Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Apollo should have thought of a better argument than the sirens.

The last echoes of "fall" still danced around the arena and sparks leapt across the floor.

But he could fix it. Apollo, god of prophecy, may have failed, but Apollo, god of healing, would not.

Don't get up, Athena. Don't seem like a threat.

"Is she dead?" Ares asked. The silence afterwards screamed. Normally, any number of Olympians would have jumped in to tease him with a reminder that gods, quite simply, did not die. Normally, Athena would have been the first to say so. Those two certainly confused Apollo at times - if anything or anyone else had wounded Athena, Ares would have been next to her in an instant with a proud smirk on his face, light-heartedly asking which of her brilliant strategies had gone awry, even in the middle of battle. He would snatch her spear if it had fallen aside and jest about the inferiority of long-range weapons. Before he finished his sentence, she would be back on her feet, pulling the spear away from Ares and striding back into the fight with a cold, monotone reminder that Ares received more wounds in an hour of battle than she did over the course of an entire war. 

So as the seconds ticked dragged past so slowly he felt as though he were in Quick Thought, Apollo increasingly began to wish that Athena would stand, or at least move. He wanted her to give any sign of life. Even if it was just the twitch of a finger. She had fallen forward, so he could not even see her breathe. In that moment, only the definition of immortality and the tug of warmth behind his hands as his healing abilities gathered kept him standing still. As soon as Zeus left, he told himself, he would heal her. She would not - could not - die. 

Time distorted and he stood in a red plain, Ares directly across from him. Ah. Now he he had actually been pulled into Quick Thought. Ares had crossed his arms, but his uneasy posture told Apollo that he was more concerned than angry, and that the anger was not directed at him.

"You have to help her."

"I will. I'm waiting for Father to say something."

"He had better hurry up, then. He-"

"Watch your tongue, brother," Apollo interrupted. Zeus had never struck a god with lightning so aggressively, and when he struck mortals, they died instantly. He had a dearth of experience when dealing with lightning wounds, and he would prefer to not fill in this way. He could, of course. Apollo healed. He fixed things; he fixed people. He would heal his sister.

"He can't hear us in here. It's my domain and I'll say as I please," Ares replied, stepping closer. Apollo knew the anger wasn't directed at him, not really. But anger towards Zeus often got misplaced. After all, why had Hera cursed his mother? Because she could not curse Zeus.

"I would greatly prefer to not have two patients tonight, and in this state, Athena can hardly calm him down if he turns his ire to you."

Apollo, for obvious reasons, made a habit of waiting near battlefields both to guide arrows true as needed and in case anyone needed healing. On the rare occasion Athena had been injured, she would make herself scarce as soon as the fighting concluded, but Apollo would have heard the earlier conversation between her and Ares. It concerned him. After Athena was out of earshot, he would say so. Ares would just laugh and explain that they did care about each other and that he was trying to help, although he would never articulate what he wanted to help with. Apollo hadn't even believe him until he saw how, whenever Zeus worked himself into a rage at Ares, Athena would, without fail, fly in and deftly redirect Zeus' attention to some other issue. Despite Ares' attempts to help, though, Apollo almost always found himself trying to to locate a wounded Athena in whichever forest or other biome she had decided to storm off to, and if Artemis ever helped him, neither would tell a soul. Either way, most times he found Athena after she had healed. During the infrequent events she had not, she would clench her jaw and refuse to meet his eyes as he took care of the last remnants of her injuries. The few times he had attempted to make conversation - often about whatever issue she had distracted Zeus with most recently, which perhaps had not been the wisest choice of topic in hindsight - she would reply that it was urgent at the time, but has since been resolved in a defensive tone of voice that quite clearly told him not to ask more questions. At that point, he often decided he would take her letting him assist as the victory it was.

Ares didn't attempt another refutation. Those tended to be Athena's strength - she had proven as much a few minutes ago.

"...I know a god of war isn't worth much in a healing ward, but if there's anything at all I can help with-" Ares cut himself off.

None of them would have words for what had happened, Apollo suspected, not for a long time.

"I hope things do not come to that," Apollo said.

"Come to what?"

"The point that you would need to restrain her." In truth, Apollo couldn't picture such a situation. Sometimes, when dealing with particularly volatile or out-of-it patients, Apollo would imagine his brother holding them down long enough for him to heal them. But if he tried to replace those distressed people with Athena in his mind, he couldn't.

Ares snorted. "It's Athena. You really think she's going to forget herself?"

"I'm more concerned about her trying to leave before she's ready." 

"She wouldn't listen to me. She knows full well that I do that half the time I end up in your ward."

"Half? I believe the amount of times you've been stayed put can be counted on one hand with every finger in a bandage."

Ares narrowed his eyes, but said, "You've earned that one. And this better end soon."

Before Apollo could reply, the plain vanished and he stood in the arena again. Dark clouds swirled in the sky. Zeus stared at Athena's still-unmoving body. Was he waiting for something? Waiting for her to wake and apologize? He'd have a better chance of that happening if Apollo healed her, but moving too soon, angering his father, and getting himself the same treatment would only make the situation worse.

Apollo had never seen anyone attempt to stare down someone unconcious, and in another scenario, he may have found it a comical display of ego. Not here. Not now. In reality, not even a minute had passed, but injuries of this magnitude required immediate attention; each second increased the risk of some sort of permanent damage that he had not only failed to heal but also helped cause. 

