(no subject)
Title: Beware Greeks with Gifts (5/6)
Characters: Hestia, Moros, Priapus, others
Rating: PG-13 (I think)
Part Five
It was only at the very height of the festivities, when the sound of bawdy song and clanging platters had rendered important ears mute to all but the merriment, whisks of fabric and clapping hands, that Hestia could slip away and admit to herself that just maybe her smile was beginning to crack the soft tissue upon her cheeks. As wonderful as it was to have the palace halls warm with joyous laughter and joking banter once again, to have petty arguments put aside for even a short time, it had been distressing to see Poseidon and Amphitrite walk through Olympus surrounded by their glorious children for the very first time. It had been an unexpected and unwanted emotion and the Hearth Goddess had immediately felt ashamed.
Her sister-in-law was as graceful and sweet as the turquoise waters from which she had been born, her hair a rippling sheet of oyster gleam, lips of coral, her eyes bright, understanding but unquestioning. Poseidon had made the perfect choice it would seem and Hestia-even if it were her bent-had no right to hypocrisy. Their children were wind-chapped and lovely, a dozen ragamuffins she perched warmly on her lap, who wondered at her scarred hands and fire-golden curls, the eldest boy and girl receiving considerate touches of sacred oil across their brows. Triton and Rhode had bowed respectfully before racing off to join their brood of cousins in new play, the sturdy youth and sleek maiden showing more of their grandfather's blood in their dark colouring. Amphitrite had been delighted, squeezing Hestia's hands in sisterly affection which had made the fire lady's heart soar and thus further regret her earlier disquiet. Conversation had continued sweetly between the two, sharing stories and gentle laughter until Poseidon had searched out his wife for the banquet.
Nothing had changed between brother and sister and it almost broke Hestia's heart for a second time. He had given her such a heated look such a look while escorting his bride away that Hestia now found herself praying silently for another hearth on another mountain and that she wouldn't have to return to the raucous gathering anytime soon. She did what was expected and sat down to stoke the flames, her usually serenity replaced with a quiet look of desolation.
"And what makes you so solemn, Grandmother to the Masses?"
Hestia's eyes lowered and she inhaled a deep sighing breath. The God had been a cold shadow in these sun-drenched marble halls, disturbing the relative debauchery that was a staple of life amongst the Pantheon enough that even Zeus had murmured at Moros' presence-though none would dissuade the son of Dreaded Night without just cause. She didn't understand it herself but at least he had kept silent on the incident of the House of Plion. Grandmother? Despite her golden curls and soft flesh, with his mocking tone Moros made her feel old; grandmother for all yet grandmother to none-it was the fate she had chosen. But Aphrodite had tried to teach her that a Goddess felt neither shame nor regret and so Hestia turned her head to face Doom.
"What brings you from the revels?" she asked simply, face still, no smile or frown to offer. He was not so kind-not that kindness was expected-and the sneer remained upon his cruel mouth.
"To see what tortures you of course. It is my calling." He observed, he calculated, he titled the scales whenever he could; what Moros did not do was sit down on her bench, the same bench he returned her to so many months ago. Months? It could have been decades, centuries; time meant so little to Immortals. His eyes, however, never left her face and though she didn't flinch Hestia disliked the weight of his gaze and how Moros' sneer was slowly becoming smug.
"I would have thought this occasion to set you rejoicing. Your beloved brother returns with wife in hand, a new horde of brats for you to heap blessings and adorations on. I wonder why this should set your face to sorrow and send you slinking to this place of hiding."
"I am not hiding!" Hestia returned hotly, cheeks flaring, then immediately she stopped. She was giving Moros exactly what he wanted and she was a fool to do it. She lifted the iron poker. ". . .This is my place of honour, where I am expected to be-" The man snorted.
"Where they left you to be. Your family has little else use for sworn virgins I'm afraid, but I believe you knew that." He smirked and Hestia looked back to the fire. "If not for your Vow then Zeus himself would have taken you. . .or some other less than worthy creature." She swallowed. "And unlike your sisters, you would have none of them."
"Stop it."
"Lack of sex didn't bring you to the Hearth, Hestia; you've always been here." Moros stepped towards the sparks, eyes like obsidian as he dug out her heart. "And when you denied me the fall of an oligarchy I had to know what kept you. All answers pointed towards the ocean."
The ocean. Where he had discovered her trapped beneath Priapus; where she had stopped to gaze stoically on the life she could have had: Hestia hadn't the inclination or the nature for deceit, but her knuckles were white from grasping the iron and her eyes demanded wetness though she refused to blink for fear of what would happen. "To think you would have preferred Poseidon's rough embrace to that of Apollo's. I was rather surprised."
