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All Artemis wants to do is, you know, curl up by a fire and work on her woodcarving skills, maybe make a little bear to gift to Callisto for saving her from getting mauled by a wolf the other month. She deserves it after a hard day of listening to Zeus and Hera have it out in the meeting room again -- something something another bastard child, she wouldn’t know. Hera is civil enough to her at least, which is way more than most of her father’s children could say. But none of the gods are allowed to leave Olympus for the time being, since there’s a mortal war brewing below and Zeus wants to keep everyone “in line,” whatever that means.
Artemis hopes she’s alone, in a little corner of Olympus she had carved out for herself years ago after another disastrous war council featuring Hera’s rage and Zeus’ impulsiveness: an old grove Demeter had long abandoned since Kore’s disappearance, with tall leafless trees and bare bushes. It’s peaceful, if a bit tragic, but Artemis prays that absolutely nobody but her and Demeter know about this place. And if grumpy Demeter comes in -- well, she wouldn’t know what to do, besides pray she doesn’t get flash-frozen. It’s a little sanctuary for herself away from the forest and her nymph friends, though she could do with a bit of hunting right about now.
It’s no surprise when she realizes, mid-way through a purposefully and completely planned abstract carving of a deer, that Zagreus is dungeon-crawling down in the Underworld again, after she hears the faint ding of one of her boons being activated in Charon’s shop. She isn’t sure how many times he’s tried to get out already, but surely he’ll do it this time. With a wave of her fingers, she conjures her symbol -- a green orb with an arrow inside -- and with a flick of her fingers sends it flying down into the Underworld for Zagreus to hopefully pick again sometime soon. Or he could ignore it, just like he did during his last attempt for an all-Dionysus and -Poseidon extravaganza.
There. That’s her good deed for the week.
She blows wood shavings off on her carving and notes with satisfaction that it looks vaguely enough like a stag, though the antlers could be a bit less… angular. Artemis wonders if Hephaestus might be good at woodwork too, on top of his smithing skills. She likes him the most of any of her siblings, besides maybe Apollo when he isn’t off cursing some poor mortal for looking at him the wrong way. Hephaestus is usually cooped up in his workshop to avoid everyone, and wow, how relatable! But she can't remember the last time she actually talked to him besides a passing hello. Maybe Athena might be a better option for help, then.
Artemis wonders to herself what Zagreus would do once he reaches Olympus. Would he ignore her to go gallivanting off with Dionysus or Aphrodite to go “hang out” with some mortals? Is he going to become Ares’ new pet project, grooming him to be another one of his stupid war machines? Or maybe he’ll just piss off Zeus or Hera by breathing the wrong way and get sent back down to the Underworld, never to return, good golly who is Zagreus we don’t know him? She wrinkles her nose in disdain. Maybe he’ll be just like everyone else, all vain and manipulative and secretly just doesn’t give a satyr’s ass about her. That’s why he keeps taking her boons, right? Just to get out. And then he can go frolic on the beach with Poseidon, why doesn’t he.
But what if -- if, if, if -- he joins her Hunters? Well, not really join since they’re all female, but he’d be a nice hunting companion. Zagreus has to be good at fighting if he’s trying to get out of the Underworld, though she vaguely suspects he won’t seem so talented once he doesn’t have most of the Olympians’ boons to save him from getting eaten by a satyr or drowning in lava. And there’s the fact that he’s actually fighting-fighting and not stealthily hunting, so she’ll have to help him learn. If he wants. Maybe he won’t. She can’t force him to.
But speak of the devil! Artemis hears, halfway through carving the rest of the stag’s body, a male voice -- it’s tinny and distant, so much so that she has to strain herself to hear it over the crackling fire: “Hello, Artemis.”
Oh, good. Zagreus didn’t ignore her for -- what was it? -- another Poseidon boon this attempt. Poseidon had been apologetic for it in his own obnoxiously loud way, thumping her on the back so hard she almost choked on a grape at the war council earlier and declaring, to her eternal anguish and embarrassment: “Little hunter, next time he’ll pick you over my mighty boons! But let me tell you, you give the next best boons, the biggest boons, but not as big as my boons!”
Say “big boon” one more time, Uncle Poseidon.
Over the fire, she could see the message forming -- from a blobless green shape into an orb, where her arrow symbol glows in the middle. The pale green light drowns out the firelight, bright and almost reminiscent of drowning in a field of grass at the height of the harvest season.
Hurriedly, Artemis drops her knife and carving -- but why? It isn’t like he can see her.
But she stares for a moment at the orb. She has to ask, doesn’t she? All her Hunters are virgins. It would be ridiculously weird to introduce a man who isn’t a virgin to them, though she has gone hunting with Ares before and he’s very blatantly not one. Then again that’s usually one-on-one. And then again… who in the Underworld could Zagreus even bed? One of the Fury sisters? Hypnos? Thanatos? They all seem more likely to kill him than bed him, but who knows.