Did Zeus really think he would have much of an argument? If he wanted to ensure Athena would never win, he should have summoned Poseidon! Yes, he and Athena had been on opposite sides of the Trojan War, but he would not resurrect a war ten years after its end. Odysseus was not Agamemnon; he was not Achilles. As far as Apollo had knew, Agamemnon had forced Odysseus into the war by threatening his son. Besides, grudges would not raise the sun to make a new day, and Apollo tried to avoid them. So no, Apollo had nothing personal against Odysseus. 

Zeus would have even had better luck with Helios - although that would have likely made for an awkward few hours standing around the arena, and on top of that, Odysseus hadn't even been the one to kill the cow.

Exactly what position did Zeus expect him to take? Odysseus had been too cruel in his killing of a group of sirens seven years ago, so he deserved to be trapped on an island forever? 

That line of thought posed a danger at the moment. Anything less than complete obedience created the risk of another lightning strike.

Athena's hand twitched. Ares gasped a few feet away.

Just apologize, Athena.

She pushed herself up on one arm.

Stay down. Please, Athena, stay down.

Nobody moved, except Athena.

She forced herself to stand. She swayed dangerously.

She should not have been able to stand at all.

Athena, please, be wise.

"Let him go, please," she begged.

Athena, no.

She staggered towards the stairs leading up to Zeus' throne.

Stop! Athena! Apollo knew she could not hear him.

"Let him go-"

ATHENA!

A blast of lightning threw her back down the stairs and onto the ground.

Zeus stood again. "None of you," he said as lightning crackled up and down his body, "shall challenge me in such a way. Ever. I am your king. Any more futile objections?"

Athena had fallen on her back, but her armor, half-melted, made the rise and fall of her chest nigh invisible. The sand around her had charred black. This was bad, it was horrible, but she was alive. He could fix this. If he got to her, she would be safe. Zeus was almost done. It would be soon-

A slight nudge from Hephaestus pulled Apollo from his thoughts. Zeus had asked-

He shook his head emphatically. Nobody dared utter a word.

"Good." Zeus sat down on his throne and that was all the permission Apollo needed.

He bolted across the sand of the arena and dropped to Athena's side. Getting this metal off would be vital, but first, he had to make sure she was stable. Up close, he could see that she was breathing, although it was far shallower than it should be. Burns covered her face and arms and he knew there would be others he couldn't see. His hands glowed from his healing abilities and he started with her head; healers respected the wishes of their patients and he knew that Athena prized her mind above all else.

He didn't even notice.

Someone - Zeus, he realized, with dawning horror - grabbed his right wrist and lifted him into the air. His muscles spasmed. What could have-

Blinding pain cut the thought off. He tasted ichor. The world blurred for a moment before coming back into focus. Then it blurred again and he felt ice in his veins: Zeus had shocked him. Nothing like Athena; it had been short and less powerful, given that Zeus had not done any sort of preparation. Yes, it had been a shock, not a strike.

What had Athena felt?

And what would have possibly convinced her to get up and risk it again?

Zeus threw Apollo halfway back to the other gods seemingly without effort. No! Athena needed help; he needed to help her. He had to make things right. If her mind had been permanently harmed, she would never forgive him, nor would he ever forgive himself. What kind of healer would he be?

"Just what," Zeus thundered, looming over him, "is it that you think you're doing?"

In a pathetic, trembling voice, Apollo replied, "I'm a healer." He was practically groveling at Zeus' feet. He felt as though the floor had vanished from beneath him and he could barely command his body to move in any other manner than to refrain from a desperate scramble backwards as Zeus stalked closer. There wasn't enough air and any air he managed to breathe reeked of lightning and the sky was completely black now, not even a single ray of sun peeked through and Zeus had certainly done so on purpose, to remind him he had no right, no chance-

"I shall make myself clear for the last time: Athena's punishment is Athena's punishment. I have declared it, Phoebus Apollo, and it is not yours to lift. In fact, let this serve as a lesson. None of you will help her in any way. If you do-" Zeus turned and raised his hand. He sent another bolt of lightning racing towards Athena, straight towards her head. Apollo dug his fingernails into his still-tingling arm andTHIS WAS HIS FAULT. He hadn't just failed to heal her fully, he hadn't just failed to heal her at all, he actively put her in harms' way again, he had just needed to help and now this and suddenly he couldn't breathe at all and a screaming filled his ears except his mouth was closed and Athena had not woken up and nobody else would dare and it didn't even sound like a person it was just noise- "-I will ensure that any aid you lend her is undone. Moreover, anyone who assists her will know her pain themselves. Consider the shock a warning, Apollo."

He knew this dance, he had seen it almost go awry enough times, and thankfully he did not have to think to know what to say. "I am forever greatful, my king." His voice broke every other syllable, but Zeus seemed appeased. The skies had grown lighter, but he still could not see a ray of sunshine.

"The affairs of the gods are ours alone," Zeus continued, "and should any mortal learn of these games, they will be struck dead. Do not hide from the gaze of justice; you shall only perish."

The other gods knew the dance just as well. He could not crane his head to look - he feared that if he attemtpted to move, pure instinct would overcome him and he would scramble away, angering Zeus more - but the light thuds behind him told him that the other gods had dropped to one knee.

"And finally: Hermes!" Zeus commanded, and when Hermes appeared in front of him, a few feet to Apollo's right, Zeus continued, "travel to Ogygia and tell Calypso that she is to release the mortal immediately."

Hermes blinked.

"Is it your ears or your brain that you've misplaced today, boy?" Zeus growled. The skies darkened behind him once more. "Travel to Ogygia and inform Calypso that the mortal is to be freed now. Athena was punished for her insolence, but I shall still maintain my promise. The mortal has no influence on her behaviors and thus need not bear any punishment, so he will be released."

Hermes nodded quickly, dropping to one knee. "Understood; my apologies. I never intended to challenge your authority." Hermes had not been so conciliating in the past century.

