[story] i sing of the battle of gods
author: e
Thence come the maidens | mighty in wisdom,
Three from the dwelling | down 'neath the tree;
Urth is one named, | Verthandi the next,--
On the wood they scored,-- | and Skuld the third.
Laws they made there, and life allotted
To the sons of men, and set their fates.
- The Poem of Edda, Voluspo. (Verse 20).
Also she bare the Destinies and ruthless avenging Fates, Clotho and Lachesis and Atropos, who give men at their birth both evil and good to have, and they pursue the transgressions of men and of gods: and these goddesses never cease from their dread anger until they punish the sinner with a sore penalty.
- The Theogony of Hesiod (ll. 211-225).
When Heracles struck the chains from Prometheus, the Titan rose up and went to find Loki. The trickster god, writhing and bound, could have hated him for it.
"I have been freed by the will of Zeus," said the Titan.
"Zeus' will is strong," replied Loki. Even bound, he still sounded impudent, a sneer etched on his face. Sigyn remained silent, always faithful. "Your humans are going to destroy themselves."
"Humans needed fire to survive. I do not regret my gift. Nor, in the end, did the gods."
"Eons of inbreeding does not foster intelligence," replied Loki. He was stretched thin on his bier, his pale body an elongated flame. Sigyn's wooden bowl was almost to the brim. "We could have created a new race, one without duplicity or evil."
Prometheus laughed, a mocking sound bred by eons of hatred. The snake hissed, spraying venom in his direction. "I do not think it possible. We fashioned humans in our image, and we are full of lies and trickery."
"And yet your kind persecuted you." Loki's smile was very sharp and very white. "The end is near. Free me so we can realise its chaos together."
Sigyn rose suddenly, smooth and noiseless. The tremors of a god in agony were something Prometheus knew well, as he drew away from Loki's bier. The god's face blurred and shifted before settling back into his thin, white features with red hair and blue eyes.
With a swift movement, Prometheus killed the snake, flinging its remains into the river. The bonds disintegrated at his touch.
Moving slowly, as if his body ached in every which way, Loki made a very low bow in his direction, a smile stretching impossibly wide across his thin face.
"Brother," he said. "My thanks. And just in time to join the fun."
Gods were fickle creatures; Freya would not stand by it.
She had taken extra care with her appearance; blonde hair had been brushed until it gleamed sun-gold, but her summer blue eyes were hard. Stories about Apollo told her that she could not earn his respect unless she was presentable.
Her followers had been crying, her prayers speaking of unfulfilled promises and swollen bellies. Apollo had lulled them sweet and left them once he had stolen their innocence. Compassion was not her realm, but Freya would not stand for such treatment; vengeance must be sought.
"Be careful," Frey had told her. "Do not fall for his charms."
Frey always worried about her; his love was as boundless as his fertile fields. Loki once earned Frey's unending hatred by carelessly remarking, "Only among the gods would normalised social behaviour be ignored in favour of a perpetual hard-on."
But Loki did not understand; Frey was unstinting and unbiased with his love. He was compassionate and a healer. Apollo will learn this.
Raising her sword, she said, "Apollo, come answer for your transgressions."
The warm sun brushed its fingers on her face and a chariot came thundering her way.
The people of Greece had started taking notice of a new goddess when their sun god/oracle started sleeping with her.
"A warrior goddess that appreciates love!" people exclaimed. "Two for the price of one!"
The current Pythia was unusually pragmatic. Once a year, she would have a public demonstration. Unswayed by opium or fire, the prophetess would raise her hands to the sky and sun. Her gleaming red hair would be a signal to the people. And thus, her invocation would be something like:
"Oh great Apollo, in your infinite wisdom, you have shown the people of Greece the more economical choice. Pray, accept our sacrifices and send us more of your blessed wisdom."
Just as divine ecstasy took over her body, Pythia would smile. The crowd cheered, too blind to see her pointed teeth.
As the Delphic Oracles flourished, Athene's Parthenon fell into ruin and decay. Sappho's poetry became cries for war and Cyrene a ghost city.
For the first time ever, both warrior and love goddesses found themselves entirely in accord. Arming themselves with their respective aegis and girdle, they stormed Asgard. Like Paris' golden apple, Odin and Thor fell at Aphrodite's feet. Athene needed no wooden horses in Valhalla.