"Apollo was only a boy," she replied softly, refusing to look up when Moros came nearer. "But very beautiful and brave and much adored. Especially by Zeus. . .How could I ask the Father to choose between his Son and his Brother? Would you demand it of Erebus?" There was a pause and then a mocking grunt came from above.
"So to spare bruised egos you condemned yourself to an eternity of unending loneliness?" His laugh was a wretch's pain, the noose's braid, and the Goddess felt as if Hecate were crawling crone-like fingers down her spine. Hestia shook her head, her voice a whisper.
"We were all young then, and there was such a peace, such a peace and harmony that I had never known." How could she have known it? First born, first swallowed, last to see the glory of the world with Poseidon lifting her to walk on shaky legs: peace and harmony were as new as air, as new as earth beneath her feet. "Our uncles and aunts were spinning in Tartarus and we were finally free to live. The War was over and I-I would not have another placed at my feet."
"And so you tend the flame."
"Needs must be done."
"Then let me help you now." Hestia looked up sharply, her eyebrows furrowing unhappily as golden tresses slid around her shoulders.
"You help yourself Moros, and you would counsel me to greater tragedy. What help could you possibly give to ease my heart? To give me back the brother I once knew?"
The sneer was back and she liked it not.
"Give me leave to speak with the Ruler of Old Triton's domain. The night before he and sweet Amphitrite are to leave he will come here to you."
"To what purpose do you propose?" Here he shrugged.
"You say you want your brother returned? How else but to explain as you did to me." Hestia watched him walk away with careful eyes, eyes that were only learning wariness and suspicion, not one that had been trained in such arts inside the womb. "Your words are gentle Hestia and surely Poseidon would rather have those than avoidance. . .If the love he once had for you is true."
That comment stung and she did flinch. His smile was curled and full of bee stings. "What say you now Goddess?"
"Why do you do this?" she asked in all sincerity, no judgement evident but with a sad curiosity. "Your nature does not allow it." His eyes glittered on the edge of the firelight, figure half in and out of darkness.
"It seems I have become exceedingly generous where you are concerned. Now shall I make the arrangements?"
And she agreed.
Characters: Hestia, Moros, Priapus, others
Rating: PG-13 (I think)
Part Five
It was only at the very height of the festivities, when the sound of bawdy song and clanging platters had rendered important ears mute to all but the merriment, whisks of fabric and clapping hands, that Hestia could slip away and admit to herself that just maybe her smile was beginning to crack the soft tissue upon her cheeks. As wonderful as it was to have the palace halls warm with joyous laughter and joking banter once again, to have petty arguments put aside for even a short time, it had been distressing to see Poseidon and Amphitrite walk through Olympus surrounded by their glorious children for the very first time. It had been an unexpected and unwanted emotion and the Hearth Goddess had immediately felt ashamed.
Her sister-in-law was as graceful and sweet as the turquoise waters from which she had been born, her hair a rippling sheet of oyster gleam, lips of coral, her eyes bright, understanding but unquestioning. Poseidon had made the perfect choice it would seem and Hestia-even if it were her bent-had no right to hypocrisy. Their children were wind-chapped and lovely, a dozen ragamuffins she perched warmly on her lap, who wondered at her scarred hands and fire-golden curls, the eldest boy and girl receiving considerate touches of sacred oil across their brows. Triton and Rhode had bowed respectfully before racing off to join their brood of cousins in new play, the sturdy youth and sleek maiden showing more of their grandfather's blood in their dark colouring. Amphitrite had been delighted, squeezing Hestia's hands in sisterly affection which had made the fire lady's heart soar and thus further regret her earlier disquiet. Conversation had continued sweetly between the two, sharing stories and gentle laughter until Poseidon had searched out his wife for the banquet.
Nothing had changed between brother and sister and it almost broke Hestia's heart for a second time. He had given her such a heated look such a look while escorting his bride away that Hestia now found herself praying silently for another hearth on another mountain and that she wouldn't have to return to the raucous gathering anytime soon. She did what was expected and sat down to stoke the flames, her usually serenity replaced with a quiet look of desolation.
"And what makes you so solemn, Grandmother to the Masses?"
