Chapter 1: Athena's death
Chapter Text
The arena stared in terrified silence as Zeus- their king, for all it mattered- summoned his lightning and, in one precise strike, threw it at his child. Not just any one of his children, but Athena. His favourite.
She was the one he always came to for advice, the one he constantly praised as if she were made of pure gold, the one he never dared to do anything more than threaten. Was. That was in the past. Not anymore, not in the arena. Not to anyone who sat in those seats, blindly watching as she was struck down, not daring to run away for fear that their king’s anger would turn onto them.
At that moment, her body lay limp on the floor, the marble stained with golden ichor- her blood. The blood that had, for the vast portion of her life, stayed safely inside her own body and hadn’t been spilled on a battlefield, had already begun drying and potentially staining the pristine marble floor of the arena.
Zeus, for all his glory as king of Olympus, merely stared at his unconscious daughter. He made no move to stand up, to help Athena or to even make sure she was still alive.
“Go on,” he thought as he continued sitting on his throne, looking around, wordlessly daring them to move. “Stand up against me. See what happens.”
Meanwhile, the other contestants sat huddled together at the front stands, worry palpating in the air.
Apollo, who was nearly always humming or making noises of some sort, was rendered silent. The medic part of his mind was running through the potential injuries she could have sustained, simultaneously knowing he was in a race against time if he wished to salvage as much as possible.
Hephaestus was crudely reminded of the day he was thrown out of Olympus, the panic strong in his chest as it was back then. The uncertainty of whether he’d live or die; he felt like he was watching his past from an outsider’s point of view. Except it wasn’t him on the arena floor, it was Athena, the sister everybody thought was unbreakable.
Aphrodite, for the first time, sat in her husband’s presence without causing an argument. How could she, when all her focus was on the body in the middle of the arena? A body which suddenly seemed much smaller, more fragile than it did before, during the war.
Ares held Aphrodite’s hand, while half of his cloak was covering her shivering body. He was shaking himself, rage and fear mixing in his heart as he stepped forward, shielding the others from the lightning strike. His vulture eyes were laser-focused on the middle of the arena and how still Athena lay. He could see the lightning embedded in her skin where scars were sure to form if she survived . He quickly took notice of her left eye which became yellow, the skin around it ruined by lightning. Distantly, he felt Aphrodite holding his arm in a silent message to keep quiet as dared break the silence when he asked: “Is he dead?”
Hera sat a little bit off to the side, curling into herself. She glared at the arena, silently hoping Athena would stand up or even just blink, give any sign she was alive. To others, it may have been a stupid move to question so bluntly whether Athena was alive- and, in hindsight, perhaps it was- but secretly, she was grateful to hear her son ask that.
After a full minute with no answer had passed, Hera stared at her husband king with a raised eyebrow. “Well, is she?”
“I-” began Zeus, before promptly stopping himself. “Apollo, Hephaestus, Aphrodite, Ares, Hermes and Hera, stay with me. The rest of you, go and speak nothing on this to anyone else until I say otherwise.”
The audience didn’t need to hear anything more. They stood up and quickly departed in hushed whispers amongst themselves. A few, such as Artemis, dared to look back, but were quickly pulled away by the crowd. Within only a few seconds, the arena was empty, save for eight gods: seven alive and one with a questionable state.
Despite their fear, no one dared speak in order to not anger Zeus even further.
“Hermes,” he called, and the god in question flinched but nodded nonetheless.
“Yes, Father?” The word seemed bitter on his lips, his throat had barely allowed him to utter it, yet Hermes managed to make the question seem innocuous enough.
“Go to Ogygia and tell Calypso to release Odysseus under strict orders from her king. Tell her that, if she is to refuse, she will answer to me and my wrath.”
“Right away, Father,” said the messenger god, bolting away before Zeus harshly grabbed his arm.
“We’re not done here,” replied Zeus in a low warning tone. Hermes muttered a quick apology and kept his head low, eyes covered by his winged hat, so the conversation continued. “The rest of you, make no mistake. If you so much as think to spread rumours of what happened, I will not hesitate to make Athena seem like child’s play.”
The threat hung in the air and the gods present nodded seriously.
“Father, may I-” began Apollo, his words getting the better of him. However, he continued when Zeus motioned for him to do so. “May I heal her? Or at least attempt to? She- she would still provide useful strategies in the future.”
“Mhmmmm,” hummed Zeus, tapping his finger on his chin as if he were deciding what to have for dinner. “You may, I suppose. She may be a traitorous daughter, but she is still mine. Do what you must and inform me of it only if you absolutely have to. Are there any more questions? Otherwise, I will take my leave.”
Everyone shook their heads and watched as Zeus flew out, the doors slamming shut in his wake.
For an excruciating moment, no one dared breathe or move, until Ares spoke up.
“Are we just going to sit by and let our sister die or-”
“I’m getting to it, asshole!” yelled Apollo, kneeling at Athena’s side.
Ares took no offence to the insult and opted to sit by his brother.
“Is she- will she be alright?” he asked, worry seeping into his tone. “I mean, she won’t be alright, but will she-”
“No,” replied Apollo in a grave tone, two fingers against her wrist measuring her almost non-existent pulse. The other hand rested on her chest and had a golden glow, but his face grew paler alongside Athena’s.
“What do you mean ‘no’? She’s Athena, she has to live! There’s just no other way…” said Aphrodite. Although she attempted to project confidence, her own voice was shaky and unsure.
“She- by the Fates, Gods can’t die,” muttered Hera, yet she had seen enough to know better. Gods may not have been able to die, but she had seen essences dissolve, divine beings reduced to mere smoke. “You can surely do something!”
Apollo only shook his head, letting his hands fall by his side.
With no golden glow to mask her wounds, the goddess looked even more pitiful. Her pale freckled skin was a faint grey, the left side of her face was marred by lightning and the rest of her body was dripping ichor, forming a small puddle on the floor.
“At least she’ll get a painless death,” whispered Hermes, though his usual smile was nowhere to be seen. “I’ll lead her soul to the Underworld, I’ll make sure she gets there safely, I swear it-”
“Don’t,” interrupted Ares, his tone final. “Don’t say that. She can’t die, she- she’s our sister! We have to do something! We must save her!”
“Don’t you think I’ve tried?!” screamed Apollo, with tears streaming down his face and onto Athena’s burnt armor. “I’ve tried and nothing has worked- I have no idea what to do! This is far past my point of expertise and healing is my own damned domain! She- she’ll die. She fought and she got what she achieved-”
“And paid a great price for it,” finished Hera. Her own expression was one of barely-contained rage and, despite it, she was kneeled by Athena’s head and gently brushing a few stray strands of hair from her face as she used to do before so often. “If- when she dies, we ought to have a proper burial, fit for a goddess as great as her.”
“We will honor her,” continued Hephaestus. He had tear tracks on his cheeks, yet he made no effort to wipe them away, and instead kept his arms crossed. “To whatever extent that Father allows us, we will keep her memory. We will make sure her name will not be forgotten.”
The others nodded in agreement and knelt in a circle by Athena’s side. No one spoke and allowed the sombre atmosphere to linger.
Hera held Athena’s head in her lap and kept brushing her burnt curls with tender fingers, touch as gentle as ever.
Apollo sat on her left side, his hands on his knees as he muttered some final prayers. Hephaestus sat by his brother, running his fingers over the destroyed armour as his sister’s breathing got shallower and shallower.
Ares and Aphrodite sat on her right side, fingers fluttering over the ichor-covered skin. They had both seen wounds and injuries caused by war but this was past their expertise. Any mortal would be dead a hundred times over and, deep down, they knew she wouldn’t make it.
Hermes sat at her legs, mentally begging her to wake up, even when he felt her soul drift away and pass into the land of the dead.
And so, with six of her family members by her side, Athena took her last breaths and could finally rest eternally.
The goddess of wisdom had died.
Chapter 2: Zeus' pride and regret
Summary:
The king of Olympus has killed his daughter and then simply walked out of the arena as if the infamously dubbed “God Games” didn’t bring his daughter’s death. So why do his hands still shake when thinking of her?
Notes:
Zeus is an asshole with feelings... enjoy!
Chapter Text
Zeus walked out of the arena and didn’t dare look back. He couldn’t stomach looking at Athena- at his favourite daughter- laying on the floor and looking far too close to death for his comfort.
“Don’t be ridiculous,” he muttered to himself. “She’s a goddess, she won’t die. Apollo will heal her and she will get over this as she gets over everything else.”
That night, he slept alone, with no wife to accompany him in bed. That was to be expected, he supposed. After all, Hera had always had a tendency to retreat to her palace when she didn’t want to face him. Perhaps it was better that way too, he wasn’t exactly in the mood to argue with her about how he ought to treat his daughter- his, not hers. Never hers. No matter what little bond they had built during the Trojan War, Athena would forever remain his and his alone.
Zeus had tried telling himself that Athena was fine over and over, that she would forgive him once she found out Odysseus was released from Ogygia, he couldn’t fall asleep. The whole night, he tossed and turned in his bed, mind wide awake with the numerous possibilities of his daughter’s fate.
Had he been too harsh? What if she didn’t recover and never forgave him for it? What if the rest of his family began turning against him too? What had prompted Athena to ask him for Odysseus’ release after 7 years anyway? What if-
Before he knew it, rosy-fingered dawn fell over Olympus and he had to wake up, a new day of kingly duties awaiting him.
It was midday when someone entered his bedroom and stood up in the doorframe as he lazily flipped through some scrolls.
“It’s rather rude to interrupt your king like this. There are certain protocols to follow, even for you-”
“YOU! Do you have any idea what you’ve done to Athena?! Did you even care to follow up on her?! Did you- what were you even thinking-”
“Hera,” answered Zeus calmly, raising a hand as a signal for silence. “However sick or injured she is right now, I’m sure Apollo will manage to heal her and she will be able to brush it off soon enough, like she always does.”
“There isn’t anything for Apollo to heal! She’s dead, Zeus! Dead! I- we all sat around her as her energy drained out, leaving nothing but a body covered in lightning! Do you know that?! Or were you too busy sitting inside you palace and not giving a damn-”
“Dead?” asked the king in a dangerous tone. “What do you mean by dead?”
“Not breathing, not waking up, not having a pulse, not anything,” replied Hera, and only then did Zeus notice the tear tracks on her face. “Apollo tried healing her, we all tried, but her body just wouldn’t cooperate. Your power mixed with your intent- whatever it was- was too much for her to handle. You should’ve known this. You- you never dared to strike anyone with such power, not even me… What did you even expect?!”
“I- I don’t know. Not this, certainly,” he admitted in a quiet tone. That was wrong. The king was never quiet, especially not when compared to his wife. “She is the strongest, the smartest, the best of all my children. She’s my favourite.”