"Valkyries," proclaimed the true warrior goddess, "should you thirst for wisdom, follow me. If your fingers itch for the loom instead of your sword, then I will help realise your dreams. Do your weapons sing of justice? Then my sword is one you should follow."
Traitorous Valkyries; Freya's displeasure was felt all the way in Olympus. Wise and just, Athene split the spoils with Aphrodite.
Oh, you fickle people of Greece.
The twins were entirely too co-dependent on each other. There was something deliciously unhealthy about their incestuous closeness. Apollo had to be the reason that Artemis was still a virgin after all these years.
"Aren't you just a little bit jealous that Apollo is sleeping with Freya?"
"She's prettier than you."
Artemis' shrug was a shade too nonchalant, her lies too smooth. Aphrodite narrowed her eyes. "No wonder you're still a virgin."
"You're just upset because he's sleeping with her instead of you," the huntress replied, bored, laying down by the lake. The moon was hidden behind a copse of trees and her maidens were conspicuously absent. In the darkness, even Aphrodite had trouble seeing Artemis' eyes, which gleamed blue at certain angles.
"He gets around almost as much as I do," pointed out a peeved Aphrodite, crossing her arms beneath her lush and covered breasts. "And that's on a good day."
Artemis' eyes darted quickly over Aphrodite's figure. They were conspicuously alone. "Apollo takes after Father. Many aspire to Zeus' greatness and never achieve it the way he has."
"Zeus would never choose her."
"He would also never choose you." Lithe and chaste, Artemis stretched. If Artemis hadn't been a virgin, Aphrodite would have thought that her kinswoman was trying to seduce her. "Come now goddess. I will not join your war without incentive."
Incentives Aphrodite could provide. Artemis' kiss was surprisingly practiced, too-sharp teeth inciting gasps. Hands that were suddenly too large and warm were against her skin, between her thighs and then nothing.
When Aphrodite opened her eyes, she was alone. The moon was high and cool, the water tranquil and untouched. White deer came into the clearing and started to graze.
Artemis had made herself clear; she would not join the war.
Bilskirnir was in as bad taste as Zeus' own home. Loki spoke true; Asgard and Olympus were spun from the same thread. No wonder the fates were laughing.
But Asgard's mead was as golden as Sif's hair and the wheat in her fields, and the taste as heady as Olympus' ambrosia.
"Flatterer. You've spent too many hours in Loki's company."
Prometheus was too wise to demure. "Your joyful countenance brings much pleasure to this humble Titan; Demeter's unending sorrow hurts the heart."
"Children are burdens,' said Sif. Her hair was plaited into a shining rope, practical and common. "They bring sorrow into an enlightened world; too much knowledge makes unwise humans."
Lips twisting, Prometheus replied, "Women, not fire, were mankind's downfall. Had they modelled Pandora on your incomparable goddess, your practicality would have stood a chance against her curiousity."
"Stand down, Titan. You resemble too much like our Loki." Regarding him with great thoughtfulness, Sif reached out and brushed a finger against his cheek, ran it across his serene mouth. "If they had sewn your lips, you would not have given humans fire, would you?"
"Your compassion is equal to my kin's," replied Prometheus with a certainty that took Sif back. "You are no sorrowing goddess, though the wheat fields may belong to you as much as Demeter; I see why Thor chose you."
"Thor is the All-Father's son. He is a good husband," said Sif, so serene that Prometheus knew it was false. Ambitious, proud and a liar; she would have been a better match for Odin. He said as much.
"Frigg is the only one fit to sit on Odin's throne. The ravens will accept her, and she bears Odin's burdens as the goddess of women should."
"You have her ear, do you not?"
"Frigg values everyone's opinion. Even a mistletoe's."
"Frigg needs your advice because she is not a prophetess like you, Sibyl."
"You presume too much," replied Sif, setting her mead down. For the first time, Prometheus saw red in her cheeks. Loki was right, he mused: Sibyl would have made a great queen.
"No, but Odinn did. Frigg is nothing without the Brísingamen. Even without hair or headdress, you would give Aphrodite great competition. Freya pales in your wake, loveliest of prophetesses. You are enough to tempt the king of gods himself."
Sif did not agree nor deny the veracity of his words.
"War," added Prometheus with great delicacy, "is a paltry thing in beauty's wake. End the war, Sibyl, and Odin will see your true worth."