"All of you, leave this place. Your business here is done. I shall remain, to ensure she understands the decree." Zeus drew himself up and, as lightning rolled across the clouds behind him, declared, "Let it never be said that I am not a just and merciful king."

Chapter Text

Athena hadn't expected the first bolt to actually strike. Or the second.

By the third, she wasn't capable of expecting.

The sand under her fingers felt crisper than she remembered. Or perhaps Ares had changed the sand, but she likely would have noticed before she wound up on the ground. The air smelt fresh and slightly sweet. How had she gotten on the arena floor to begin with?

"You dare to defy me?"

Odysseus. On the island- On Ogygia, with Calypso.

"No one beats me!"

Shipwrecked there, after Zeus destroyed the rest of his fleet for slaughtering one of Helios' cows, because, for all she told Odysseus to put his emotions aside, she had not put her pride aside.

Forced to the edge of a cliff, ravenous rocks resting below, in the midst of a storm.

"Thunder, bring her through the wringer."

Telemachus. She had met him once when he was twenty days old, and once when he was twenty years old. Odysseus had trusted her twenty years ago, even though she had given him no reason to. He had let her hold his son. No matter how many times she had pushed him away to arm's legnth, he continued to smile at her and reach out, for reasons that even now she could not begin to fathom, to offer her friendship that she in no way deserved. She was a tool to be used and a weapon that would be wielded against against friend and foe alike. At least in this way, she might be useful.

"Show her I'm the judgement call."

The Ithacan royal family deserved to be reunited. In an act of egotism and hubris - the admission still made her skin crawl, but objective reality cared not one whit how she reacted - she had abandoned her friend and then in a revolting mix of self-pity, shame, and stubbornness, she had refused to even attempt reconciliation. She could have guarded the wind bag while Odysseus slept. Nobody would dare steal from a goddess. He never would have encountered Poseidon. She could have prevented a decade's worth of tragedy and did not. Now, one hundred and eight pathetic excuses for men invaded Odysseus' home. Telemachus stood no chance; even with her help, the fight against Antinous had scarcely lasted thirty seconds once Antinous ceased the fight-talk. She had to make this right. 

"The one who makes her kingdom fall."

And then, like a bird appearing over the horizon and swooping down to land upon a tree, pain emered and started to grow. It started on her right shoulder and spread outward until even her teeth hurt.

Her mind could focus on little else at that point. She had to get Odysseus off that island. Wounds burned as she pushed herself up to one arm. How long before he ended up on that cliff again? Next time, would he follow through? She felt each individual grain of sand, but she would not scream. If he jumped, it would be because she failed him at any turn and pretending to blame Zeus or Poseidon or Calypso would mean nothing. She would never allow it, never allow the deflecting of blame she so clearly deserved. If he died, she would have killed another friend. The world tilted and threatened to pull away when she forced herself to stand, and disoriented and dizzy as she was, she could tell her body was swaying. She hated it. And hated the feeling of so many gods watching her in a moment of weakness. Odysseus needed to get off that island. "Let him go, please!"

She took a step forward, irrationally hoping it would be more than a stagger. In hindsight, approaching her father's throne had been the worst possible choice in that moment. But her voice only barely scraped past her throat as she begged and he had to hear her; Odysseus must leave Ogygia. "Let him go-"

In a mercy she had not earned, the first bolt of lightning sent her mind from her body, leaving her collapsed on the ground for the second time that century.

A warmth enveloped her head, hints of it peeking into her shoulders. Before she had the time to properly appreciate it, it vanished. She heard a deep shouting, a crackling of lightning - she braced for another strike. She could do little else at this point besides hope to survive the storm. It came.

This time, Athena woke to a numbing cold. Her mind flailed about, searching for something tangible to grasp onto. Her mission. Free Odysseus. And lightning. So much lightning. A low baritone voice echoed around her. Zeus, she realized, as the words came into clearer definition.

"-king," he was saying, "Of course, Hera, you understand why I had to do this to her."

Hera's opinion meant nothing. It should have meant nothing, but it still pulled at something internal in a way Athena would prefer not to confront at the moment, but could not muster the energy to push away. 

Be smart, Athena, you are still the goddess of wisdom. Right. In a hostile situation without allies and without hope of fighting back, she had only her wits and words. Zeus struck her because she had stepped out of line. She tried to pull her legs to her chest to appear as small as possible, and her body obeyed slowly. Sand had wormed its way into her clothes and shoes, so no part of her was free from the grating sensation of sand against open wounds. Despite her efforts to the contrary, a soft grunt of pain escaped.

"Are you intent on wasting my time this evening, Pallas Athena? It certainly took you long enough to wake."

"No-" she started, only to find the word flopping out of her mouth without tone and barely comprehensible.

"You will look at me when I am speaking to you! Open your eyes!"

Panic flared as for a moment, she physically could not manage it. When she had, she almost wished she hadn't. The only light came from the soft glow of the moon and a few pinpricks of stars, but it was still enough to make her head pound. She- she could not think about any possible impact on her mind from the lightning. She might start crying, which not only had she not done in front of a living being in several millenia, but her father also loathed. She had never made the mistake of crying in front of him, and she did not intend to start now.

"OPEN THEM!" Zeus roared. 

Athena didn't remember closing her eyes, but she had. She pried them open again. Zeus loomed over her, his dark gray hair swirling around his head. Lightning jumped between strands. It rippled down his clothes and across his arms, currently crossed across his chest.

A slender hand appeared on his right arm - Hera, judging by the peacock-feather patterns on the sleeve. "She doesn't need her eyes open to listen. She'll probably be able to focus better with them closed, too."

