Hera frowns as she switches through outfit after outfit, each somehow more disappointing than the last. Finally, after what feels like hours, she settles on a sheer purple gown, one that she felt struck the perfect balance between showing off her body and leaving exactly what she needed to the imagination.

She isn't quite sure why she feels compelled to do this, even more so with how much of a fit he had thrown after he'd learned of what happened to his daughter's tree. Perhaps that was why? Pity? Or maybe she just desired to have her husband in her arms once again, as he was so wont to do in a different time.

Both were wrong. She knew perfectly well that Percy Jackson had struck an uncomfortable cord in her, one that Hera needed to have expunged and cleansed. He had shaken her, truly. But he was also wrong. He knew nothing of her, nothing of her marriage and nothing of her pain. She knew that, and yet she still needed to prove him wrong. To prove just how wrong he was.

She takes a breath and composes herself before strolling into Zeus' office, putting on the mask of an innocent seductress.

Her husband's eyes raise from the desk to her and he rises immediately. Hera allows herself to smile as Zeus rushes toward her, eyes dark with want. She knew that he wouldn't be able to resist her like this. He had always had such trouble keeping his hands to himself when she wore something like this. She prepares herself as he comes near, it had been so long since she'd felt his hands upon her and-

"Apollo has blinded an entire town in Kansas." Zeus says as he quite literally pushes past her and Hera realizes that she was quite mistaken. His eyes were not for her. She stares after him as he pushes through the large arching doors, and they shut just as quickly behind him as they were opened. She clenches and unclenches her hands, taking deep shuddering breaths.

Hera decides to turn in early for the night.

Hera laughs deep and hard and long.

This was right. This was reality as it should be. She steals another glance at the cage and doubles over into another fit of laughter. Small and insignificant, she can still recognize the bipedal form that has become Percy Jackson.

He scratches against the cage and squeals desperately and she lowers herself to meet his eyes. They shine as brightly as sea glass, even now. "Harken, godling," She whispers. "Did you not wish to be a hero? Did you not set out on this quest that was not meant for you?" Hera smiles. "And look at you now."

She's not quite sure if guinea pigs can glare, but the boy manages well enough.

"Oh, Perseus," She sighs mockingly and shakes her head. "And your father had such high hopes for you."

That seems to shake the boy, as his caterwauling begins anew. She stares, amused, as the guinea pig thrusts one of its legs through the cage and waves it desperately. Perhaps he had already fallen into madness. There was a reason her and her fellow gods had punished mortals with this particular form of transfiguration, after all. She thinks of her own examples as she turns and inspects Circe's latest trap, who'd been quite successful if the boy's cellmates were any indication. There was Callisto, of course, and everyone liked to blame her for the girl's death, conveniently forgetting Artemis had always been up for a hunt after a few bottles of wine. Pure happenstance, really. Then there was that little fool Io. Hera always thought she looked much more fetching as a heifer. Galinthias, of course-

Her foot catches on something, breaking her train of thought as she peers down curiously. A partly-opened backpack leaned against one of the marble columns, contents openly displayed. She smiles as she notices a particularly familiar container.

"The irony is quite sweet, isn't it?" She turns around and holds the bottle of Hermes Multivitamins up. "This would certainly cure you, would it not?" She tuts. "Alas, if only your little girlfriend had more common sense."

The guinea pig is silent, so blessedly silent, eyes fixed on the vitamins and she revels in it. Hera would have done this the moment she'd laid eyes on the boy if she'd know what spectacular results it would bequeath. Finally, all was right with the universe.

The guinea pig sat on its haunches then, silently pleading at her with blazing orbs of greek fire. It was, admittedly, slightly adorable. She walks back to the cage, placing one finger in the cage and gently scratching underneath his chin. He did look rather precious like this. Surely no one would fault her if she took him to keep for herself, confined in this harmless form, of course.

The boy has not given up yet, though. Transfixed, she watches the boy place two of his feet on opposite sides of her finger as he bows his head to the tip of it. Well, that was interesting. It seems he was even more desperate than she thought. And such a revelation brought with it an opportunity.

Hera hums to herself as she shifts the weight of the vitamins in her hand. It would be appealing to take him, to keep him as a pet and take him away from his dreams of glory. Equally as intoxicating though…

"I suppose I could help you," She says, feigning thoughtfulness. "At risk of breaking the ancient laws, bringing down any consequences solely on myself." Invoking the ancient laws was always so lovely. Truthfully, they were exceptionally vague and flexible, easily circumvented with any small amount of plotting. Mortals didn't need to know that, however. How else would her fellow gods shirk responsibility as effectively?