Frigg's never-ending diplomacy would kill Olympus, Hera thought. The Brísingamen glittered, each stone a piece of uncompromised beauty. Whomever wore it would be a peerless beauty among goddesses. Even if they counted Aphrodite among their numbers.
Apologies for stealing your worshippers. From one queen to another.
Frigg was only average without the necklace, but she was wise and Odin's wife; she would not keep his attentions long without it. Hera had been around long enough to know how dangerous it was to have both necklace and girdle in one place.
How did Aphrodite look without her girdle? Envy was like ambrosia; poison for those not fit to drink it. Aphrodite would lose all credibility once Hera put the necklace on. After all, what kind of love goddess could Aphrodite be if she were no longer the most beautiful?
A rush of wind, and the smell of laughter; Hermes stood before her, fleet and mischievous. A smile flashed across his face, almost razor-sharp before settling into unremarkable neutrality.
"For you, Your Divinity" said Hermes. His sandals were almost featherless, the wind of his passage having almost stripped it entirely bare. His blond hair gleamed blood-red in the setting sun. "Heracles has completed his tenth task."
Apples, gold like Aphrodite's hair, spilled into Hera's lap. Maidens and matrons would weep for fruit like this, she thought. So would goddesses.
"Beauty is a dangerous thing, messenger god," replied Hera, picking up an apple between thumb and forefinger. It was cool to touch. "It can blind the all knowing, and bring heroes to their knees. Even gods are weak to it."
Hermes, wiser than usual, said nothing.
"So reticent, my messenger. Will you not bring music to my ears?"
"Alas, my pipes are not with me, and my voice is not as tuneful. I would not displease you with my discordant melody."
"Discord displeases all. But not this time." She handed an apple back to him. It was still cool to touch. "Tell Eris to deliver this to Asgard."
"Is that it?"
"A peace offering for the most beautiful goddess in Asgard. Godspeed away."
As Hermes turned away, Hera smiled and slipped the necklace on. Her beauty could start and end wars.
"So's the tale," said the spinner.
"Yes," replied her second sister. "Here."
"The end," said her eldest sister and snipped the thread.
the end
Thence come the maidens | mighty in wisdom,
Three from the dwelling | down 'neath the tree;
Urth is one named, | Verthandi the next,--
On the wood they scored,-- | and Skuld the third.
Laws they made there, and life allotted
To the sons of men, and set their fates.
- The Poem of Edda, Voluspo. (Verse 20).
Also she bare the Destinies and ruthless avenging Fates, Clotho and Lachesis and Atropos, who give men at their birth both evil and good to have, and they pursue the transgressions of men and of gods: and these goddesses never cease from their dread anger until they punish the sinner with a sore penalty.
- The Theogony of Hesiod (ll. 211-225).
When Heracles struck the chains from Prometheus, the Titan rose up and went to find Loki. The trickster god, writhing and bound, could have hated him for it.
"I have been freed by the will of Zeus," said the Titan.
"Zeus' will is strong," replied Loki. Even bound, he still sounded impudent, a sneer etched on his face. Sigyn remained silent, always faithful. "Your humans are going to destroy themselves."
"Humans needed fire to survive. I do not regret my gift. Nor, in the end, did the gods."
"Eons of inbreeding does not foster intelligence," replied Loki. He was stretched thin on his bier, his pale body an elongated flame. Sigyn's wooden bowl was almost to the brim. "We could have created a new race, one without duplicity or evil."
Prometheus laughed, a mocking sound bred by eons of hatred. The snake hissed, spraying venom in his direction. "I do not think it possible. We fashioned humans in our image, and we are full of lies and trickery."
"And yet your kind persecuted you." Loki's smile was very sharp and very white. "The end is near. Free me so we can realise its chaos together."
Sigyn rose suddenly, smooth and noiseless. The tremors of a god in agony were something Prometheus knew well, as he drew away from Loki's bier. The god's face blurred and shifted before settling back into his thin, white features with red hair and blue eyes.
With a swift movement, Prometheus killed the snake, flinging its remains into the river. The bonds disintegrated at his touch.
Moving slowly, as if his body ached in every which way, Loki made a very low bow in his direction, a smile stretching impossibly wide across his thin face.
"Brother," he said. "My thanks. And just in time to join the fun."