“Was,” corrected Hera in a bitter tone. “She was all those things.”
“Still, she was perfect. Out of everyone, I never expected her to stand against me. Why- why did she have to do this?”
“She never did anything wrong to you. She was your loyal daughter until the end. The only difference was that her loyalty extended to a mortal and you were too scared she wouldn’t be your perfect little soldier anymore-”
A loud slap rang out in the silent room. Hera gingerly lifted a hand to her cheek and continued staring at her husband, silently daring him to do something more.
Fortunately, he lowered his hand and asked: “And where is she now?”
“Now, she’s only a body sitting in the infirmary until we can get a funeral properly planned and inform Hades about the whole thing,” replied the queen. Then, more seriously, she added: “You must understand that we cannot keep this hidden. The others will eventually notice she’s missing and ask questions, and the longer we leave those questions unanswered, the more rumours will appear. They will eventually figure out what’s happening, they always do. And what about the mortals? Athena was training a mortal kid, he’s bound to notice her disappearance. It will not be long before the unanswered prayers and offerings become a thing of public interest either.”
“I- they cannot find out yet. We must talk with Hades and figure out what this means for her soul, where she will go in the Underworld, that sort of thing,” said Zeus, running a tired hand through his hair. “Until then, we do our best to staunch out the rumours-”
“How? How do you expect us to do that when it’s clear they don’t trust us? Don’t trust you? Don’t be daft! They all saw you strike the daughter you claim to favour and show little remorse for it! We must address this and do it soon, before things become irreparable.”
The king sat silent for a few minutes, pondering over his wife’s words and finally heaving a sigh. “Fine. Do what you must… for now. But let’s hold off the funeral for a little longer, I still want to talk to Hades before sending her soul off to the Underworld. She deserves a good afterlife, if nothing else.”
Hera nodded. “Agreed. I- I will leave you alone now. Goodbye, husband.”
The last word was full of contempt, even more so than usual, yet Zeus didn’t have a chance to respond since Hera left so quickly. He wasn’t in the mood to summon her again, so he was left alone for the rest of the day. Left alone to think about what Hera had said.
Athena. Dead. The two words didn’t seem to go together; it was impossible, as far as he was aware. The daughter that he claimed as his own- purely his own, never Metis’- was dead, never going to breathe or battle or offer counsel or give him reason for pride in his family again.
He felt everything and nothing at the same time. Full and empty. Regret and a twisted sense of pride.
“So what if she’s dead?” whispered a voice in his mind which sounded an awful lot like his father. “Let her be dead. After all, she asked for it when she challenged your power and your throne. Who was she to think she could change your will, the will of a king, just for a poor mortal she somehow feels close to? Why would you allow her to get away with this when Odysseus would die in less than thirty years and she would eventually forget about him, as she forgot about all her heroes before? Toys, that’s all they were to her. Little dolls to play with and get rid of when she grew tired of them.”
“She was your daughter,” whispered another voice. “She was your favourite, she trusted you to do as she asked when she stepped into that damned arena, and you ruined it. This isn’t like before, when you yelled and threatened her, she’s dead now. No take-backs, no re-dos. Your temporary rage was enough to kill her. And now? She’ll have to go to the Underworld, be reduced to a place no goddess of her status should have to be. Wherever she’ll end up, she’ll hate you and you won’t even be able to argue back.”
He abandoned his desk and scrolls, laying down in his bed, in a bundle of blankets as voices screamed inside his head.
You’re a horrible father!
She was a bad daughter!
You’re the reason she’s only a rotting corpse you don’t even have the courage to go and see!
She was the reason for your anger, let her feel the consequences!
You shouldn’t have done that!
She shouldn’t have challenged you!
She wouldn’t have challenged you if you were kinder in the first place!
I was the one who made her as strong and capable as she was!
You ruined her! You ruined her as you did Metis!
I was justified in acting as I did with Metis! If she had had a son…
Maybe she was better off having a son who would end up overthrowing you!
Such were the whispers-turned-screams inside his head, pounding upon his mind until he fell asleep. Even then, his dreams were plagued by images of Athena laying limply on the marble floor in a growing pool of her own ichor, a plea for her friend Odysseus to return home still on her lips.
She was his daughter, and he killed her.
Despite that, he still couldn’t decide whether to feel pride or regret in his decision.
Chapter 3: Hera's grief
Summary:
Athena, the girl Hera had come to see as a daughter through the Trojan war, was dead. Killed by her husband’s lightning. While everyone else is busy grieving, the queen of Olympus attempts to keep a collected image, but the illusion is quickly showing its cracks.
Notes:
Hiiii guys! I meant to post this yesterday but I forgot so I'm sorry about that. Hope y'all still enjoy this chapter though!
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
Hera stepped out of Zeus’ room and forced herself to take a deep breath through her nose, breathing out through her mouth. As much as she wanted to simply cry, she knew that she may never stop once she began.
So, before her mandatory daily breakdown, she walked towards Apollo’s palace, the place where most of the family was gathered, all of them keeping watch over Athena’s corpse in a hopeful- and perhaps stupid- attempt to keep it safe.
“How is she?” asked Hera as she met Apollo’s gaze. To others, it may have been a ridiculous question, but he knew what she meant.
“She- well, her body is as expected. Demeter and I put as many charms on her as we could to prevent it from rotting and, so far, it’s working, but it may not be for long,” he replied, tone heavy with exhaustion. “The others switched with me, we’re all taking turns, but I can barely sleep. Every time I try, I only end up seeing her and him and it’s like I’m watching the Games all over again.”
“I know,” said Hera, not unkindly. She had never been fond of Apollo due to his status as a bastard, but these were no usual circumstances.
She walked slowly to Athena, who lay limp on a bed, sheets soaked with her ichor. The goddess of wisdom almost looked like she was sleeping, if not for the exceedingly pale skin and the numerous lightning wounds. Her hair was still somewhat tangled and burned, despite Hera and Aphrodite’s attempts to brush it out.
“She nearly looks peaceful like this,” said Apollo with a humourless laugh. “Nearly. She never was peaceful, was she?”
Hera shook her head and took a flower from a vase nearby, no doubt one of Demeter’s, and gently braided it into the red curls. “Nope. Always doing something, that one. Until… until it finally meant her end.”
“The funny thing is that I don’t think she’d regret it.” Apollo sat up and joined his stepmother at his sister’s side. “If she were awake, she would probably come and tell us: ‘I don’t regret what I did, even if I had to pay a high price for it. You all worried far too much, anyway. You were better off letting me rot.’”
“That’s Athena for you, I suppose,” conceded the queen. After a beat of silence, she added: “She never gave up and… and I don’t know whether to be proud of her or tell her to use that brain she brags about.”
“Probably both. After I have a go at her, that is.”
“Careful now,” said Hera as she playfully flicked her stepson on his head. “Your words are tempting, but remember: Athena may be a handful, but she’s my handful. Handle with care. You on the other hand… well, let’s just say you’re on thin ice.”
“Of course, of course.”
Silence settled over them until they finished weaving tiny flowers into Athena’s hair and somehow managed to make her look less dead. An improvement, at least.
“I finally managed to talk with Zeus,” said Hera, breaking the silent seal.
“And? Any news?”
“Yes, actually. He agreed to a funeral- I think, but he wants to hold it off until he talks with Hades and gets the details settled. Still, I consider it safe to assume that we can begin making plans amongst ourselves.”
“And the rumours?”
“You leave that part to me. You all just keep focusing on keeping her body in the best condition possible and I will handle the rest.”
Apollo nodded and stood up. “You may go, if you wish. It’s Artemis’ watch tonight.”
“Very well.”
With those final words, Hera left, flying to her palace and retreating to the solace of her room as soon as she could.
She quickly closed the door and took off her jewelry, setting it on her vanity. Whilst she wished to be able to sit in her room and cry the days away, she knew her status as queen wouldn’t allow her to do that- at least not without serious repercussions. She didn’t want other rumours to start, so she settled herself on the windowsill with a cup of tea mixed with some kind of alcohol and resumed thinking everything over.
Despite a few days passing since the… incident, she still couldn’t believe it. How could a single strike mean the death of the goddess of wisdom, of Zeus’ advisor, of his favourite daughter, of Athena? How could the goddess who fought tirelessly in the Trojan War, aiding her heroes and leading them home, be reduced to a mere body kept from rotting by charms which already began to wear off? How could their lives be turned upside-down in less than half an hour?
You know what it’s like for your life to be ruined in less than half an hour, whispered a traitorous voice inside her head. Zeus uprooted your previous life without a care in the world, why would Athena be any different? Did you truly think that caring for her as your child would change anything? Perhaps you would have been better off joining her—
Hera downed the rest of her drink, banishing her traitorous thoughts. If her older sisters had seen her at that moment, they would have probably told her that she ought to deal with her thoughts and emotions in a ‘healthy’ way, which apparently didn’t mean drinking alcohol like nectar… but they weren’t there, so she could indulge.
Besides, she doubted they were doing much better. The few times she’d seen them, their eyes were puffy from crying and they awkwardly hovered over her, asking whether Zeus was acting in any way he shouldn’t. Naturally, she assured them he hadn’t done anything to her- not nearly to the extent he had injured Athena, anyway- and tried to dwindle their worries. It was a sort of ritual of theirs: Demeter and Hestia asking if she was fine, Hera insisting that nothing had happened, hiding her injuries under makeup and well-practiced spells… until it all got to be too much. On those rare occasions where she had no idea what to do, the queen retreated to her sisters’ palaces and cried in their robes as they held her and helped her the best they could.
However, times were tense enough and they didn’t need to add more to their plates. With that thought, Hera lifted herself off the windowsill and changed into some pajamas.
Even then, her mind wouldn’t let her rest. Her thoughts only rested upon the topic of Athena’s funeral. A goddess’ death should’ve been impossible and yet it happened. So, if she didn’t get to live, she should at least get a good fare-well before she went off to the Underworld.
“She should get a beautiful shroud, the best one ever made,” she said to herself. “With owls and olive trees, perhaps. And definitely some battle scenes, especially during the Trojan War. Let Olympus remember her as the warrior she was.”
The queen couldn’t help but recall several memories of the girl she had come to consider a daughter.
She remembered how, during one winter in the Trojan War, the duo walked around the edges of the Greek camp- with disguises, of course, since they didn’t want their heroes noticing- purely enjoying the snowy scenery which would soon become spring.
“I’m glad winter is coming to an end.”
“Oh, really? Why is that?” asked Hera, mindlessly humming as they walked.
“It’s when the snowdrops bloom,” said Athena, stopping to show the queen a patch where the flowers began to grow. “I enjoy seeing how they burst through the snow, a true show of resilience.”