Confusion swirled. Zeus just said Hera agreed with- with everything-, so why would Hera try to make things easier for her? The idea flickered to mind a half-second later. She had to grasp at it, too, drawing it in and forcing it open. Ah. She knew this strategy. They had likely rehearsed while she was unconcious. Zeus would act overly harsh, then Hera would rephrase what he said and dress it up in a kind tone and flowery words to get information or agreement or something out of her. Athena wanted to sleep. She- She was so tired. She would just agree with Zeus from the beginning. Save herself from deciphering the motive behind each line in Hera's gaudy speech. 

"I have repeated myself enough for one evening. She will listen and she will do it with her eyes open."

"Of course, Father," Athena replied. Her tongue seemed to have come alive again, at least, even if it only seemed to want to last a few syllables.

"Did I ask you?" Zeus demanded, dislodging Hera's hand and turning violently back towards Athena.

"No, Father. I am deeply sorry." 

"As you should be. Regardless. Your precious mortal has been released. Unlike you, I understand that games are games. I do not try to leverage them for personal gain. As an example, I have upheld my end of the bargain. You have failed yours. You are never to attempt to shame me in such a way again. Is that understood?" 

Odysseus! He was free! "Yes, Father," she replied, trying to keep the joy out of her voice. He would be home soon. Where he belonged. And she had finally managed to do something right. 

"Ah, yes, two more things. First, your punishment is yours alone. Should anybody attempt to help you in any way, I will strike you again and reduce you to this state, and I will do the same to them. It has already happened once."

Already? She could not breathe. Who? It- it must have been that warmth earlier- Apollo. 

Apollo, please, I didn't mean to! But she knew he could not hear her.

"I am a gracious king, though, and since this infraction technically occurred before I announced this rule, I took mercy on Apollo. He only suffered a light shock. Technically speaking, you did this to him by looking so pitiful he felt the need to intervene. But surely you know enough to handle everything on your own, don't you?"

Tears welled in her eyes. No. No! No crying now. And Apollo. She- She hadn't even asked. Why? She pushed people away to keep them safe from the aura of destruction that seemed to have attached itself to her at birth, but they got hurt anyways. Apollo was only the latest to be added to the list. Her voice must not shake. "Of course I am, Father." Minor success on that front - no worse than it had been, at any rate. She couldn't go near any of them. At all. She would lock herself away in her palace, truly relegate herself to her domains and her domains only. She could not hurt anyone else. They would finally be free of her. She wasn't stupid; she knew they didn't want her around. This way, they would be safe and happier.

"And finally - if any mortal, in any way, learns of the events of these games, they will be killed immediately. Do you understand?"

...

...

"Yes," she whispered meekly. I'm sorry, Odysseus. An apology is the least of what you deserve, but I can't even give you that, because you have always been so smart. It doesn't take a genius to recognize lightning scars. You would know what happened here immediately. And then he would kill you, but it would be because of me, so I would have killed you. And all your friends. It's almost funny, how not killing you is the bar I must meet. I'm sorry you didn't have a better mentor, a better friend. I'm sorry for wasting your time, for plaguing your life, I'm sorry for failing at everything that mattered to you. You were right and you are still, I am alone and it's all I deserve.

"Oh, and be out of here by morning, will you? Ares would hate to see his training grounds covered in ichor."

Right. Yes. She was lying on the ground, and everything hurt, and if Odysseus wanted to hear anything from her, it wouldn't be a mess of self-pity.

The arena was their shared training grounds, technically, although Athena would likely not be able to spar for weeks or months to come, at least not well enough to compete with Ares at his full strength. "I will." 

"Do recover quickly," Zeus added with a small smirk, "your mind is a great use on Olympus, when you know better than to turn it against your own." The world faded in and out as Zeus spoke. She did see him turn and leave, though, and felt her body relax slightly.

Athena would wake up and leave before anyone saw her, before she had a chance to put anyone in danger. She would find- It was so cold here.

Focus, Athena. You need a plan.

She would find a way to her palace, and then assess her injuries from there. She would heal quickly, and then find a way to convince Telemachus to hate her, so that he would not have any interest in figuring out what happened. Or- perhaps Odysseus would do that for her. She had manipulated Telemachus, honestly, not telling him the full truth. That was the only reason he called her a friend, she was sure. He deserved better. 

The plan may have been overly-ambitious for her current state, but she would execute it. If only to avoid hurting anyone else. She had come short of that expectation so many times before, so she really had no chance of succeeding again, but please, fates, just let her...

She didn't even have time to finish her thought before the freezing cold dragged her down again.

To put it simply, Hera would quite like to skin herself at the moment. Failing that, she would like a long bath scalding enough to burn away any remnants of the evening. When Zeus had taken her hand earlier, after demanding that she return to the arena, and declared that of course she understood his actions without bothering to ask her, she had felt sick to her stomach, especially because she had seen Athena tense as he said it. And she couldn't do anything to contradict him, even though she did not understand a fraction of what he had done.

She had loved him, once, but far too often these days, love turned to blinding rage. She had given into it far more times than she would care to admit.

Zeus had stridden off half a minute ago. Hera took a moment to gather herself, unable to tear her eyes away from Athena, who was lying on the ground, likely unconcious again.

I'm so sorry, Athena. With a deep breath, Hera made her way out of the arena, away from the charred sand, and towards her own palace. At least she got to be alone tonight. The path was familiarly, and all too perfectly, smooth. She wished it would roughen or do anything to reflect the needless violence played out here tonight, but it was only a road, and so it did not.