Hestia's eyes lowered and she inhaled a deep sighing breath. The God had been a cold shadow in these sun-drenched marble halls, disturbing the relative debauchery that was a staple of life amongst the Pantheon enough that even Zeus had murmured at Moros' presence-though none would dissuade the son of Dreaded Night without just cause. She didn't understand it herself but at least he had kept silent on the incident of the House of Plion. Grandmother? Despite her golden curls and soft flesh, with his mocking tone Moros made her feel old; grandmother for all yet grandmother to none-it was the fate she had chosen. But Aphrodite had tried to teach her that a Goddess felt neither shame nor regret and so Hestia turned her head to face Doom.
"What brings you from the revels?" she asked simply, face still, no smile or frown to offer. He was not so kind-not that kindness was expected-and the sneer remained upon his cruel mouth.
"To see what tortures you of course. It is my calling." He observed, he calculated, he titled the scales whenever he could; what Moros did not do was sit down on her bench, the same bench he returned her to so many months ago. Months? It could have been decades, centuries; time meant so little to Immortals. His eyes, however, never left her face and though she didn't flinch Hestia disliked the weight of his gaze and how Moros' sneer was slowly becoming smug.
"I would have thought this occasion to set you rejoicing. Your beloved brother returns with wife in hand, a new horde of brats for you to heap blessings and adorations on. I wonder why this should set your face to sorrow and send you slinking to this place of hiding."
"I am not hiding!" Hestia returned hotly, cheeks flaring, then immediately she stopped. She was giving Moros exactly what he wanted and she was a fool to do it. She lifted the iron poker. ". . .This is my place of honour, where I am expected to be-" The man snorted.
"Where they left you to be. Your family has little else use for sworn virgins I'm afraid, but I believe you knew that." He smirked and Hestia looked back to the fire. "If not for your Vow then Zeus himself would have taken you. . .or some other less than worthy creature." She swallowed. "And unlike your sisters, you would have none of them."
"Stop it."
"Lack of sex didn't bring you to the Hearth, Hestia; you've always been here." Moros stepped towards the sparks, eyes like obsidian as he dug out her heart. "And when you denied me the fall of an oligarchy I had to know what kept you. All answers pointed towards the ocean."
The ocean. Where he had discovered her trapped beneath Priapus; where she had stopped to gaze stoically on the life she could have had: Hestia hadn't the inclination or the nature for deceit, but her knuckles were white from grasping the iron and her eyes demanded wetness though she refused to blink for fear of what would happen. "To think you would have preferred Poseidon's rough embrace to that of Apollo's. I was rather surprised."
"Apollo was only a boy," she replied softly, refusing to look up when Moros came nearer. "But very beautiful and brave and much adored. Especially by Zeus. . .How could I ask the Father to choose between his Son and his Brother? Would you demand it of Erebus?" There was a pause and then a mocking grunt came from above.
"So to spare bruised egos you condemned yourself to an eternity of unending loneliness?" His laugh was a wretch's pain, the noose's braid, and the Goddess felt as if Hecate were crawling crone-like fingers down her spine. Hestia shook her head, her voice a whisper.
"We were all young then, and there was such a peace, such a peace and harmony that I had never known." How could she have known it? First born, first swallowed, last to see the glory of the world with Poseidon lifting her to walk on shaky legs: peace and harmony were as new as air, as new as earth beneath her feet. "Our uncles and aunts were spinning in Tartarus and we were finally free to live. The War was over and I-I would not have another placed at my feet."
"And so you tend the flame."
"Needs must be done."
"Then let me help you now." Hestia looked up sharply, her eyebrows furrowing unhappily as golden tresses slid around her shoulders.
"You help yourself Moros, and you would counsel me to greater tragedy. What help could you possibly give to ease my heart? To give me back the brother I once knew?"
The sneer was back and she liked it not.
"Give me leave to speak with the Ruler of Old Triton's domain. The night before he and sweet Amphitrite are to leave he will come here to you."
"To what purpose do you propose?" Here he shrugged.
"You say you want your brother returned? How else but to explain as you did to me." Hestia watched him walk away with careful eyes, eyes that were only learning wariness and suspicion, not one that had been trained in such arts inside the womb. "Your words are gentle Hestia and surely Poseidon would rather have those than avoidance. . .If the love he once had for you is true."
That comment stung and she did flinch. His smile was curled and full of bee stings. "What say you now Goddess?"
"Why do you do this?" she asked in all sincerity, no judgement evident but with a sad curiosity. "Your nature does not allow it." His eyes glittered on the edge of the firelight, figure half in and out of darkness.
"It seems I have become exceedingly generous where you are concerned. Now shall I make the arrangements?"
And she agreed.