“You truly have a way of thinking about things, don’t you?” said the queen with a small laugh. She remembered the young girl who was brought from Lake Tritonis, who picked up her responsibilities with a tear-streaked face, blood still caked under her nails and wings not-quite-rid of their downy, who rose to the challenges she faced and then above. Higher than any place anyone before, or after, her had reached. Even then, Hera had kept a close eye on the young goddess and discreetly tried to make her introduction to Olympus easier, especially when Zeus and Poseidon attempted to trip her up. “Another good thing about springtime is that Persephone comes home and Demeter is happier. That’s always nice to see.”
“Yeah, I miss Persephone too.” Athena sat down and drew a few designs in the snow as she talked. “I remember when she was young and she used to drag Artemis and me to the fields to pick flowers, frolic around and generally… have fun, I suppose. I refused her a lot, but she had a way to make me yield. She was… she was a sweet kid.”
“Yeah, I remember,” replied Hera. “You were a sweet kid too, you know. It’s Olympus that tends to rip that kindness and light from your heart, but in your soul, you were good. Still are.”
The goddess of wisdom shook her head softly. “I’ll be good if we manage to win this damned war. It’s been going on for long enough anyway.”
“We will win. Your soldiers are trained incredibly well. I believe in their abilities and even more in yours. Just keep your head up and we’ll be fine.”
Back then, Athena had nodded stiffly and avoided Hera’s gaze. If the queen had been looking any closer, she may have noticed that the blush on her stepdaughter’s cheeks wasn’t caused only by the cold. She didn’t have to look anyway. The way Athena’s voice became softer, gentler than it was in any other situation was proof enough of how close they had grown.
Hera shook her head as memories began flooding her brain once again. In a way, she was glad she wasn’t forgetting any of the moments they had spent together, but she couldn’t deny how much her heart twisted. She could barely stand imagining Athena’s body wrapped in a shroud, on a gravesite decorated with owl-shaped trinkets, olive tree branches, armor and weapons she was supposed to continue fighting with, strings that she was supposed to weave into breath-taking tapestries, as well as other things only a select few gods knew about.
Hera knew how Athena despised any sweet treats apart from olive cakes, which she dunked into honey and ate with a childish grin. Hera knew how she preferred to hold a longer spear because of its longer reach, despite the inconvenience. Hera knew how Athena still held plushies of snowy owls, her chosen divine animal form. Hera knew how she enjoyed white flowers, especially snowdrops, daffodils and lilies of the valley, although she would deny it if anyone, including Hera herself, asked.
All of these things, all of these special moments, all of the tiny details Athena hid from most gods— these were aspects Hera was aware of and it made it all the more painful to think about planning a funeral. She was supposed to know these things in order to continue creating memories with Athena, not to add them up in memory of her.
Even then, it didn’t feel enough.
Athena was so much more than a sum of titles and epithets and little details.
She was the goddess of wisdom, yet she also fought for Odysseus, perhaps even knowing she was going to suffer a great price for it.
She was the goddess of strategy, yet she went up to Zeus, the God King, known for his temper, and simply asked for her friend’s release.
She was the goddess of weaving, yet her hands couldn’t produce any creative project for what she called an ‘embarrassingly long amount of time’ (which was in actuality a month and a half) after parting ways with Odysseus.
She was the goddess of war, yet she seemed oh-so-kind when she held Telemachus for the first time, when she helped Odysseus in his endeavour of courting Penelope, when she curled up to Hera’s side after a long day (or night) of planning and her eyes fluttered shut.
She was Zeus’ favorite daughter, yet she was struck down and killed without a second thought when he thought her plea itched too close to betrayal.
She was Athena, but she was also dead. And death reduced someone- anyone, god or mortal- to a mere memory. A memory which Hera swore to herself she would make last.
With that vow, the queen slipped into an unsteady sleep, dreaming of her stepdaughter and of a funeral she prayed would do Athena justice.
Notes:
Comments & kudos are always appreciated but never required ofc <33
Chapter 4: Apollo and Artemis’ songs
Summary:
Apollo’s light begins to dim as he grieves his sister whom he failed to save. Artemis’ feelings often conflict with her twin’s, but the one thing they can both count upon is each other.
Chapter Text
Apollo sighed as Hera left and he waved to Artemis.
“She’s gone, you can come out now.”
“Is she really?” asked Artemis in a hushed tone, slightly raising her head and fully standing up when she saw that the room was empty, apart from her twin and Athena’s corpse, of course. “You know I can’t stand being in the same room as her ever since our fight.”
“I think the whole of Olympus knows by this point,” replied the god, slightly shaking his head. “You are fine though, no permanent injuries—”
“Nah, I’m fine. You know I brush things off easily.”
“Yes, of course. That’s why you cried in Father’s lap for an hour afterwards,” said Apollo in a flippant tone, waving his sister to come closer. “So, do you think Auntie Demeter will be able to keep up these charms much longer?”
“I- I don’t know,” admitted the goddess quietly. “This isn’t natural. Gods aren’t supposed to be able to be injured like this in the first place, nevermind actually die; and bodies aren’t supposed to be kept from rotting like this. It’s- it’s not good for her, or what’s remained of her, anyway.”
Apollo nodded. “I know. Hera said that Father has fortunately agreed that we will have a funeral for her soon, but we still have to keep her corpse from decomposing until then.”
“Wonderful. Just keep a divine body from following its natural path, that won’t have any consequences,” said Artemis in a sarcastic tone. “Seriously, Athena deserves better than this, better than what we can give her.”
“I know, we all know. We have to make the best of what we’ve got though.”
“She would hate this if she were alive.” Artemis suddenly moved to sit next to Apollo, at Athena’s bedside. “She would make fun of the fakeness of it all and say we just needed to toss her body and move on. She insists that’s what she would have done for us, at least.”
“I think she was lying then,” whispered the healing god, as if he were scared to break the sacred silence that had settled over the room. “She always tried to pretend she didn’t care about us, that she didn’t have feelings at all, but the way she fought for Odysseus and accepted death as a price for his release… I don’t think anyone will forget that.”
“They better not. She fought so hard for everything, too hard to be forgotten. Even her heroes.”
“Especially her heroes. I saw Odysseus fighting back in Troy and I doubt he could have been so strategic without a bit of divine intervention.”
“Oh, he definitely had Athena’s help! She treated him like a friend, whether she knew it or not!” A beat of silence passes before the goddess of the hunt added: “I wish they weren’t so close though. Not because I didn’t want her to be happy, but because the price she paid for that relationship- it was too great. She didn’t deserve it.”
Apollo nodded and side-hugged his sister, refraining from speaking as the twins let their tears for their fallen sister stain their faces silently, imagining what could have been and yet wasn’t. What should have been and wasn’t.
“You can go to your palace if you want,” said Artemis, breaking the silence. “I’ve got her.”
“I’m not leaving you alone, not like this. I- I can’t stand being alone myself anyway. Not right now.”
The goddess nodded and plucked a brownie from a small box nearby. She handed it to her twin, pushing it into his hand when he shook his head. “If you’re going to stay here with me, you’re going to eat. I’m not going to have you pass out from hunger.”
“That won’t happen—”
“Shush. Eat.” Artemis pushed the snack into her brother’s mouth and, although he sputtered and complained, he ended up eating it. She nodded and hummed as she handed him another one. “Let me be a good older sister, won’t ya?”
“Nine days, Artie. That’s not much even in mortal terms.”
“It’s long enough. Besides, I’m always going to be the more responsible one. It’s why I managed to keep my huntresses together and Hermes stole your cows.”
“You leave my cows alone! They’re wonderful animals!”
“Uh-huh, sure…”
The duo laughed, sharing food between themselves and wordlessly wishing Athena could be alive to enjoy herself too.
“I wonder how many more care packages we’re going to get. This is the fifth one in a week.”
“You know how Mom is, she worries. And I don’t particularly blame her,” said Artemis as she checked Athena’s bandages again. “If something like this happened to my huntresses—”
“You’d wage war. Everyone knows it.”
“Can you blame me? Some of my huntresses are as young as seven and so incredibly small, yet they found their place within my Hunt. I made sure of it.”
“Of course you did,” replied Apollo, handing some bandages to his sister. “We ought to visit Delos after the funeral though. I suddenly miss mom much more after everything that’s happened.”
“Fair enough. I have no desire to stay in Father’s presence more than I have to.”
“Can we even call him ‘Father’ anymore? After what he did, it feels like a slap in the face to Athena…”
“I don’t know if there’s anything else we can call him without attracting unnecessary attention… We’ll figure it out though. We always do.”
The healing god nodded in agreement as they finished reapplying Athena’s bandages, wanting to keep up the appearance that she was just healing– not dead, not struck down by Zeus, not hurt in an attempt to save her friend- just healing. Just sleeping in the infirmary cot, finally peaceful after fighting for so long.
In a weird and morbid way, she did look peaceful. Time and her duties on Olympus took a heavy toll on her and the twins hoped that, wherever she ended up in the Underworld, she would end up being happy.
By the time they were done, dawn was rising over the godly kingdom and Hermes knocked at the infirmary door, dramatically bowing.
“Hello, dearest siblings. How are you doing?” asked Hermes in a fakely excited tone.
“Great. It’s going amazingly,” replied Apollo sarcastically. At his sister’s slightly confused expression, he clarified: “It was sarcasm, Artie.”
“Thanks,” said Artemis, moving to look closer at the messenger god. “How about you? Eating, sleeping, taking care of yourself?”
“As much as I can. I have to get all the messages and plan how to speak with Dad—”
“He hasn’t done anything to you, has he? If he did, I swear—”
“Artemis.” Apollo put his hand on his sister’s shoulder, stopping her fussing over Hermes, who shot him a thankful grin. “I know you’re worried- and I don’t blame you, don’t get me wrong- but let him breathe. He’s barely gotten here.”
“Fine, fine. Sorry, by the way.”
“It’s fine, no hard feelings, darling,” said Hermes as his wings fluttered and he reached into his bag, pulling out a box. “As you probably expect, another care package from Leto. I’ve talked with her and told her you’re fine, that you’re not hurt, just stuck between a rock and a hard place and that’s why you didn’t manage to visit her yet… Yet being the keyword here. She doesn’t want to force you to come to Delos, but it’s clear she wants to see you and make sure you’re alright.”
“It’s okay, we planned to visit as soon as we can anyway.” Artemis stood up and peeked into the box. “What has she packed for us this time?”