Now she felt sick again, for leaving Athena alone on the ground. Any efforts to assist would have been in vain, but she still could not shake the guilt.

Hera had never particularly cared for Athena, although since she was a child from Zeus' previous marriage as opposed to one of his affairs, there was no significant animosity between them. They had worked together during the war, but after that, Athena withdrew from most life on Olympus. Always reading, crafting, or fighting, that one, and never sparing a thought for any interaction that did not involve at least one of the three. Never sparing a thought for anyone other than herself.

...Well, that was neither fair nor true. When it came to Athena and the other Olympians, it was a mutual disengagement. Ares was the only god she spent any significant time with of her own volition - Zeus demanding her counsel at any and all hours of the day, then dismissing her after she rattled off enough facts and strategies hardly counted - but while Hera was no goddess of wisdom, she would have to be quite the fool to not notice how many times Athena had distracted Zeus from any anger at Ares with some petty matter she knew Athena cared little for. If only someone could have intervened for her the way she had done for Ares.

Truthfully, Athena being the one struck had little bearing on Hera's rage - only the fact that Zeus would strike any of his children, that he would react with such rage and deny Apollo's healing. On how many of the occasions Athena diverted Zeus would he have ended up striking Ares if Athena hadn't? When Athena healed, Hera resolved to properly thank her.

And Apollo - Zeus had shocked him, too. Apollo deserved better from Zeus and he deserved better from her. Hera had hounded his mother, then refused to let her give birth. When Apollo and Artemis first came to Olympus, Hera ignored them. She hated what they represented: a sickening implication that she had failed by not preventing Zeus from cheating. She suddenly froze, now most of the way to the stairs leading up to her palace.

If she was the god of lightning, would she have hurt them the way Zeus had hurt Athena tonight? She would like to think not, but she had used the fullest extent of the power she did have against their mother, didn't she? She did not know how she would have acted back then. In truth, she feared the answer. She certainly would not now, at least, and she could derive some semblance of comfort from that. She began to walk again.

But yes, Hera had ignored Apollo until one day, when someone - likely an angry Titan - unleashed a particularly vicious beast on Olympus that had ambushed her in her sleep. Zeus had slain the beast almost immediately, but he could do nothing for her wounds. In that moment, she cursed her past self for shunning the god of healing, because he certainly would not help her now. Then, without comment, Apollo entered and began to heal her. When she asked why, he merely replied that he believed grudges should be left in the past. Several years later, Hera managed to swallow her pride enough to apologize. Apollo did not believe her at first, quite understandably, but as Hera made explicit efforts to make him and Artemis feel welcome, he began to trust her more. She now saw the twins as her children just as much as she did Ares, and Apollo seemed even more eager than her to let the past rest.

When Zeus raised her son from the ground, electrocuted him, and then threw him across the arena like a disposable sack, Hera wanted to strangle him for hurting Apollo. Apollo, who made it his oath to first do no harm, was forced to watch his father undo all his work and falsely call it his fault. To make it worse, Hera knew Apollo would take the burden of the entire night upon himself. Did Zeus not realize what he was doing or did he not care? She couldn't decide which was worse. Hopefully, Artemis was nearby, but Hera feared Apollo would never lose the guilt until Athena healed.

She had reached the stairs, now, and she absent-mindedly pulled a pomegranate from one of the trees that lined the pathway up. She allowed the juice of the fruit to run over her palms and stain them, a show of imperfection she allowed in order to counter Zeus' projected normalcy. A brilliantly-colored peacock walked up to her. Normally, she would stroke the back of the peacocks' heads, but the peacock would not appreciate juice on its feathers. It settled for walking alongside the stairs, occasionally having to duck under the bows of the pomegrante trees. Zeus would want them trimmed soon; they were getting long and unsightly. For that reason, she would perhaps let them grow out a little longer. Yes, she decided, she would only cut them once Athena healed and life on Olympus returned to normal.

And things would return to normal - she understood the others' worry, and felt great sympathy herself, but she had come of age in her father's stomach, with no water, food, light, or space to move around. She knew divinity lacked boundaries.

None of her thoughts came in any sort of orderly fashion, although that seemed about right, given the events of the evening. She did not even want to think any more and she doubted any of the others did, either. Sleep would not wash away anything that had happened, but she held onto the hope that Zeus would relent by morning. (She knew it was childish, even then.)

In moments of tragedy, everyone looked to the leaders. Hera had great authority on Olympus, second only to Zeus, and he had quite clearly demonstrated he could not be trusted. Hera would be a proper queen this time. A figure of stability and someone to trust. Fates only knew how many times she had failed to be so before.

Chapter Text

Athena woke an indeterminant amount of time later. The arena lay empty and silent. 

"Be out of here by morning, will you?"

Stars still dotted the night sky; the sun had not pulled itself above the horizon. Unless it had already been a full day? Or unless Apollo couldn't. Zeus had said he'd taken "mercy" on Apollo, that the punishment had been "light", but using her as a reference, that didn't mean much. She wasn't so arrogant as to pretend she hadn't been severly wounded. Apollo wasn't here, though, since she could hear no other breathing than her own, and it didn't sound like he had been when Zeus had spoken to her last night.

Pain began to filter through again. She shoved her right arm underneath her and tried to straighten it. A sharp pain burned down her forearm and she fell back down onto her side, lying over her arm. Her head knocked against the arena floor, which did nothing to help the pounding in her skull. Something inside her tightened that moment. She didn't quite know what it was, a strange knot between her lungs that now seemed to pull them together, working in tandem with the physical wounds to force her into quick breaths. Tears welled in her eyes. She couldn't even sit up. How could she be this damn useless?