Gods were fickle creatures; Freya would not stand by it.
She had taken extra care with her appearance; blonde hair had been brushed until it gleamed sun-gold, but her summer blue eyes were hard. Stories about Apollo told her that she could not earn his respect unless she was presentable.
Her followers had been crying, her prayers speaking of unfulfilled promises and swollen bellies. Apollo had lulled them sweet and left them once he had stolen their innocence. Compassion was not her realm, but Freya would not stand for such treatment; vengeance must be sought.
"Be careful," Frey had told her. "Do not fall for his charms."
Frey always worried about her; his love was as boundless as his fertile fields. Loki once earned Frey's unending hatred by carelessly remarking, "Only among the gods would normalised social behaviour be ignored in favour of a perpetual hard-on."
But Loki did not understand; Frey was unstinting and unbiased with his love. He was compassionate and a healer. Apollo will learn this.
Raising her sword, she said, "Apollo, come answer for your transgressions."
The warm sun brushed its fingers on her face and a chariot came thundering her way.
The people of Greece had started taking notice of a new goddess when their sun god/oracle started sleeping with her.
"A warrior goddess that appreciates love!" people exclaimed. "Two for the price of one!"
The current Pythia was unusually pragmatic. Once a year, she would have a public demonstration. Unswayed by opium or fire, the prophetess would raise her hands to the sky and sun. Her gleaming red hair would be a signal to the people. And thus, her invocation would be something like:
"Oh great Apollo, in your infinite wisdom, you have shown the people of Greece the more economical choice. Pray, accept our sacrifices and send us more of your blessed wisdom."
Just as divine ecstasy took over her body, Pythia would smile. The crowd cheered, too blind to see her pointed teeth.
As the Delphic Oracles flourished, Athene's Parthenon fell into ruin and decay. Sappho's poetry became cries for war and Cyrene a ghost city.
For the first time ever, both warrior and love goddesses found themselves entirely in accord. Arming themselves with their respective aegis and girdle, they stormed Asgard. Like Paris' golden apple, Odin and Thor fell at Aphrodite's feet. Athene needed no wooden horses in Valhalla.
"Valkyries," proclaimed the true warrior goddess, "should you thirst for wisdom, follow me. If your fingers itch for the loom instead of your sword, then I will help realise your dreams. Do your weapons sing of justice? Then my sword is one you should follow."
Traitorous Valkyries; Freya's displeasure was felt all the way in Olympus. Wise and just, Athene split the spoils with Aphrodite.
Oh, you fickle people of Greece.
The twins were entirely too co-dependent on each other. There was something deliciously unhealthy about their incestuous closeness. Apollo had to be the reason that Artemis was still a virgin after all these years.
"Aren't you just a little bit jealous that Apollo is sleeping with Freya?"
"She's prettier than you."
Artemis' shrug was a shade too nonchalant, her lies too smooth. Aphrodite narrowed her eyes. "No wonder you're still a virgin."
"You're just upset because he's sleeping with her instead of you," the huntress replied, bored, laying down by the lake. The moon was hidden behind a copse of trees and her maidens were conspicuously absent. In the darkness, even Aphrodite had trouble seeing Artemis' eyes, which gleamed blue at certain angles.
"He gets around almost as much as I do," pointed out a peeved Aphrodite, crossing her arms beneath her lush and covered breasts. "And that's on a good day."
Artemis' eyes darted quickly over Aphrodite's figure. They were conspicuously alone. "Apollo takes after Father. Many aspire to Zeus' greatness and never achieve it the way he has."
"Zeus would never choose her."
"He would also never choose you." Lithe and chaste, Artemis stretched. If Artemis hadn't been a virgin, Aphrodite would have thought that her kinswoman was trying to seduce her. "Come now goddess. I will not join your war without incentive."
Incentives Aphrodite could provide. Artemis' kiss was surprisingly practiced, too-sharp teeth inciting gasps. Hands that were suddenly too large and warm were against her skin, between her thighs and then nothing.
When Aphrodite opened her eyes, she was alone. The moon was high and cool, the water tranquil and untouched. White deer came into the clearing and started to graze.
Artemis had made herself clear; she would not join the war.
Bilskirnir was in as bad taste as Zeus' own home. Loki spoke true; Asgard and Olympus were spun from the same thread. No wonder the fates were laughing.