“That’s what you care about—”
“Bread, jam, olives, some fruit, tomatoes,” interrupted Hermes, rummaging through the box. “Oh, and chocolate chip cookies! I’ll be stealing those—
“No, you won’t!” yelled Apollo, snatching the cookies from his half-brother’s hands. Once he realized what he had done, he hung his head low and handed the cookies back. “I’m sorry. You can have them if you want.”
“I was just teasing, but it’s clear this wasn’t the right time…”
An uncomfortable silence settled over the three gods, as none of them quite knew what to do. They didn’t want to address the elephant (or the corpse) in the room, yet it also felt wrong and disrespectful not to.
“Her soul is fine,” Hermes blurted out, when he saw the twins sneak glances at what used to be of their oldest sibling. “I haven’t gotten the chance to talk to her much, but she seemed fine. Or as fine as a dead soul can be, I suppose. She calmed down quickly when I told her of Odysseus’ release, thankfully.”
“At least she got what she fought for,” replied Apollo in a bitter tone. “She fucking died, but the mortal who caused Troy to burn down is free. That’s all that mattered to her, wasn’t it?”
“In a way,” answered Hermes, voice calmer as he gently brushed Athena’s hair. “This is the first time that she’s had a friend, a real one, and she felt guilty about leaving him all those years ago, so she wanted to make up for lost time.”
“She didn’t expect Father to strike her too. None of us did.”
“Exactly. This is all far too complicated, but I’ll make sure she gets to Elysium safely, I swear it.”
“Elysium?” questioned the goddess. “It’s settled?”
“Not officially, but I’ll be damned if I let her go anywhere else. After all she’s done, she deserves a good afterlife, one worthy of a hero.” The twins nodded solemnly and moved to stand beside Hermes, each putting a hand on his shoulders. “You two should go. I’ll be fine here.”
“Just send a message if you need anything,” said Apollo. Then, he threw the care package to Hermes. “Keep it and feel free to eat what’s inside. We have plenty waiting at home.”
“Artemis’ home, you mean.”
“My home is his home,” interjected the mentioned goddess. “Besides, neither of us feel like dealing with the healing domain right now. My domains, my palace… it’s safer.”
“Fair enough. Now go! You two look ready to pass out from exhaustion.”
“It’s not like you look much better yourself,” muttered Artemis, before picking up her satchel. “Take care and keep her safe.”
“I will. You two stay safe too!”
“We’ll try!”
With those parting words, the duo left for Artemis’ palace.
Once they arrived, they each took a quick shower and changed into more comfortable clothes, finally looking more relaxed. Soon, they laid down in the middle of the floor, on the makeshift bed they had made out of pillows and blankets when they discovered that they needed to be together, as they had once been on Delos and even on their earlier days on Olympus. Before their duties began taking them apart from each other. Before the shame and need to keep up a certain reputation set in. Before Athena- their sister- got struck down by the god they dared call a father.
Naturally, they met up like this over the years, mostly when times were dire and they felt hopeless. In those moments, they weren’t revered Olympians or gods with countless responsibilities, they were merely themselves. They could sleep on the floor, in a nest made of blankets and pillows, sharing stories and food their mother sent them, laughing and crying and simply experiencing the realities of their situation.
What they did wouldn’t change Athena’s fate; they knew that.
What they did, however, mattered to them. It was a welcomed reminder to them that they weren’t alone, that, no matter what happened, they would have each other. It was a reminder that, come what may, at the end of the day, they were each other’s other half, the piece they could survive, but not truly live without.
And so, the twins, silver and gold, the moon and the sun, Leto’s blessed children, Artemis and Apollo, fell into the land of sleep by Hypnos’ gentle hands. Their arms were intertwined within each other’s, bodies and souls being two parts of a whole.
Just as they had done way back when they were still mere innocent children, back on Delos, back under their mother’s care, back when their greatest pains were scrapes from playing in the forest. Just as they wished to do more often than either would admit.
Just as it was meant to be.
Notes:
Comments & kudos are always appreciated but not required <33
Chapter 5: Hermes’ messages
Summary:
As the messenger of Olympus, Hermes is responsible for sharing the news of Athena’s death, all while keeping his own sanity intact. Needless to say, he’s having a rough time.
Notes:
Hiiii chat! So initially I wanted to post every Thursday but I finished this early and didn’t want to wait so here you go (don’t sue me if your heart gets broken 3)
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
Whilst watching over Athena was thought to be at least a little bit stressful due to the possibility of Zeus coming over with the intent of finishing what he started, no one complained and they all did their best to keep her body in the best condition possible.
However, for Hermes, it was a welcome break.
Between his responsibilities as the messenger of Olympus and a psychopomp, he was just about ready to rip his own hair out from pure exhaustion. This— caring for his dead sister’s corpse and making sure nobody would defile it— was cathartic in a strange way. Soon enough, he started talking aloud too, half-pretending he was talking to the real Athena.
“Ugh, you would not believe how worried everyone is about you, dawling,” said Hermes dramatically. “Well, everyone but Zeus apparently. I don’t know if he even feels remorse for what he’s done and I don’t think I would care either way.”
A moment of silence passed before he spoke again. “I— I loved you, you know. You were one of my favourite siblings and it was so interesting to always see you up to something, whether it was a battle or helping some random hero. Or getting us out of trouble with Father, of course. You were good at convincing him to let us go with no consequence, I’m convinced you had some sort of spell upon him… or maybe you were just wonderful at convincing people. Ares did always say you ought to be the goddess of outtalking others…
“Despite how it all ended, you fought well during the Games too. It gave all of us a good show… until Father had to get… like he does. And yet, to turn his anger to that extent was unheard of before, especially to you of all gods. You were so careful to keep your reputation and… well, it got you somewhere, but at a terrible price.
“Yeah, laugh all you want, Odysseus made it out of Ogygia in the end, so I guess you reached your goal. I know you said you don’t regret it and that you’d do it again— and I’m sure you would— but I miss you. We all do. I haven’t had the heart to tell Odysseus about your death when he was already in such a fragile mental state, but he’ll figure out something went wrong sooner or later, Telemachus and Penelope too. I know you cared for them too, though you tried to hide it. I saw the blessings you bestowed upon them during my short trips there when Telemachus was a baby.
“I think I’ll tell them all once Odysseus gets settled in Ithaca. He deserves a few days of peace; he deserves much more than that, yet the Fates are keen on making his time on Earth as difficult as possible. Despite that, despite knowing part of his destiny, you chose to help and… part of me wishes you hadn’t.”
He stopped as he made the admission. Although no one else was present to hear him, the god was somewhat ashamed of what he had said.
Naturally, Hermes cared for his great-grandson and wanted for him to get home— it was why he gave him the wind bag, after all— but he wasn’t sure it was worth the price that was paid. Whilst he had never been too close to Athena, not nearly close enough for them to be considered more than friendly siblings, he had cared for her. They all had, in their own way. In all the chaos of Olympus, they had to maintain decent relationships with each other in an attempt to prevent the kingdom from dissolving into pure chaos.
Hermes remembered how close she was with Odysseus and how he used to tease her for “going soft” and “finally having a friend”. A friend which ended up being her downfall.
Or, perhaps it wasn’t Odysseus himself, but what he brought to Athena. She had a tendency to keep to herself unless necessary, speaking of strategies as if she knew the status she held, then retreating back to her palace the second nobody required her anymore. Either that or going to the mortal world, taking on disguises as easily as she breathed, walking (or flying) between kingdoms, analyzing how her humans were doing. Yet even those trips were rarely for her own amusement, more so to assure that the world wasn’t falling apart in her absence.
In summary, no one had seen her make friends or have fun or laugh in thousands of years. Truly experience those feelings, that is. The allies Athena made to win the wars she governed over, the pride when said wars ended in her favour or the bloodlusty smiles she rarely allowed to show, those all were common enough. But to see the goddess of wisdom have a true friend, both amongst the gods and mortals, to see her smile and laugh as if she had no other cares in the world, that was unheard of.
(Some years ago, when he was still a young god on Olympus, Hermes had heard whispers of a friend Athena had supposedly once had, when she was as young as he had been, when she was still under Triton’s care. He had heard from Poseidon how Athena had ruined their friendship and the sea family in the process, how she was undeserving of carrying her name as a symbol of pride. He had heard murmurs of the name Pallas, which he recognized as her first and most famous epithet.
However, when he asked Athena who this strange Pallas had been and why she carried her name and why Poseidon was so mad, a strange sadness clouded the goddess’ eyes and Hermes could swear that, for a moment, her eyes had filled with tears before she brushed them away and told him to ignore the whispers, that it wasn’t his business and that it didn’t matter anymore. As much as his curiosity pushed him to ask more questions, the sad look made him nod and turn away.
Soon after, any talk of this strange Pallas had disappeared and his questions were stifled by his new responsibilities as the messenger of Olympus. Still, on the dark nights when he sat on the windowsill of his palace and stared at the starry sky, sometimes he wondered how the revered goddess of wisdom got her first epithet and why she held it so dear.)
Her reputation as the stoic goddess began being chipped away when she met Odysseus, the cunning young boy who managed to kill that boar. Even as he gushed half his body weight out of the leg wound the boar had left, he remained a trickster and Athena, eager to see what his plan was, played along.
As Odysseus matured alongside their lessons, the playfulness diminished but never truly left. Even at twenty, Odysseus’ eyes continued twinkling at the odd magic Athena showed him. He kept insisting the goddess was his friend, even when said friend made him run extra drills for the comment, which rarely deterred him.
In return, Athena helped him court Penelope and even participated at their wedding, blessing them with all the charms she knew. When he was scared of being king and all the pressures that came with it, she transformed into an owl and stayed on his shoulder, offering a comforting presence as she whispered winged words into his ears, smiling when he was crowned. During the war, she protected him, gave him strength and courage when he required it, helping him live long enough to hopefully return to his wife; and she did all of this whilst insisting they were not, under any circumstances, friends.
Once upon a time, Hermes had laughed at how she said the word, as if it were poison, as if a singular happy relationship would mean her downfall.
In the end, it was, and he couldn’t help but wonder how it had all gone downhill so quickly.
“Don’t worry, though,” he said after a few minutes of silence. His tone was gentle, the one he used with the younger souls he led to the Underworld. “You’ll get down there safely. I cannot say this with absolute certainty, for I am not Hades, but I think you’ll end up in Elysium, the same place all your heroes ended up. Won’t that be nice, meeting all of them again? I don’t know if you miss anyone, but I hope you’ll find them there and that you’ll be happy. Maybe you are going to relax for once in your life… or death? I don’t know. In either case, you’re going to be alright. We will all make sure of that.”
While talking, the god was making a flower crown with the flowers Demeter left in vases around Athena in an attempt to ward off the smell of a corpse who was barely kept from rotting, instinctively picking out the Crocus flowers. Once it was done, he gently placed it on Athena’s head alongside the others her family had left, an arrangement which showed their care, if nothing else.