She had to do something. She couldn't just- just drown in self-pity. For as long as she had lived, she scorned those who gorged themselves on their own tears. 'How will this better your circumstances? What will this change?' she had remarked, almost mocking. Aphrodite would always slightly open her mouth with a noticable annoyance in her eyes that accused her of not understanding, but Athena always cut her off before she could say anything, asking her the same question and leaving before Aphrodite could formulate a response. That only happened a few times before Aphrodite, for all intents and purposes, stopped acknowledging her. They only spoke when absolutely necessary.

...Why had it taken being struck by lightning to realize she was a horrible person? In a twisted way, Zeus had actually done the right thing. By accident, of course, and his motivations were questionable at best, but she had plugged her ears with her own feathers so much that the only way to get her to listen, apparently, was to burn them away.

The least she could do now was follow her own advice. Fully understand the extent of her cruelty. She still had sensation in all her limbs. That meant the lightning hadn't burned away her muscles. She could at least perform some assessment of her injuries.

Her right side, especially her arm, seemed to have taken the worst of it. Along with her head. Why did it have to be her head? Out of all of the places the lightning could have hit... Well, he probably did it on purpose.

Athena, still the goddess of wisdom, was no fool. She knew full well how far her father's anger and insecurity could reach. But she had dutifully provided counsel for millenia without complaint. She knew the hierarchies and made a point to obey her father's demands. What could she have possibly done to lose all that goodwill in an instant? Getting back up certainly didn't help, but she had no choice. He had struck her before then, too. She hadn't even said his name while debating Hera. Did he know something she didn't? What would she do in the future that would necessitate humbling her before it could even happen? 

Zeus hadn't struck her down after she abandoned Odysseus to ten years of utter torment. So why now? She had done far worse to Odysseus than she had to Zeus. Odysseus watched his entire crew perish, then was trapped for seven years with Calypso and nearly driven to suicide. All while Athena did nothing. If she had gotten over herself faster, Odysseus could have returned to Ithaca years ago. And this was how she treated a friend. 

She was horribly off-topic. She needed to properly assess the situation. Perhaps using her divine abilities so quickly after the prior night's events would not be the smartest of choices, but her Quick Thought was the only place she knew nobody could see her.

Time slowed. Entering Quick Thought calmed her down somewhat. Well, now to accomplish her original goal. She opened her eyes and- what happened to this place? How had- how had the lightning bolt even reached it? It was an extension of her, yes, but it had been hers alone. She alone chose who could enter, and she would never have permitted this devestation.

Sand floated around her like raindrops frozen in air, and the entire floor had fallen cracked, falling into a dark space below. She didn't even know that Quick Thought had a below. She stood on what had once been the hourglass' base. The hourglass itself had fully shattered, its pieces scattered outwards as if something had detonated inside. The metal that used to line it warped into the shape of a lightning bolt.

It raced towards her, and- No, it didn't move. 

Of course it doesn't move, you fool, it's metal!

A ringing grew in her ears. It suddenly dropped in pitch and warbled, and she somehow managed to understand that it did not want her here. What was it? Some sort of internal self-preservation? A warning bell?

Time resumed its normal flow, except while only milliseconds should have passed, the sun had now half-risen. A chill raced over her. How had multiple hours passed in Quick Thought? Well, she had seen the state of the domain, but to be so broken that it accelerated the passage of time... Could that even be fixed? And if not, what would she do without it? Quick Thought helped her improvise, communicate, and execute new strategies mid-battle in complete secrecy. It granted her warriors reaction times faster than mortal bodies could even make use of. It was half of what she was good for.

"Be out of here by morning, will you?"

Athena needed to leave. Now.

Her body didn't respond when she willed it to stand, only offering a few pathetic twitches. Her left leg moved first, albeit so slowly on any other day she would have wondered if it had frozen in ice immediately prior. Her movements seemed to increase in speed over time, leading her to one horrifying thought: had Quick Thought slowed her, too, even temporarily?

For once, her right arm cooperated, though it still shook despite her best efforts to brace it, and she pulled her left leg under her to push herself up to all fours. She breathed far too heavily for having barely moved a few inches. Even then, she felt herself swaying slightly, as if a rope holding her steady had frayed.

The sand, coated in her blood, felt slightly warm and sticky. For a moment, Athena was glad she had kept her eyes closed, because she didn't want to know how much covered her. Hiding from reality would do her no good, though, so she pushed herself back onto her knees and looked down.

She could not see any individual wounds. Gold splattered her skin and clothes, some of it caked on and some of it trickling its way to the floor, but enough had drained from her body to obscure any one source. She could deal with this. She had to. She couldn't do it here, though, and while she may look like a corpse, most of the blood had dried, so she likely looked worse than she actually was.

From that position, she shifted to her left, supporting her weight with her left arm as she pulled her right leg up and placed her right foot flat on the ground. After taking a moment to gather herself again, she succeeded in lifting herself up enough to place her left foot against the ground as well, and from the couched position, she finally managed to stand. There. Now she just had to actually walk out of the arena.

Standing had taken far more effort than she would care to admit, with each slight shift causing a deep ache to run through her muscles and bones, but it had only been a light skirmish before a war.

Large, slightly bloody footprints still showed in the sand - Zeus' - and a second, smaller pair lay beside them, bloodless and a little apart from the first pair - Hera's. Athena tried to take a step, and while she technically succeeded in moving her foot forward, she hadn't managed to pull it fully off the ground, resulting in sand obscuring some of the footprints. 

Gravity beckoned her forward. How could she be this drained after only one step? She couldn't afford it. If she stayed in the arena much longer, she risked attracting Zeus' wrath again. In more of a weaving stumble than a walk, she made her way to the edge of the arena.