But Asgard's mead was as golden as Sif's hair and the wheat in her fields, and the taste as heady as Olympus' ambrosia.
"Flatterer. You've spent too many hours in Loki's company."
Prometheus was too wise to demure. "Your joyful countenance brings much pleasure to this humble Titan; Demeter's unending sorrow hurts the heart."
"Children are burdens,' said Sif. Her hair was plaited into a shining rope, practical and common. "They bring sorrow into an enlightened world; too much knowledge makes unwise humans."
Lips twisting, Prometheus replied, "Women, not fire, were mankind's downfall. Had they modelled Pandora on your incomparable goddess, your practicality would have stood a chance against her curiousity."
"Stand down, Titan. You resemble too much like our Loki." Regarding him with great thoughtfulness, Sif reached out and brushed a finger against his cheek, ran it across his serene mouth. "If they had sewn your lips, you would not have given humans fire, would you?"
"Your compassion is equal to my kin's," replied Prometheus with a certainty that took Sif back. "You are no sorrowing goddess, though the wheat fields may belong to you as much as Demeter; I see why Thor chose you."
"Thor is the All-Father's son. He is a good husband," said Sif, so serene that Prometheus knew it was false. Ambitious, proud and a liar; she would have been a better match for Odin. He said as much.
"Frigg is the only one fit to sit on Odin's throne. The ravens will accept her, and she bears Odin's burdens as the goddess of women should."
"You have her ear, do you not?"
"Frigg values everyone's opinion. Even a mistletoe's."
"Frigg needs your advice because she is not a prophetess like you, Sibyl."
"You presume too much," replied Sif, setting her mead down. For the first time, Prometheus saw red in her cheeks. Loki was right, he mused: Sibyl would have made a great queen.
"No, but Odinn did. Frigg is nothing without the Brísingamen. Even without hair or headdress, you would give Aphrodite great competition. Freya pales in your wake, loveliest of prophetesses. You are enough to tempt the king of gods himself."
Sif did not agree nor deny the veracity of his words.
"War," added Prometheus with great delicacy, "is a paltry thing in beauty's wake. End the war, Sibyl, and Odin will see your true worth."
Frigg's never-ending diplomacy would kill Olympus, Hera thought. The Brísingamen glittered, each stone a piece of uncompromised beauty. Whomever wore it would be a peerless beauty among goddesses. Even if they counted Aphrodite among their numbers.
Apologies for stealing your worshippers. From one queen to another.
Frigg was only average without the necklace, but she was wise and Odin's wife; she would not keep his attentions long without it. Hera had been around long enough to know how dangerous it was to have both necklace and girdle in one place.
How did Aphrodite look without her girdle? Envy was like ambrosia; poison for those not fit to drink it. Aphrodite would lose all credibility once Hera put the necklace on. After all, what kind of love goddess could Aphrodite be if she were no longer the most beautiful?
A rush of wind, and the smell of laughter; Hermes stood before her, fleet and mischievous. A smile flashed across his face, almost razor-sharp before settling into unremarkable neutrality.
"For you, Your Divinity" said Hermes. His sandals were almost featherless, the wind of his passage having almost stripped it entirely bare. His blond hair gleamed blood-red in the setting sun. "Heracles has completed his tenth task."
Apples, gold like Aphrodite's hair, spilled into Hera's lap. Maidens and matrons would weep for fruit like this, she thought. So would goddesses.
"Beauty is a dangerous thing, messenger god," replied Hera, picking up an apple between thumb and forefinger. It was cool to touch. "It can blind the all knowing, and bring heroes to their knees. Even gods are weak to it."
Hermes, wiser than usual, said nothing.
"So reticent, my messenger. Will you not bring music to my ears?"
"Alas, my pipes are not with me, and my voice is not as tuneful. I would not displease you with my discordant melody."
"Discord displeases all. But not this time." She handed an apple back to him. It was still cool to touch. "Tell Eris to deliver this to Asgard."
"Is that it?"
"A peace offering for the most beautiful goddess in Asgard. Godspeed away."
As Hermes turned away, Hera smiled and slipped the necklace on. Her beauty could start and end wars.
"So's the tale," said the spinner.
"Yes," replied her second sister. "Here."
"The end," said her eldest sister and snipped the thread.
the end