In a way, it sort of looked like a war helmet and the sight warmed Hermes’ heart, remembering her warrior spirit.
“Carry that stubbornness to the Underworld too, Thea, it will do you well.”
With those words, Hermes sat back in his chair, thinking over his responsibilities once again. He dreaded the moment he would have to return to Ithaca, not because he hated his great-grandson, but because of the news he would be forced to bring with him. The god could barely imagine how Odysseus, as well as Penelope and Telemachus, would react to news of Athena’s death. Not only was she a goddess, someone who wasn’t supposed to even have the ability to die, but the one who had watched over them, who helped them by any means she could. The news wouldn’t be easy to digest and, frankly, Hermes couldn’t blame them for how they might react.
With Zeus approving a potential funeral for Athena, Hermes would have to think about leading Athena to the Underworld and introducing her to the place she would spend eternity in. This responsibility wasn’t exactly included in his role of a psychopomp, but he was allowed to make an exception for his sister. Besides, she would panic at some point and, no matter how hard she would try to hide it, Hermes would rather he be by her side to comfort her.
He could only hope Hades would allow her to skip trial. Whilst Athena had fought valiantly for her heroes and brought great victory to many cities, she also made many enemies and the god wasn’t too sure the judges would take kindly to that. Even then, Hermes hoped they would give in and allow the goddess a peaceful eternity in Elysium; she deserved that.
‘She also deserved to live, but Zeus took that from her too,’ thought Hermes to himself before shaking his head. His thoughts were of no use in that particular moment.
Before her trial in the Underworld, Athena would need a funeral. Not just any funeral either, but one worthy of an Olympian goddess, which Hera had, without a doubt, already begun planning. They would need a shroud, which felt so weird to say about the goddess of weaving, coins, as well as some other offerings to send with her to the Underworld.
As for what offerings exactly, Hermes could only think of Athena’s numerous domains. Some scrolls to represent her role as a strategist, strings for her crafting domain, owl symbolism, olive tree branches, as well as actual olives and olive oil, a few spoils of war she had gotten over the millenia and… weapons.
The first objects were easy enough to obtain, yet the last one required an experienced hand. They couldn’t give her just any old weapons, they had to be worthy of the title of the Goddess of War and Crafts, which meant he knew his next stop: Hephaestus.
But that would come later. At the moment, Hermes was content enough to sit on the chair and murmur hymns in hopes that they would strike Athena’s soul.
Notes:
Comments & kudos are always appreciated but not required <33
Chapter 6: Hephaestus’ forge
Summary:
As he often does when upset, Hephaestus retreats to his forge. In preparation for Athena’s funeral, he builds a new set of arm guards and a spear, desperately trying to ignore the hole left in his heart by his sister’s absence.
Notes:
Hiiii guys! Here's a new chapter, hope y'all enjoy :3
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
Once a few hours had passed and his unofficial shift was over, Hermes quickly flew to Hephaestus’ forge, knowing the blacksmith would be there. He rarely left his forge under normal circumstances, but he seemed even more determined to stay there after what happened in the arena. Whether it was a distraction or a way to ensure his own safety, Hermes didn’t know, but he did have a goal to fulfill, so he hesitantly knocked on the door and allowed himself in.
“Hermes,” acknowledged Hephaestus, although his eyes didn’t raise from their project. The hammer continued thudding mechanically against the metal set on the table, occasionally sending some sparks flying out.
“What are ya making, darling?” asked Hermes, flying closer to his brother.
“Something, anything to quiet my thoughts,” answered the blacksmith, finally putting his hammer down and looking at the younger god. “I’ll assume you didn’t come here to ask me about that, though. What do you want? Has anything else happened?”
“Well… sort of,” replied the messenger, fiddling with his hat as he floated uncertainly. “Father has allowed a funeral for Athena after he talks to Hades and well, I figured we ought to be prepared. We’ll need a shroud, offerings, all the traditional stuff and then some… but I think she would appreciate having a couple weapons on there too. In terms of that, I will defer to you. You know what weapons she likes and, while this is not an official order yet, I ask you to craft something for her. Something memorable, something worthy of her status, something—”
“Something worthy of Athena,” finished Hephaestus. “Don’t worry, I understand. I’ll get to work on it. Do you think she would have minded other things too?”
“Most likely not. Everyone will contribute with something anyway. As long as it comes from a good place, Hera probably won’t say anything— because, by the way, she’s the one who is organizing her funeral. As for Father, I have no idea what he’s doing…”
“Of course she is,” replied the god, shaking his head. “She really started caring for Athena like her own daughter, so I’m not really surprised about that.”
“Everyone saw how much joy they both had during the moments they spent planning together; it was impossible not to notice. Hera might come to talk to you too within the next few days, so prepare for that. She became kinder to all of us, even Artemis, it was so weird…”
“Eh, she does that sometimes,” said Hephaestus, to Hermes’ shock.
“What do you mean by that?”
The older god sighed deeply and methodically cleaned his hands as he talked, eyes cast downwards. “When we were younger— before you came to Olympus, that is— and Father and Mother would argue, she would try to shield us from it as well as she could. Athena herded us, the younger ones, to another room as soon as the fighting started, but sometimes we weren’t fast enough. We would end up hearing things we shouldn’t have and I ought not to repeat, lest Father strike me down as well. Afterwards, once she had cleaned herself up and she thought she could hide her secrets from her own children, she softened. She held Ares, Enyo and me in her arms, sung lullabies to us, told us stories of how the moon was hung in the sky or even of her own childhood. She laughed with us when we told her of what we had done that day, when we tried to impress her with our silly tricks, the ones younger gods without much knowledge partake in, telling us how proud she was and what great gods we would become. She tried her best to shield us from Father’s anger and it may not have been enough but…”
The god let his words fizzle out before heaving a sigh and continuing. “What I mean to say is that this is simply something she does. Just as I retreat to my forge, just as Ares fights until his knuckles are bloody, just as Artemis spends more time in her forests with her nymphs, just as Apollo composes terrible poetry and annoys all of us with it, just as you refuse to sit still, this is something my mother does when circumstances are less than ideal. Everyone has their way of coping and this is hers, I suppose. She can be caring and often is, but you know better than me how cruel Olympus can be and how it can change anyone.”
Hermes nodded seriously, taking in his brother’s words. His wings slowly stopped fluttering and he took a few feather-light steps to put a comforting hand on Hephaestus’ back.
“I understand… I think, at least. My mother, Maia, was often the same, especially during my visits in my first few years as an Olympian. It was nice, in a strange way…”
“It was,” agreed the older god. “It still is. She’s done a whole lot of awful things, but she can be— and often is— good.”
“Leto behaves identically, you know?” said Hermes with a small, if slightly humourless, laugh. “I met with Artemis and Apollo last night to deliver another care package to them from their mother. She packs food as if her daughter is not the greatest huntress to ever exist and cannot make herself a feast in less an hour from the average forest and writes letters detailing her love as if her son is not the very god of poetry. Still, it’s sweet. I like seeing them smile and I have no doubt they will visit Delos once this begins to blow over.”
“Do you not wish to join them? They will no doubt accept you, as will Leto.”
“I have no right to impose upon their time with their own mother. I can tell that it is something sacred between them and they deserve it, after working so hard to ensure Athena’s body stays in a decent condition. As for me, Leto probably accepts me purely because of how I acted towards her during the war…” The messenger shook his head to disperse the thought. “Besides, I have work to do, especially with the… situation that is now plaguing us all.”
Neither had to say aloud what the ‘situation’ was. Everyone on Olympus must have been aware of it, either by rumours that spread like Apollo’s plagues or being informed by Hermes himself.
Meanwhile, still on a cot in the private room in the infirmary, sat Athena’s corpse. Hephaestus had come to see it a few times, but the uncanniness of seeing his sister— the one who was always either fighting, strategizing or weaving, nearly as restless as Hermes— reduced to nothing more than a body riddled with lightning scars, prevented from rotting by charms whose power could be detected from miles away, scent masked with flowers which were laid around her as if she were a painting instead of a revered goddess; it was all too much.
He didn’t understand how the others stayed by her side for hours on end, but, at the end of the day, he wasn’t one to face things directly. Gods like his brother, Ares, were the ones who used the weapons he created while he sat in his forge, thoughts quieted by the sound of metals banging and slowly yet surely taking on new shapes.
Creating and crafting was what he did and what he would continue to do, especially in the absence of his sister.
“I will get to work on the weapons for Athena’s funeral,” murmured Hephaestus, breaking the silence that has settled over them. “Do you think she would mind if I added some armor pieces too?”
“Not anymore than she minds being dead,” replied Hermes, before he stood up and shot the other god one of his signature smiles, though it was much more strained than usual. “I would really like to stay to talk more and talk, darling, but my work calls for me. You take care now!”
With those parting words, the messenger god flew away, barely hearing his brother’s goodbye.
And so, Hephaestus was left alone in his forge once more, except he now had a new mission.
He picked up the metal he was previously working on and set it to the side; he may use it later. Until then though, he would need something to make a war helmet and he quickly found what he was looking for: gold. Silver fit Athena better due to her piercing grey eyes, but it was traditional for her helmet to be golden in order to show her higher status.
Speaking of her helmet, he ought to think of a shield too. Athena had the aegis which Zeus had given to her, of course, but he wasn’t sure if his father would accept his precious shield forever resting on his daughter’s grave, so he planned a design for it as well.
Next, he thought of the weapons Hermes had requested. A spear and a sword were traditional for Athena, as these were the weapons she most often used. Whilst she had no problem with using a bow and arrow, she preferred fighting directly, leaving archery towards the indirect fighters such as Artemis or Apollo.
Once his designs were finished, he began to work and didn’t stop until he finished hours later. His hands were aching, his body was covered in sweat and he was sure he had gotten at least two new blisters, but it was worth it. He felt prideful (and a little melancholic) when looking at his new creations.
At a first glance, the sword and spear were simple. However, when one chose to look further, one could easily see the carefully engraved hilt of the sword which depicted an olive tree, the one Athena had grown in the competition against Poseidon, and the small golden writing on the spear which read “for Athena, who fought until the very end”.
The helmet and shield were the true center pieces. The helmet held depictions of several types of owls and serpents, as well as the loom on the back with the strings tying to several humans in armor, obvious depictions of the numerous heroes Athena helped throughout her life. The shield, which could be a worthy competitor to the aegis in terms of the terror it held, showed battles and soldiers dead on the floor as others cheered for the enemies’ city falling. It showed the horrors of war, the horrors Athena never shied away from and faced with a stone-cold expression.