But the question gnaws at her as she activates the boon with a flick of her fingers.
“Hey, uh, Zagreus!” Artemis pauses. She’s going to sound like an ass. She always does. “There’s something I’ve been wondering, and don’t take this the wrong way or anything, okay -- “
Yet suddenly, she pauses when she feels a chill -- and a shadow looming behind her. Pink light. A giggle. She freezes, biting back a sudden torrent of curses.
“Oh no. It’s her.”
Aphrodite places her head on Artemis’ shoulder, all smiles and half-lidded eyes. Her hair is soft and smells fragrant, like a fresh harvest of wild berries and newly-greened trees during the spring. Artemis feels her face burning.
“Why, Artemis, you’re absolutely tongue-tied!” Gods, how the hell did she find her here? Was she followed? How did the literal goddess of hunting get tracked down by her, of all people? “Due to our little godling in the Underworld, or a little due to me?”
No, no, and no. Artemis wants to tell her to shut up, but just folds her arms and bites her tongue instead. Let Zagreus get this duo boon, and then when he gets out she can try to monopolize his time over whatever the hell Aphrodite wants to do with him. It’s all about the strategy, as Athena would say.
Aphrodite, ever perceptive, just giggles again at her silence and tells her, “You shall figure it all out, I’m sure.”
Artemis drags her hands over her face, contemplating shooting the other goddess in the eye with her bow. “Look, what was I -- ugh. Just. Nevermind.” All she wants to do is sink into the earth and never come out. Hibernate for a few years, like one of those cool bugs! Yeah, that’s a good idea. Nobody would miss her. “I’ll talk to you some other time, I guess.”
And then the boon fades as Zagreus makes his selection, and it’s just the warm firelight dancing on their faces again. Artemis sits there fuming as Aphrodite pulls away from her.
Maybe it’s the floating thing. Aphrodite hardly ever walks with both feet on the ground, which irritates Artemis to no end because she can’t hear her approaching unless she crashes into a bush or tree. But Aphrodite is about as stealthy as a Greek chorus in one of Apollo’s stupid plays, always wanting to make her presence known in as theatrical a way as possible. “Like an angry Minotaur in a storage house full of fine ceramics,” as Hera once said. She sparkles, for gods’ sake, how is anyone supposed to be surprised by her?
“Why are you here?” Artemis demands, glaring over the fire as Aphrodite settles down on the opposite side, on a little stool Artemis had scavenged during one of Hestia and Hera’s many interior design whirlwinds.
Aphrodite just stretches out her long legs and smiles at her, all friendly and casual like she hadn’t been stalking her. “What, I’m not allowed to have a nice conversation with my favorite little goddess? After all, our little Underworld godling can’t actually talk back to you, so why not converse with an actual person?”
“Did Dionysus pass out on your bed again?”
“What? No, he’s in Apollo’s bed. May have vomited a bit after going to another party, who knows.” She flips her long pink hair over one shoulder. Artemis notes with disdain that, yes, as usual Aphrodite is naked. It isn’t an unpleasant sight, but certainly not one she cares to see all day every day. “Not my circus.”
Artemis huffs. “We said two words to each other today. Is that not enough for you? You had to follow me here?”
The goddess of love raises her eyebrows. “Artie dear, why would I do such a thing? I just so happened to pass by and, you know, see a little fire in the distance. A curious little sight! I had to investigate for safety reasons. You remember when Hephaestus almost burned down Olympus with one of his experiments, yes?”
Yeah right.
“Well, now you know it’s perfectly safe. You can go now.”
Aphrodite tilts her head, vaguely cat-like in a way. “Why?”
What does she mean “why”? She snuck up on her.
But for some reason, Artemis doesn’t answer as she stares at Aphrodite over the fire. She notices how the firelight dances on her face, highlighting the angularity of her cheekbones, the faint glow of her eyes… her pupil-less eyes. Artemis remembers noticing that the first time they met, eons ago, when she was still learning the ropes of Olympian politics. It had unsettled her at the time, and to this day is still something she finds just a bit discomforting. Aphrodite could look however she wanted. She could choose to have pupils, but instead it’s just bright pink irises, blatantly unnatural and dangerous like many other bright-colored animals. Most people and many animals have pupils that dilate, based on emotion like fear or lust.
But Aphrodite? It’s frighteningly blank. You can’t tell what she’s feeling.
“Start a painting, darling, it’ll last longer.”
Artemis blinks, as Aphrodite teasingly winks at her. She looks away, hugging herself. “That’s a job for Apollo.”