When she reached the edge and stepped out over the threshold, she placed her hand against the outer wall and took a moment to breathe. She made it out. She had reached relative safety, at least for now.

A stabbing headache and a shaking in her legs were the only other rewards she had earned.

At least she knew she could at least approximate a walk now, a laughably minimal accomplishment. Lingering here would gain her nothing, though, so she pushed herself off the wall. Her legs protested the sudden acceleration and she almost fell to the ground, but she managed to right herself before that could happen. 

After the first few steps, the pain faded to a monotonous haze. Her thigh would burn as she slightly raised one leg to take a step and her other leg would shake. Every so often, the wind would blow on her right arm in the wrong way like a brush of nails or pull a lock of tangled hair, which her body exaggerated as though the wind dangled her off a cliff by that one strand.

A bright light reflecting off a pond seared across her vision, forcing her to a halt. Gently, she brought her left hand to her head. Her legs felt leaden. The pond meant she was close, though, because there was only one pond between her palace and the arena. She had never felt so grateful to live so close to it - a little under thirty seconds from here, which probably translated to at least five minutes today.

She just- Keep walking. She would not be seen crawling. 

She would deal with her wounds later, and if she wanted the situation to be any different, well, too bad. There were no medical supplies in the middle of Olympus.

"Athena!" someone shouted.

The voice sounded familiar and she stumbled to the side, finding support against the rough bark of a tree. Anyone familiar hated her, she knew. Apollo had been hurt trying to help her. Honestly, she would prefer that whoever it was hate her. If they didn't, they might try to help and then someone else would be hurt because of her. She could handle disdain; she brought it upon herself. Added guilt, though, would steal even more hours of sleep. She already spent enough nights slumped over a desk or loom rather than in her bed, a candle burning to nothing beside her because her mind seemed less inclined to shove her into a whirlpool of her worst moments there than when she actually tried to sleep. Gods did not need as much sleep as humans, but after the first seven years, her body seemed to have its disputes with that claim. 

"Shit, sorry, was that too loud?" the voice asked, softer this time.

Athena squeezed her eyes shut in an attempt to block out an ounce of the blinding light and allow her jumbled mind to figure out who was talking to her. That notion, that she had to work to focus, felt so alien and revolting. But she couldn't use Quick Thought, either, so maybe Zeus had permanently broken her. 

Don't be irrational, Athena. You have no proof of that. The wise thing to do is reserve judgement until all the facts present themselves. She hated not knowing. She would far prefer to get the process of figuring out what to do with herself if she couldn't fight and couldn't think over with, rather than holding onto a possibly-useless hope that she would return to any semblance of normal.

"Maybe sit down? This isn't a battlefield. No worries about getting trampled." Ares, then, surely. She cracked her eyes open, and sure enough, her half-brother sat cross-legged on the ground. She would not join him.

"Ares, pleaes, don't put yourself at risk." She had to get out of here. Apollo had already gotten hurt because of her. 

"I'm not too concerned about accidentally healing you. War god, remember?"

That wasn't quite correct. "Help," she muttered dully. At least she could still remember details. 

Ares shifted closer. "I'm not sure there's really much I can do, but-"

"No. Sorry. I meant- Father said help, not heal. There's... quite a bit of difference." Help encompassed far more.

"Still. I mean, no offense, you can barely walk-" Athena bristled at the bluntness of the statement. She could walk! Not gracefully, and not in a particularly straight line- Okay, perhaps 'barely' was a proper qualifier.

"-and he can't possibly want you just stuck out here, right?"

Before, interpreting Zeus' orders had fallen almost exclusively to her. It felt easy; Zeus almost always made orders to stop something that angered him, so as long as she figured out what had set him off, she knew exactly what they could and couldn't do. Now- it had something to do with shame, but it wasn't just that. There had to be something deeper and for the first time, she couldn't puzzle out what. She hated that, too.

She settled for simply saying, "He wants me to get back by myself." If Ares noticed that she didn't answer his question, he didn't say anything.

Ares sighed. "You're probably right; you almost always are. This sucks. I'm sorry. You know that, right? I'm not- I can't heal you. But if I could, I would in an instant, yeah?"

"The situation is unchangeable. And I'm the one who should apologize."

"You don't have to worry about being sorry right now. Sit down, please? I really think the rest will help." 

She hadn't even wanted to stand up in the first place. Given the option, she would have lain on the arena sand for hours more, before she finally mustered the strength to attempt to do something about everything. If she had to place a bet right now, she would bet against herself getting to her palace without collapsing somewhere random. "I don't want to have to stand up again. It's- I'm fine here. And I'm sorry for ruining the arena. The sand, it's all charred, and half the uncharred part's bloody now."

Ares took deep, heavy breaths, the kind he took when he was trying very hard not to punch something. Not to punch her, in this case. Why had he even bothered trying to talk to her? She knew he hated her, and why wouldn't he, after everything? "No- I- You're the subtle one, not me, and I can't say this out loud, but you understand, right? Please understand." He looked up at her with something pleading in his eyes, something saying that he didn't blame her, but she knew that wasn't true. He had every reason to.

She nodded, a complete lie. The motion sent fresh waves of pain radiating through her skull, and she very purposefully did not flinch, but her eyes closed, because she couldn't bear the light.

"You got this," he said, offering her a thumbs up that felt oddly mundane, given the situation, "You're going to be okay. And before you say it, not just because you're immortal."

Normally, empty platitudes of encouragement meant nothing to her. This time, although she would eventually make it back with or without Ares' words, the mountain in front of her felt one step smaller. In a small, limited way, perhaps, it had helped.