(Hephaestus began wondering whether that expression his sister donned like a shield hid something deeper she didn’t trust them with, but he soon shook the thought from his mind. It wasn’t as if he would get to ask her, anyway.)
He leaned backwards on his chair and looked over his work again. He recalled how Athena had been a blacksmith too and the rare times they worked together. Yes, Hephaestus was the god of blacksmiths and the forge, but Athena was the goddess of crafts, having as much skill in the making of weapons as he did. He surprised her with how ingenious his inventions were, but so did she. It was an interesting battle they took part in, one no one truly ever won, more so caught an advantage in.
In addition, he always appreciated that she didn’t make him speak and, later on, he would come to suspect she enjoyed the silence too. Once, she told him part of the reason she enjoyed weaving so much was because it gave her an opportunity to be with herself and her mind alone, to think while also occupying her hands. He nodded in understanding, for metalworking fulfilled the same purpose for him.
Now, after Zeus had struck her to death in the arena, Hephaestus regretted not being more thankful for those moments. Then again, why should he? It wasn’t as if those moments were supposed to ever end, as if she was supposed to die.
With a groan, he stood up and headed to his palace, dreams filled with images of his sister’s body next to the weapons and armor she would never get to use.
Notes:
Comments & kudos are always appreciated but not required
Chapter 7: Aphrodite & Ares’ war
Summary:
After Athena’s death, the two retreat to Aphrodite’s palace, but the atmosphere remains heavy as they recall memories of their fellow war goddess.
Notes:
Hiii guys! I’m back with another chapter and I love this one so much because Ares & Aphrodite are my favourite (romantic) relationship in greek mythology. Also I’ll try to update weekly but I don’t promise that because this is my first long & serious fanfic/series of fics (before this I mainly wrote one-shots and stories <4k so it’s a big jump) sorryyyyyy
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
Whilst Hephaestus was busy toiling in his forge and making weapons for Athena’s funeral, Aphrodite and Ares could be found on the beach once again. The goddess of love was swimming in the ocean, whilst the god of war sat on a small cliff overlooking the water, about one foot above.
When they weren’t visiting the infirmary to ensure the sanctity of Athena’s corpse, this had been their routine for the past week after what had happened during God Games. Neither god could have guessed that what was thought to be a mere game, which the goddess of wisdom was practically destined to win due to her domains, would end so horrifically. Of course, they had seen plenty of bloodshed during the Trojan war and even delighted in it, yet this breached the boundaries of what was considered proper.
In a way, Ares wasn’t surprised Aphrodite had taken to the water since this was what she usually did when she was grieving or stressed or remembered something she shouldn’t have— when circumstances were not ideal, in short. They had discussed it early into their relationship, back when Ares would panic over finding an empty bed in the middle of the night, but it had become normal in the same way that Ares would fight until he could barely hold a sword.
However, the memory of sparring with Athena less than half an hour before her death flashed before his eyes every time he dared to pick up a spear, so he was taking a break from his regular training. He had no doubts that, eventually, fighting would come as easy to him as it did before, but he needed time in order for that to happen. They all did.
Ergo, he was stuck on a cliff, fiddling with the shells Aphrodite found and decided to give him because “they were pretty”. Not that he would have it any other way; watching his lover move as adeptly as a nymph in the water won over being stuck with his own thoughts any day.
“Found another one,” said Aphrodite, voice slightly raspy.
Ares took the shell from her and set it next to the others. “Are you sure you don’t want a break? You’ve been at it for a while now…”
The goddess ignored his gesture towards the ever-growing pile of shells she was giving him and laid on her back, looking at him as she floated. “No, thanks. Now, would you like to join me in the water? It’s not that cold, I promise.”
“I’m keeping watch. I doubt even the Fates know how Father will react now.”
“Didn’t Hera tell us he was holed up in his room and crying? You heard her words yourself.”
The god of war scoffed and crossed his arms. “Crying as if he wasn’t the bastard to strike her just because she won a game? Yeah, I heard. It’s in character for him, after all, the asshole—”
He interrupted himself and took a deep breath as he ran a hand through his hair, trying to calm himself down. “I’m sorry, I’m still unsettled.”
“I think everyone is,” replied Aphrodite before extending her arms towards her lover. “Pull me up, I’ll go swim later.”
Ares obeyed without question and, soon enough, the two were sitting side by side, looking at the seemingly endless sea in front of them.
“Hermes passed by the other day,” began Aphrodite in a casual tone. “Zeus apparently approved the funeral, it just has to happen after he talks with Hades and gets all that Underworld stuff figured out.”
“I know, Ma told me that she’s already begun planning. From what I know of her, I know that it will definitely be something Athena would enjoy. Well, if she was alive.”
“If she was alive,” said the goddess slowly. “I don’t think we would be in this situation at all.”
“You know what I mean.” Ares laid his head on his lover’s shoulder, fingers weaving around her hair. “Usually, I would say that it’s good that she died fighting for an honorable cause and that she doesn’t have to deal with the aftermath of the injuries and yet I… I can’t make myself do it. I know we fought and it often seemed like we hated each other, but it was just a way to let off steam, to practice. Apart from my twin sister, she was one of the best opponents I’ve faced.”
“I know, my dear, I know,” she murmured, hands lingering on his arms and tracing small circles. “I liked her too. It was a common occurrence that she invited me over to discuss clothing designs and even give me dresses to try on. We bonded over that, in a way. I don’t think she ever realized how happy she was during those nights, with how intent she was on keeping her emotions hidden and acting like they were poison.”
“That’s Athena for you, I suppose. She enjoyed everything so much: games, strategies, fighting, weaving, creating… all of it. She enjoyed living. She found joy in damn near everything, yet forbade herself from showing it, even when she was a child.” The god stopped his rant for a second and furrowed his brows in concentration, trying to organize the memories flooding his mind. “Especially when she was a child, I think. I met her when she became Father’s advisor, when she was twelve, so I don’t know what her very first years on Olympus were like. What I know is that those years changed her.”
“I didn’t see her much either and I’m not sure whether it’s my place to speak upon. Even in death, she probably wouldn’t like people sticking their fingers into her business.” At Ares’ chuckle, she conceded: “Scratch that, she definitely wouldn’t like it. However, I will say that she used to be such a sweet, if a tad shy, girl before Lake Tritonis, before she was aware of all the horrors of the world.”
Aphrodite wasn’t sure that Athena was unaware of how horrible Olympus was, especially considering what happened with Metis, but it was easy to pretend that was the case. The bubbly and curious young girl certainly hid the sadness well, save for her grey eyes, the same ones Metis had. Although she wanted to ponder over the memories of her former friend, the goddess continued.
“Once she stopped being under Triton’s care and continued her training on Olympus, she was more closed-off, less willing to show her what her interests were, what she disliked or… her emotions at all, really. My guess is that this whole change in demeanor is what made Zeus promote her to the position of his advisor so soon.”
“And she, like the idiot she was, accepted it,” added Ares, heaving a humourless laugh. He didn’t truly mean it when he called her an idiot, it was simply how he grieved the loss of the sister who was supposed to be the smart one, the one who had all the answers.
“Not like she had much choice in the matter either; Zeus was not very different then from how he is now.”
“Still an asshole then.”
The water rippled as it was hit by the stone Ares threw, the sound ringing in the silence that had temporarily settled over them.
“What else did we expect? The will of a king- especially the king of the gods- is absolute.”
And it shouldn’t be.
They both recognized the words they wouldn’t dare speak, lest they be struck down like Athena was.
Look where it got us, they wanted to say, to yell at the world, to scream until their throats were raw. Unfortunately, they knew that it would only bring negative attention, which was attention they couldn’t afford to garner, nor would it bring the goddess of wisdom back to life, so they kept their mouths shut and basked in the silence that enveloped them like a blanket.
They continued throwing stones at the water, heads on each other’s shoulders, as the sun was slowly setting and Nyx placed her cloak over the sky.
“I’m going to swim a bit more, then we can head back to my palace.”
Aphrodite moved to jump back into the water, but was stopped by her lover’s hand on her shoulder. It was gentle, as it often was, not meant to truly restrain.
“Are you sure you want to? The water seems rather cold now…”
“I’ll be fine, darling.” She turned her head to look at him and giggled softly. “Or what, are you afraid I’ll turn into a siren?”
“Your words are already like a siren’s song to me,” he replied, kissing her on the mouth as if to prove his point. “Plus, you are more beautiful than those creatures.”
“Oh, I know.”
With those words, she slipped into the water and allowed her mind to be focused on how cold and dark it was, rather than any thoughts about the way the Olympian council would now be lacking a throne. Those were filling her nightmares anyway.
For about half an hour more, she kept swimming and only resurfaced when she felt her fingertips begin to be too cold to handle anymore.
When she did, Ares deftly lifted her up, placed a towel over her shoulders and put an arm around her body as they walked home. By the time they arrived there, Aphrodite was shivering and a part of Ares’ side was wet, though he didn’t complain.
“Told ya that you should’ve called it quits sooner,” he said as he drew a hot bath for the both of them. “Now you’re cold and shivering like you’re in the middle of winter.”
“Oh, shush, you never quit when I tell you to either,” she retorted as she undressed, leaving her wet clothes on a chair nearby.
“I, however, am not at risk of catching a cold because of it.”
“No,” she agreed, stepping into the hot water. “Instead you are at danger of fainting which, need I remind you, you have done numerous times.”
The god shrugged as he entered the bath too and sat next to his partner. “I guess we’re perfect for each other then. Two stubborn gods against the world.”
Aphrodite kissed him, her tongue slipping into his mouth, only breaking apart to fully submerge herself in the water. After a full five minutes had passed and she showed no signs of wanting to get up, Ares poked her forehead and asked: “Oi, are you dead? Are you sleeping? Because if you are, I’ll let you know you have a perfectly fine bed in your bedroom.”
A few seconds later, she resurfaced with a conspiratorial smirk. “Eager to get to bed, are you?”
“Just tired, Dite,” he sighed. “Tired to my bones.”
She nodded seriously and handed him the tray with soaps and oils, the message clear. For all her teasing, the goddess was also exhausted and knew she couldn’t keep drowning her thoughts in the water.
After half an hour and more kisses and laughter than the couple cared to admit, they stepped out of the tub, dried themselves off and changed into their pajamas.
“Do you want to sleep?” asked Ares, threading his hands through her wet hair.
“Frankly, I don’t want to deal with the nightmares, not now,” answered Aphrodite, eyes blinking in tiredness. “If you want to though—”
“I’m fine,” he interrupted, despite the fact that his expression was as tired as her own. “I’m not one to avoid the truth, however harsh it may be, but this… this is getting exhausting. I can’t even tell you anything you don’t already know about either. It’s just rehashing the same subject over and over and it’s… whatever it is, it wasn’t supposed to be like this.”