The older goddess laughs, seeming absolutely delighted with herself. “Oh, don’t bother with your brother, darling. I want to talk to you! It’s been so long since we’ve had an actual conversation outside of….” Aphrodite wrinkles her nose. “Outside of whatever these war councils have been. I don’t care to pick sides this time, after the Trojan War. But there’s always next time!”
Oh yeah. Aphrodite and Ares had gotten their asses kicked by a mortal during that one. Artemis hopes that Zagreus had passed on her message of admiration to Achilles.
“And what do we even have in common?” Artemis asks her, as she bends to pick up her wood carving and knife from the ground. No damage to her stag, thankfully, though it wouldn’t look out of place with its purposeful abstractness.
Aphrodite regards her casually, leaning back. Her hair shifts, and Artemis notices the ends have formed little… hearts? Cute. But impractical. Super long hair like that would get caught on branches or bushes if not tied up, or even easier, just trimmed to mid-back or shorter. “We don’t have to have anything in common to talk, do we?”
“... No, I suppose not.”
“Well then.” A pause, as the older goddess considers for a moment. “What are you carving there? A shark?”
Artemis’ face immediately heats up, hotter than Hephaestus’ forge. “It’s a stag, thank you -- “
Aphrodite blinks, then leans forward and squints her eyes. She looks vaguely concerned, probably for Artemis’ sanity. “I… is that a stag? I can’t tell.”
“It’s purposefully abstract, do you even have a taste for refined art?”
“What in Zeus’ name does ‘abstract’ mean?”
What did Athena tell her that one time? Something something overexaggerated features? Artemis never really listened when Athena or Apollo went on one of their art rants. And don’t even get Hestia started on the intricacies of interior design. “I dunno, ask Athena.”
“I’m talking to you, though.”
Artemis starts carving again just to avoid Aphrodite’s gaze.
Aphrodite starts shifting around on the stool, the fire sputtering a bit now. Artemis hears a piece of wood being tossed haphazardly into the fire -- which is bad form, but she didn’t really feel inclined to correct her. Safety reasons her ass, Aphrodite could trigger a complete meltdown in any setting.
“You’re always a prickly one, aren’t you? Such a shame. I’d love to be friends.” A pause, and then: “Do you love, little Artie?”
Oh boy, emotional fireside talks. She could handle doing that with the nymphs on some long-term hunt under the stars, when they’re all just a bit too sleepy and giggly with each other, but Aphrodite of all people? No thank you. She pauses, feeling a twinge of annoyance as she whittles away at the block of wood in her hand. Is that why she was here? Probably to convince her to get married, just like her father’s been whining about this past century or two. “And with whom, I ask,” Artemis slowly says, biting back the urge to snap at her, “would I be in love with? That I’d want to marry?”
Aphrodite just does that head tilt again. “I didn’t ask that.”
“I don’t know what you mean, then,” Artemis tells her coldly. Her knife traces a line in the wood carving, gouging out where one leg would be.
“Your hunters. You love them?” Aphrodite regards her with a knowing smile, head still tilted. Artemis hates when she does that -- it always makes her feel like she’s the butt of some inside joke that the rest of Olympus is in on. The only person that could get away with it is Athena, and that’s because she’s just heads and shoulders smarter than everyone else.
“I… yes.” Artemis pauses. Oh, the unbearable pain of being recognized. “Yes, they’re my friends.”
“And do you happen to love anyone else, hm? ”
“... You’re asking if I’m in love with someone? Like romantically?”
Aphrodite hums but doesn’t answer.
“You’re the goddess of love, you sound like you know the answer already.”
“Well, you certainly don’t want to get married to any of the -- what did you say that one time? Ah, yes. The young, chiselled prospects that your father keeps presenting to you.” Aphrodite twirls a strand of hair around her finger. “At least Hera isn’t pressing you, and she’s actually the goddess of marriage!”
Well, yes. Artemis blatantly loathes her father’s attempts to find her a nice suitor to “settle down with,” but somehow -- someway -- he’s never actually gone through with any of it. If Zeus wants something done, it happens no matter how much of a fuss you kick up. Who was the last person he’d tried to set her up with? Kratos? He’d suggested Thanatos once, and she had had to bite her lip so hard it bled to keep from laughing. Stony-faced Thanatos is better off marrying a stone wall than her.
She feels Aphrodite’s gaze on her, but she isn’t sure if it’s the heat of the fire or her own face that’s hot right now.
“No, I don’t want to marry any of them.” Artemis leans back on her own stool, stretching her legs towards the fire. “It doesn’t feel… right?”
Aphrodite says nothing, but only keeps watching her.
