage to take her. Lust had a name – and it was Ares. He looked on at Athena with pity, to have to taste the bitterness in the bed of a whoremonger.
"I don't need your pity," Athena noticed his silence.
He had to lie, "I wasn't giving any."
"That's cruel."
Apollo smiled, "I know you to be many things, Athena, and cowardice, not one of them."
This time he saw her shudder, long fingers plucking the rose petals lazily but still unable to look at him. "He's just a man, your husband. Bloodthirsty and cruel, but just a man."
Athena paused with the petals. Apollo knew she was listening, and he went on, "Men, they… they are fierce, until a woman rips her own robe, they fall to their knees. Father could not have taken away your vows for nothing. You wouldn't have to marry for nothing. Not Ares' Queen for nothing." He did not say Olympus' Queen, but only Ares'.
The Queen suppressed a breath. She had been fighting so many wars and building up cities so vast that marrying the war god should not have to be the end of her. If something needed to end it would have to be his stupidity. Grasping this she smirked and nudged Apollo by the arm. "You should learn manners how to talk to your Queen, curse you."
There they smiled at each other, until a younger god appeared, vexed and seemingly unproportionate with the festivities. His winged sandals landed his lean body not far, golden dust spewed gently as his feet touched the marble floor. Hermes looked gauche, and Athena's brows furrowed.
The newcomer uttered, trembling, "Apollo, ride fast, the gods need the daylight quick,"
"But the night hasn't ended yet,"
"What happened?" Athena cut through, every bit the warrior queen she is.
Hermes bowed to her in recognition, "Janus comes bearing an apparition of the war."
Athena swallowed despite her dry mouth. Her heart began to weigh in anxiety and she cursed Zeus in mind. She was not yet ready for this. She was barely named queen, and has not yet came into terms with the King. The cosmos had suddenly fell on her, with doom knocking on their doorstep and immortal blood on their heads.
The Queen turned to Apollo, "Do as he says. Hermes, stop the festivities and gather the council. Janus should not wait long." The sun god nodded before materializing his helmet – a glorious Corinthian forged in hard steel by Vulcan himself, with golden plume that tailed with the sun's fire.
Before another word was spoken Athena was on her heels, her grey eyes a balance of austerity and peace. In her mind a war was already waged.
A/N: Greetings from my sorry ass. I do not know how to make up with all the time this story sat untouched. It had been years, and I may have been branded the queen of hiatus. But here I am asking for another chance even after totally abandoning a previous fic (MIS) because apparently I really cannot remember the storyline anymore. Really stupid of me. Sigh. To tell you the truth I have been avoiding the messages both on my review box and my emails, purely out of shame, but as a co-writer once said to me we have to respect our readers, here I am. A lot has just happened from my absence, who would've thought I was single when I started this fic and now I'm married and is blessed with a one year old baby! Thank you for those who haven't given up on me, and on this shitty piece of work I call mine, and sorry to those who would rather not trust me any longer. I understand.
Again, thank you so much. I am having a pretty hard time recovering bits and pieces of the details of this as I have found my notebook from three years ago where I jotted the details I need to refine as the days go by. I hope I can manage updating within 2 weeks or less as it's already summer break for me and my hell of a job.
Godspeed!