“I don’t mind talking. It’s better than being alone with my thoughts, in any case.”
And so, the duo spent the following hours discussing what they had already done over the course of the past week, yet they never tired of hearing each other’s voices. Not when it distracted them from their own grief and the other emotions that came along with it.
Eventually, they ended up falling asleep in the safety of each other’s arms, knowing that if— or, more accurately, when— they had a nightmare, they wouldn’t have to face it alone.
Notes:
Comments & kudos are always appreciated but not required <3
Chapter 8: Demeter and Hestia’s home
Summary:
Despite never being too close to Athena, the two eldest daughters of Kronos cannot help but feel rage at their brother for killing his daughter. However, they cannot stand alone against him, so they settle for keeping their family together.
Notes:
Hiiii guys, I'm back? Did y'all miss me? Did you miss the angst I bring? Whatever the answer is, you clicked on this chapter, so clearly you like something about this fic (or you're just really curious, both are fine)
Anyway, I wanted to warn that the updates might get slower meaning that I could have weeks when I don't post because school is starting soon and I'll need to do stuff like study and do homework and, most of all, spend time there (plus the commute to and from school... ughhhhhh I'm so NOT looking forward to it). That being said, I do not want to abandon this fic/fic series because I do enjoy it a lot and I hope y'all keep staying for the ride too
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
At the edge of a forest on Olympus stood a little cottage which, despite its appearances, held multiple rooms and could have had the grandeur of a palace, should the goddess have requested it. That goddess was Hestia and she was content with her life at the edges of the mountain which held chaos, betrayal and, most importantly, her family. Usually, she traveled as she pleased throughout the land- both mortal and divine- lighting the fires and delighting in the families who offered to her, but an unforseen event ruptured the relative peace she had.
The so-called God Games. Her brother’s wrath inflicted upon his favourite daughter. Athena’s death.
A goddess shouldn’t have even been able to die, yet the divine body also wasn’t made for handling the unfiltered wrath of a king. So, that left Hestia in front of her fireplace with a mug of tea in hand, waiting for a guest who was, by that point, 30 minutes late. Hestia couldn’t blame them though, since she could only imagine the hardships—
“Hestia! I’m so sorry I’m late! I got caught up in the infirmary with my spells and then Apollo wanted to talk and—“
“Demeter,” said Hestia, putting a comforting hand on the goddess’ shoulder. “I understand. Come in, take a breath and let me fix you a cup of tea.”
Although Demeter didn’t reply, she bowed her head in gratitude and entered. She sighed in exhaustion as she sat down and was covered in a blanket.
“Long night, huh?” asked Hestia sympathetically, handing her sister a mug of tea.
“More like a long week. I’m trying to keep Athena’s body from decaying and it’s taking a toll.” The goddess of agriculture took a deep breath and sipped her tea before continuing. “My domain, my powers, they weren’t supposed to be used like this. This whole thing is stretching the limits of what the divine body can handle and it… it’s just not right. It’s not natural, it… it wasn’t supposed to be like this.”
“Of course it wasn’t,” agreed Hestia quietly, staring at the blazing fire in front of her and mentally debating whether to throw Zeus in it or not. “I didn’t talk to Athena much, but she was such a sweet girl the few times I did speak to her. She was always planning and thinking ahead, helping Zeus… I think she saved us from quite a few disasters with her words alone.”
“During the Games too,” said Demeter, offhandedly gesturing in an effort to keep her tears at bay. “I mean, the others weren’t really putting up much of a fight, since we all see how happy Odysseus made her and how good of a warrior he was, but it’s still impressive.”
The goddess of the hearth nodded and moved to hug her younger sister, letting her tears fall. “And now it’s all gone because our brother couldn’t stand losing a game, one that was practically made for Athena to win.”
“Can we really be surprised though? After what he did to Persephone, I lost most of my trust in him, and after this… it may all be gone.”
Hestia cried even harder when she heard this, hugging her sibling tighter. “Don’t say that yet! There must be something we can do—“
“What?” asked Demeter harshly, breaking the hug and holding the other’s hands in her own. “No one, including Hades, has the power to bring back the dead, not without a great cost. Even that would have its own consequences; can you imagine what the recovery process would be like? Can you imagine how much more pain Athena would have to go through just to try to get back to what she once was? I saw her corpse and let me tell you: her whole body is littered with lightning scars, some of it still active, but her left eye is the worst of it. If she were alive, she must be half-blind, I doubt even Apollo could heal the damage it suffered…”
“No, no, there must be something… how has everything been turned against us? How— when— did our brother turn into this king… this tyrant?! He’s become a monster and… and he did this to his own daughter, the one we all thought was his favourite…”
“Power corrupts,” muttered Demeter, bitterness seeping into her tone. “Zeus, Poseidon, Hades, Hera, all of them! We both know how sweet they were once upon a time and how cruel they became once Olympus got a hold of them. Especially Hera— by the Fates, do you remember how she used to smile and laugh? Even during the war, she was so optimistic and kind and just willing to help anyone and anything she met—“
“I think you’re biased,” interrupted Hestia with a small giggle, chuckling even more when she saw her sister’s expression. “What are you looking at me like that for? You are!”
“…Just a little,” admitted the goddess after a few moments of complete silence. “You have to admit though, she was adorable and now… well, she’s still adorable, in my opinion, just more willing to murder and curse people.”
“A lot more willing to curse people.” Hestia moved to make more tea as she spoke with the hope that the constant movement would keep the tears pooling in her eyes from streaming down her face. “Despite their… demeanor, they’re all still our siblings and we ought to love them as such.”
“Yes,” said Demeter slowly. She thought her words over since she didn’t want to speak with no thought or to risk shaking the delicate atmosphere. “We also ought to know when to break away to keep our own sanity intact.”
Hestia didn’t respond and opted to set the two new steaming mugs in front of them, waiting for the drink to cool down before answering. “I just wish it wasn’t so difficult. Our lives have been a near constant fight since the moment we were born and I wish that, just for a moment, we could all be peaceful and happy and together as we once were.”
“Like in Kronos’ stomach? I remember those great times! Like that time Poseidon nearly fell into the stomach acid-“
“Or when you wouldn’t stop arguing with Hades and we all had to suffer-“
“Or when we all ganged up on you for being the oldest (and still didn’t manage to defeat you)-“
“Or when Hera clung to you and refused to be held by anyone else…”
The two sisters broke out into laughter, an insane thing that even they barely knew how to explain. All they knew was that they were together and that, somehow, it all felt less stressful when they weren’t alone. Of course, it wasn’t all magically better, but it felt less daunting, more manageable, like there was a light at the end of the tunnel.
“Good times, truly.”
“Of course,” agreed Hestia with a breathless chuckle. “And now we’re living among our brothers, one of which killed his own daughter and organized the kidnapping of another. What has our world become…”
A comfortable silence settled over them after that, in which they merely sipped their tea, watched the flames bounce around and enjoyed each other’s company.
Hestia was just about to get up to make herself a third cup when someone behind her yelled: “He’s letting us have a funeral!”
The goddess turned around sharply and relaxed when she saw who stood in her doorway.
“Hera, sit down and take a breath,” said Demeter as she stood up and moved towards the door where her sister stood— or, more accurately, floated, wings fluttering with her excitement.
“No, you don’t understand. We can have a funeral now!” exclaimed Hera, happiness visible in her expression. “Not right now, I suppose, since he wants to talk to Hades first, which is probably for the best anyway— sorry, Demeter— but after everything that’s happened in the last week, this is amazing news!”
“We can tell,” said Hestia in a tired tone, though the smile on her face was unmistakable. “Sit down and I’ll make you some tea too.”
“A calming one, preferably,” muttered Demeter, before turning to Hera and embracing her. “Are you alright? Did you conversation with Zeus end fine or did he—“
“He didn’t hurt me, I’m fine,” interrupted Hera, lifting her sleeves. “See? No new scars. He didn’t do anything but whine as usual.”
“Uh huh,” replied Demeter, still unconvinced. “Those old scars do look a bit worrisome though, are you sure you’re alright? If he tried to hurt you, you would tell me, right?”
“It wouldn’t change anything anyway,” said the queen bitterly, covering her arms again.
“But I—“
“He is the king, sister, his will is absolute. I think last week’s events have proven that to be true.” Hera fidgeted with her sleeves a bit more before dropping her hands in her lap. “Fine, I’ll tell you if he tries to do anything untoward to me, if only to bring you peace of mind.”
Demeter nodded in thanks and sat down in front of the fireplace with Hera, wrapping a blanket around her as Hestia brought over some tea.
“What was it you said about a funeral?”
“Right!” exclaimed the queen before starting to explain. “I talked to Zeus and finally got him to agree to organize a funeral for Athena. Well, ‘organize’ is putting it highly, since I’ll probably end up doing most of the work, but I’m still positive. He wants to talk to Hades first; my guess is that he wishes to know where Athena will end up in the Underworld and other things along those lines.”
“He better give her a place in Elysium or I swear—“
“He will, Demeter, don’t worry. Otherwise we will simply have to beat him up until he agrees,” interrupted Hera with a playful wink.
“How about we don’t use violence to solve our problems?” suggested Hestia, only to facepalm when her siblings shook their heads.
“Nah, it’s better this way.”
“More efficient,” agreed the goddess of agticulture. “And more fun.”
Hestia shook her head and, although she pretended to be dissapointed, the smile on her face was evident.
Sitting together, slowly sipping tea, watching the eternally burning fireplace, purely enjoying each other’s company, that was how the three goddesses spent the next few hours. Ocassionally, they would share tales about Athena, mostly silly things, to distract from the weight of their grief, but the stories were true nonetheless. They carried the fondness for what they had- what they took for granted due to their perceived immortality and status as gods- and what wasn’t anymore, the hope for the afterlife Athena would have and regret for what they didn’t do— if they could have even done anything in the first place.
Unfortunately, as much as they wanted to, they couldn’t spend eternity like that. Their responsibilities came first, after all.
Hera was the first to leave, apologies on the tip of her tongue, with the sorrowful knowledge that her title as Queen of Olympus and her domain of family contradicted once again.
Demeter left only an hour after, because she still had plants to create in order to keep the mortal world from starving, in addition to her new role of keeping Athena’s corpse from rotting.
Hestia understood- of course she did, she always understood- but the logic of it all did little to ease the pain inside her chest when she had to let her sisters go. It never had. However, she was far past the point of complaint, so she kept enjoying (or trying to enjoy, at least) her simple life in her little cottage, waiting for her siblings to come back home.
Waiting.