The guinea pig is clueless to her plans, excited squeaks spilling from his mouth. "Ah, Ah." She rebukes, pushing her finger softly into his belly. "As collateral for any punishment that may befall me, I would require a… favor from you. To call upon as needed."

He stares at her warily. For a moment, she thinks that he might refuse. Twould be the smart option, she thinks. But the boy is nothing if not inexplicably devoted to her. And so he nods his furry little head.

Hera smiles. "Wonderful." She uncaps the bottle and lets it tumble into the cage, watching as the boy and his cell mates ravaged the vitamins. The cage shatters as dozens of men appear in great poofs of white smoke, the boy among them. The men are disoriented, surveying their surroundings with muddled rage. Not Percy Jackson, however.

The boy stares at her, mouth slightly agape. "Thank you." He says breathlessly. She arches one eyebrow. "My lady." He hastily adds and she nods in approval.

"T'was but an exchange." She replies. "I would invite you not to forget to uphold your end when the time comes."

The boy tightens his jaw and nods sharply. "Right." He says before finally seeming to notice the chaos surrounding them. "I've got to- Uh…" He hikes a thumb over his shoulder. "Get Annabeth out of this cult. If she hasn't already."

She waves him away and the boy turns and sprints into the resort. As she suspected, he turns back over his shoulder to give her a last look. She meets his eyes as she did in the Hall, curious as to what she'll find this time.

Thankfulness is all that awaits her. Thankfulness and a small amount of something else that she cannot discern, as the boy looks forward and vanishes.

Curious.

Once, her and Zeus' chambers had been the epitome of peace. It was there that many of what she considered the great achievements of her lifetime had taken place. It was there that she and Zeus had consummated their marriage after a truly gorgeous reception. Ares had been born there, as had all her children. She had even created her first peacock there, lounging in bed and fiddling with a piece of string.

That was, of course, until Hera had found Leto there. And then Themis. And then Demeter. It was just last spring that she had found a gaggle of forest nymphs in her bed, giggling mindlessly as they surrounded her husband.

Even her Hall, her immaculate Hall that she had overseen construction of herself, held painful memories. Memories of being held aloft in the air, golden chains wrapped tightly, oh so tightly, around her as she was weighed down with anvils at both feet.

But if there ever was a place that her husband could not find a way to ruin for her, it was here in her garden.

This year Hera found herself particularly partial to her Hellebores as opposed to her usual Lilies. There was just something about them, something about how their green petals shined just so in the sunlight, that she felt drawn to.

She inspected their trellises, looking for any imperfections when she caught sight of Hebe, most likely making her way to her own chambers.

Hebe and herself had a… complicated relationship, to say the very least. Her daughter held a very impassioned dissatisfaction with her post as cupbearer. Hera herself was not exactly pleased with her own daughter being used as a glamorous servant, but Zeus would hear nothing of it. Hebe had not taken that answer with any sort of grace.

She resented her, Hera knew. And she was not blameless. She had the power to dismiss her, she knew that, but…

But it was not the place of a queen to question their king.

Still, she thought more than enough time had passed for turbulence to be mended.

"Hebe!" She calls out to her. "Hello, darling!"

Hebe's face slackens as her shoulders slump. She reluctantly turns around. "Hello, mother." She mumbles.

Hera smiles, a disarming one she hopes, as she walks to her daughter. "Come here, dear. Let me take a look at you." She runs her hands over her daughter's arms. Her skin is flawless, as always. "What are you up to today?"

"I am getting more wine." Hebe says tightly. "As is required of my position. As cupbearer of the gods."

"Yes. Of course." She coughs in embarrassment before composing herself. "It's such a delight to see you out here, dear. You spent many of your days here as a child, you know." She smiles as a memory places itself in the forefront of her mind. "Do you remember when you were here once, around four-fifty I believe, playing with one of your father's eagles? You had it by one of its talons when it took off into the sky-"

"Taking me with it." Hebe finishes with a grimace. It clashed so horribly with her pretty face that it made Hera cringe. "Yes, mother, I remember. And even if I didn't, I would remember that exact story, as you tell it to me every time you see me."

She falters then, unable to reconcile herself quickly. "Of course." She whispers. "How silly of me. It just one of my favorite memories of-"

"Is there a point to this, mother?" Hebe cuts her off once more. "I'm exceedingly busy. Pouring wine all day is important, is it not?" She says with a sickly sweet smile, so very much like her own.

"I just wanted to talk to you." Hera says in a small voice that doesn't quite capture just how small she feels. "It's been so long."

"Then let me say it plainly for you, mother, for both of our sakes. I do not want to talk to you." Her daughter turns her back to her. "I doubt anyone wants to talk to you." Hebe says over her shoulder before disappearing behind the rose bushes.

Hera finds that she would rather be anywhere, anywhere at all, than in her garden.