“They don’t appeal to me. I prefer… hunting.” She nearly smacks herself. Ah yes, I just like rolling around in the dirt! Good one, Artie. “With my hunters. The nymphs. Callisto is my best friend, after all, she really gets me. You know?”
Artemis thinks for a moment, wondering why she was asking at all, and then something clicks. Athena must have finally donated a bit of intelligence to her. “Did you tell my father to stop with the marriage thing? Is that why he hasn’t been asking?”
Aphrodite smiles brightly at her, letting the hair twirled around her finger fall back in place. “Why, you think I’m kind enough to do that? I’m so pleased.”
Artemis wants to tell her yes, you can be kind when you aren’t a colossally vain jerk, but she doesn’t want to press her buttons too much. “You’re the goddess of love. You sense stuff like this, right?”
“You don’t have to be the patron of love to know when someone is uncomfortable with marriage talk.” The older goddess just shrugs with one shoulder. “And Hera wasn’t going to stop him. She hardly wants to look at him since his last bastard was born.”
Maybe… does she know? Artemis twirls her knife between her fingers, considering. Zeus hadn’t even mentioned it today or the last council a few days ago, which is… nice. But that could have been because he and Hera were arguing the entire time and so little Artie was forgotten in the chaos. “Is that... what you wanted to tell me, then?”
The goddess of love inclines her head slightly. “Well now. You looked like you wanted to die whenever he brought it up -- even worse than usual, anyway, I know how you feel about all of us. I just had a little…” Aphrodite bites her lip, frowning at something to her side. Artemis isn’t sure what she’d be looking at, besides dead flora everywhere in the little grove. “... a little chat with him, is all, to convince him. I didn’t want you to be blind-sided in case he tries it again despite promising me otherwise and actually arranges it. Paperwork and everything.” She rolls her eyes and mutters, mostly to herself, “Ugh. Aeolus isn’t even compatible with a fan, much less you.”
She doesn’t care to know what a “little chat” means, but she can vaguely imagine in her mind’s eye Aphrodite beating Zeus over the head with a sack full of coins. It’s probably not what actually happened, since Aphrodite is a bit too smart to get thrown off Olympus that way, but she wants to pretend it is just for the humor of it. He would deserve it.
Artemis hesitates, her chest feeling… strangely tight. And then she replies slowly, cautiously, like a slow exhale after holding her breath underwater for too long: “Yeah, well. I prefer… being around women. I’m always around women. Hardly ever want to talk to the suitors.”
Aphrodite stays silent, one eyebrow raised. Better for the both of them, then, that she isn’t going to drag this out. There’s something extremely comforting about hearing Aphrodite putting Zeus’ marriage talk down behind her back, even though they constantly butt heads every time they meet. Someone has her back on Olympus, at least once in their eternal lifetimes. That’s a nice feeling. Very warm and cozy and safe. Probably won’t last long, though.
“And maybe -- maybe? I’d like to… be with one someday? Maybe not the sex part but you know… yeah.” Artemis stares at the ground between her feet. Too much? She glances up, but Aphrodite’s expression is still a bit undecipherable. “So thanks for that. You’ve saved my ass from getting thrown off Olympus for not complying. Don’t know how well I’d do at the whole dutiful wife role anyway, since Hera’s our best frame of reference and… you know.” She didn't comment on the whole open marriage thing between Aphrodite and Hephaestus, but it seemed a lot healthier than whatever her father and stepmother had between them.
Aphrodite smiles at her, soft and gentle in a way that Artemis isn’t sure she ever remembers seeing on her face. It’s always coy smiles and sultry eyes, but that has never been directed at her specifically -- and thank gods for that, she wouldn’t know how to react. “You’re very welcome, Artemis.”
“... have you been with women before?”
“Of course!” Aphrodite gestures to herself with an overdramatic flourish. “With this body who wouldn’t want me? Why, just the other day -- ”
And there it is. Artemis grimaces, looking down to wipe some wood chips off her lap. The stag is hopeless now, so she just puts that to the side and contemplates trying an actual shark this time around. “I… sure. Sure, Aphrodite, who wouldn’t?”
When she looks up again after spending a bit too long interested in a loose thread on her clothing, she realizes Aphrodite has floated over and is, currently, right now, at this very moment, standing very close to her. And she’s looking down at her with such a soft expression that Artemis’ heart nearly stops as she just stares up, mouth probably hanging half-open and looking like a damned fool.
“Thank you for trusting me with that,” Aphrodite whispers, and then leans in. She feels her lips against her cheek, just a brief fleeting touch before the goddess of love pulls away and turns to leave. “Your secret’s safe with me -- little hideaway and all. I’ll see you at the next council, then?”
Aphrodite winks at her. And then she’s gone.
Artemis touches her cheek and wonders, briefly, if Aphrodite would like a wood carving.