Always waiting…
And waiting was how she fell into the sweet land of dreams that Morpheus brought. Waiting with a mug of tea that became lukewarm as the hours passed, with three blankets around her, which still held the remnants of her sisters- a mossy smell which often reminded Hestia of a forest and the unmistakable scent of wilting flowers that Hera attempted to cover up with perfume.
Despite the sleeping goddess, the fireplace kept burning, as the flame inside Hestia’s heart always did, always ready to embrace her siblings once again.
Notes:
Comments & kudos are always appreciated but not required <3
Chapter 9: Poseidon’s rage
Summary:
It was a well-known fact that the king of the seas had never gotten along with Athena since the… incident with Pallas. However, even he was shocked to hear about her death and more than a little surprised to find out he cared.
Notes:
(To the music of Ruthlessness): Poseidon, Poseidon, Poseidon… ✨Poseidon✨
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
It was a well-known fact that the king of the seas had never gotten along with Athena since the ‘incident’ with Pallas. However, that didn’t change the shock he felt when Hermes came to tell him that she had died.
Obviously, he didn’t care, it didn’t matter to him whether the little wench was dead or alive and, in a way, it may even provide a political advantage for him since it meant one less rivalry to acknowledge, one less mouth to mock him and undermine his authority through her ‘amazing’ strategies—
All those thoughts dispersed once he saw his son running towards him, tears streaming down his face.
“She’s dead, Father!” screamed Triton, voice scratchy. “He killed her and now she’ll—“
His voice broke off, too exhausted from the constant crying, the words too difficult to get out.
Poseidon, for all he wanted to, barely moved. His words were colder than he intended too, as if some unknown force had turned off his heart. “Yes, she is.”
Triton, however, had been his son for thousands of years, so he merely threw himself into his father’s arms and waited until the hug was returned. For several minutes, the duo stayed like this, arms entertwined against each other’s, Triton’s head tucked safely under Poseidon’s, tears wetting the king’s clothing. Not that Poseidon could find it in himself to care much- sure, he never liked Athena, but he did love his own son- not when Triton’s cries continued breaking his heart and didn’t seem like they would ever stop.
Thankfully, only a few minutes later, the god’s body seemed to run out of energy and tears to pour. Therefore, once he wiped his eyes in an effort to retain as much of his dignity as he could, he spoke again: “She- she is— can you believe it?”
Poseidon blinked slowly until the words registered, and then raised an eyebrow. “The fact that Athena died, you mean?”
At his son’s nod of confirmation, the king continued: “My brother is prone to anger and that anger often reflected upon his own children. I cannot say that I am too surprised by this.”
“But to strike her until death?” rebutted Triton, anger growing in his tone. “That must have required a lot of power, even for someone as powerful as the God King, especially considering how strong Athena was—“
“She was much weaker than you would imagine,” murmured Poseidon, not unkindly, yet with no fondness either. “Most of her perceived power in court was either won by association- with her being favored by both Zeus and Hera- or by her words. Powerful things, both of them… until she trusted too much in her status. None of it mattered- not her stategies, not her council, not the wars she won- absolutely none of it mattered once Zeus decided she stepped too far out of line.”
“Just because she wanted to save her friend too. I- I didn’t have many encounters with Odysseus—“
“Do not speak of that wretched man!” yelled Poseidon, waves swirling around him as his anger peaked. “He outright disrespected me, he hurt your brother beyond repair and I caught him because his pride blinded him—“
“Same as your rage is blinding you right now, my love.”
Amphitrite walked into the room and, although she had heard the conversation from beyond the door, she knew she ought to let her husband and son have their moment together.
However, she also knew that her husband’s anger was more likely than not to break something and would, in the end, create more problems than it solved.
“My darling, what are you doing here?” questioned the king, leaning into his wife’s arms and subconciously calming the storm around them.
“I came to see how you two were doing after Hermes’ news—“
“But we heard it before we saw it,” interrupted Kymopoleia. She was standing in the doorway of the room and looking at the three people inside, mentally debating whether or not to join. Thankfully, she didn’t gave to decide. Her mother merely extended her arm towards her in a ‘come here’ motion, which the goddess obeyed. “Why are you even arguing about Athena in the first place? She’s dead now.”
The jarring statement momentarily made the other gods stop to stare at her. When what she had told them finally registered, the room exploded in chaos.
“Kym, that’s insensitive—“
“It’s correct though—“
“Athena was a pest—“
“Kym’s right,” said Triton, which made his family stop arguing to look at him as if he had grown a second head. “It- it hurts and I know that it will for a long time to come, but Kym is right. Athena is dead, it’s fruitless to argue about her. The only thing we can do now is grieve her and… and make sure that she’s not forgotten. That her memory lives on in a way as worthy as she was.”
“Wow, so mature,” muttered Kymopoleia. Whilst grief sat heavy in her chest too, she didn’t quite know how to react. The news was still fresh in her mind and to acknowledge it so soon would feel like pouring salt on a flesh wound. After a few more moments of silence where it became clear no one intended to voice their opinions, the goddess began to speak in a quiet tone: “I loved her too. Tri, you know I loved both of them. Those two were my favourite nieces and, although Athena is technically our cousin, I treated her just as I treated Pallas.”
The three gods flinched at the mention of their dead family member, the name that had become almost taboo to speak of in fear that Zeus would strike them too, yet they let her continue.
“I missed so much of her life because no one on Olympus wanted me around—“
“Probably because you make storms that rival mine without the status,” whispered Poseidon, though his daughter didn’t pay any attention to him and merely continued.
“This news is- well, it’s not easy to digest. Whatever problems she may have caused, Athena was part of our family at one point and we loved her as such—“
“And that’s the problem!” interrupted the king of the sea, tone growing angrier as he spoke. “Ever since Triton took her as his ward, the only thing she’s done is cause us problems! I told you all that she would ruin our lives if she stayed and look at what happened! I was right! I was right and it meant that Pallas died! She is the daughter of Zeus through and through, her single purpose is to cause pain— and not only to us either! Her heroes suffered as well; this whole thing happened because she cared too much for Odysseus, yet it was too little and too late. He will die at my hands and her sacrifice will be in vain, mark my words!”
A few moments of complete silence asked before Amphitrite, with her arms crossed, asked in an unimpressed tone: “Are you done?”
“What do you—“
“I mean,” began Amphitrite, slowly uncrossing her arms. “Are you done yelling and causing a storm around us or do I need to wait some more?”
Poseidon stared blankly at his wife, several thoughts running through his mind before finally shaking his head. “I’m fine, you may speak.”
“Good. I am aware of what Athena has done and I know that everyone, to some extent, was and still is devastated by Pallas’ death. However,” said the queen, stopping to take a breath and gather her thoughts as she recognized how sensitive the territory she was stepping into was. “We all also know that it wasn’t her fault, not fully. Zeus blinded Pallas with his shield and Athena didn’t notice until it was too late. Still, I consider it to be unfair to place all the blame on her— she was merely a child, after all.”
“She was my daughter,” murmured Triton, voice full of emotion. “Not by blood, but I considered her my own and treated her as such for years before Zeus even thought to visit. That counts for something; it has to.”
“You shouldn’t have—“
“Of course it counts, Tri,” interrupted Kymopoleia, shooting her father a pointed glare since she was aware that harsh words were not what her brother needed. “Everyone loved her— well, nearly everyone— and we had all come to consider her part of the family, more or less.”
“She was family,” replied Triton, his sister’s words barely registering in his mind. “I- I loved her, she was like my own child and now… now she’s…”
“I know, my dear,” hummed Amphitrite, hugging her son.
“Maybe she’ll finally be happy in the Underworld,” added his sister as she joined the embrace. “If she gets into Elysium, which I’m sure she is going to manage, she will surely meet Pallas. They’ll reunite and… well, they’ll cause chaos as they did when they were younger, but they will also be together and that… it’s worth something, I think.”
“Don’t forget about Metis either,” continued the queen, remembering the former goddess. “Athena will reunite with her mother too, which she must be ecstatic about. Although she didn’t talk about her, I’m sure Athena loved her and never forgot her…”
“Zeus forbade her from speaking about his ex-wife,” whispered Poseidon, yet his family still heard him and urged him to keep explaining. “My brother wanted Olympus to forget about Metis so that no one would oppose him like we opposed Kronos. He pushed the narrative that she was born out of his head by his will alone and I would dare wager that his attempts worked. There are few gods in this pantheon who still remember Metis and even fewer who would dare speak about her.”
After a few moments of complete silence as they allowed themselves to process the information, Poseidon sighed and hesitantly fiddled with the end of his chiton. “As for what I said previously about Athena, I- I apologize, my son. I know I didn’t care much about her, and I will not pretend otherwise, but it’s clear to see how you still love her as you do your other daughters.”
“It’s fine,” said Triton. Although he knew it wasn’t ‘fine’ and there were many things he still wanted to tell his family, he knew that it wasn’t the right time to do so. Ergo, he merely extended an arm towards his father and welcomed him in the embrace. “We can work through this, right?”
“Of course we can,” assured the king, tone softer than it had been the whole day. “I’ll talk to Zeus and Hera about what they want to do for Athena’s funeral. Perhaps we can each send something for them to add too.”
“That sounds like a wonderful idea, my love,” said Amphitrite.
Triton didn’t respond, several ideas running through his head. Despite the fact that he hadn’t gotten a chance to talk to Athena since her ascension to Olympus, news about the domains she had gotten had reached his ears— whether he had specifically asked about his adoptive daughter or not didn’t matter— so he had a decent idea about what she might like.
Meanwhile, Kymopoleia had her own list of ideas running through her mind since she knew that, sooner or later, she would end up helping her brother… and probably comforting him during a mental breakdown (or having one with him- both seemed like viable options at that point).
Once the family felt like they had dealt with enough feelings for the day, the hug broke and they each went on with their own activities.
Whilst they knew that their current actions couldn’t change the state of the goddess, they hoped that Athena— wherever in the Underworld her soul rested until her judgement— would appreciate it.
(Of course, Poseidon didn’t actually care about Athena, nor the fact that she was dead and there was little about her to care about anymore, he would go alone with what his wife and children said, if only to make them happy.
If he also decided to go yell at his brother, even if it killed his pride a little to seem like he was interested in Athena, that was his business and his alone.)
Notes:
I hope y’all enjoy this chapter
Truthfully, I’m tired. School just barely started and it’s kicking my ass and the suicidal thoughts are coming back (dw chat, I’m not actually gonna attempt, I’m just thinking abt it) and… I’m just exhausted. It’s all so much and I barely even have time to myself and I want out. I think I’ll skip posting next week because I will have a lot of quizzes & other stuff to handle… I’ll come back to this fic though, I promise! I enjoy it too much to give up on it
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