Helped. 

No.

What have I done?

What have I done?

Zeus hadn't specified healing. She herself had said that just moments ago. He had never said kind words didn't count, if anything, because they had made her feel better, they would. Please, keep him from hearing that. She had to tell Ares; he was already in enough danger and each second he stayed at her side, it increased. 

Her eyes flew open in panic. "You can't say that!" she shouted. It didn't come out as loud as she'd prefer, but Ares nearly jumped at the sudden burst of energy.

"Wait, wait, slow down! I can't say what?" he leapt to his feet and held out his hands, palms facing out, trying to calm her. 

She could picture the lightning still, branching as it sprinted through the air. She saw Ares at the other end, his ichor on the ground, the grass around him smoking- She could hear his screams. Fates, it was so vivid it seemed like a memory.

"Go away! Leave, Ares, please! Don't let me hurt you; don't let me hurt anyone else!" 

"Athena, I swear, you aren't hurting me. You didn't hurt anyone. We're being careful, right-" 

"Stop! Stop! You'll make it worse!" She had pushed herself slightly off the tree and clasped her hands to her chest, pleading and desperate and so entirely not her normal self that she felt like an actress in a play. After the initial swing up, her right arm seemed to want to flop back down, but she held it in place with her other and she would worry about that later; she would lop it off as long as Ares understood that he couldn't be around her, that nobody could be around her right now.

"Make what worse? I'm not hurt. See? I'm okay." He slowly took a step closer, and raised a hand like he wanted to put it on her shoulder, but seemed to quickly dismiss that idea. His brow furrowed in concern and his dark brown eyes held a gentleness that he hadn't directed at her in centuries. 

"I can't have your pity!" Why didn't he understand? Why couldn't he see? She saw it every moment, every time he moved: a raging yellow bolt of lightning appearing from over his shoulder and striking them both at once. Was that ozone she smelled on the breeze? She sucked in a breath, trying to figure it out one way or another, but she just couldn't; every time she thought the air was clear, a hint of it drifted in so faint she needed to check again. She knew how ridiculous she looked, but she had to know.

"Athena, I can only imagine how hard everything is, but-"

"You can't give me this! You can't!" Never before in their conversations had she been the frantic one, shoving words from her mouth as if they would explode inside her, and each syllable tore out of her with a vengeance. 

"You deserve it. Athena, you're my sister; I-"

"What if it counts?!" Athena screamed at him, the final word escaping more as a sob. Her upper body drooped as her shoulders heaved, defying all her attempts to steady her breaths. 

Ares hadn't replied. She craned her neck up to see him. His left hand covered his mouth and he was staring over her shoulder back at the arena, where- "Thunder, bring her through the wringer!"

He understood, now. Oh, why had it taken her so long? How could she have failed him like this? If something in the last few minutes, between her realization and her finally being able to explain, had angered Zeus, how could she live with herself? Two of her brothers, then, struck down because of her. For all Zeus said she set herself against him last night, she certainly seemed to be directing his violence against others. 

"Show her I'm the judgement call!"

"I need to leave. You need to leave. Just-" she sputtered for a moment, trying to pluck words from a swirl of bright yellows and dark grays and ice-cold fear and sharp needles of guilt splattered red and gold. "-tell everyone."

"The one who makes her kingdom fall!"

Before Ares could respond, or perhaps before he could even properly process, she straightened as much as she could without entirely setting the world off-kilter and half-ran, half-staggered down the road.

He did not even attempt to follow her.

Good. That was for the best.

She made it perhaps twenty paces before the adrenaline faded. Pain shot up her legs, in waves that came so close together it felt like she had been stabbed by a million spears. She fought the urge to drop to her knees, to do anything to take the weight off her legs. 

For an indeterminant period of time, she knew only ragged breaths and blades of fire cutting to her bone. 

Athena blinked at the wall next to her. Her head hurt more than had been normal for the past few- past little bit.

No, wait, she was lying down. On a road. Which road was this? How had she gotten here?

Right. Ares, running, blinding pain, and then waking up on the road. She had fallen. That explained the headache, at least. Well, so much for not having to stand up again... Everything hurt so much more, like someone had set her on fire. Why had she let her emotions get the better of her? Why hadn't she explained things calmly and rationally?  What if the damage done to Quick Thought had destroyed her capacity for logical thought?

Involuntarily, her body curled up tighter on the ground, seeking some sort of physical safety even though every muscle screamed in protest. This wouldn't get her anywhere closer to her home. She just wanted to be home.

Odysseus has been away from home for twenty years, ten of them directly because of her. And she couldn't handle a few measley hours, despite having been alive over a hundred times longer. Who had she called a waste of effort, again? Because it should have been her.

Quickly, before her body could tell her otherwise, she forced a leg under her and pushed herself to her feet. She was rewarded with a wave of dizziness so intense that for a moment she thought she had fallen down again. After a moment, it somewhat lessened, and she realized that she stood absolutely no chance of cleaning her wounds immediately after arriving home. There were couches near the entryway. People rarely visited, if ever, so nobody would mind ichor staining the couch until she managed to clean it. The couch was soft, too, far softer than the sand in the arena or the rocky road. Another jolt of pain shot through her skull. Resting her head on something soft would appease her for at least a week, she thought, so long as the pain abated. Her mind could not be broken. It could not. 

Standing here would do her no good. Tentatively, she took a step forward, and while her leg shook and burned, it did not give. 

She did not know how long she walked for, a feeling that had made itself sickeningly familiar over the past- since she had been injured, but one way or another, she reached the bridge over a small creek that led directly to the entryway of her home. She had to keep moving. She couldn't stop now, not when it was right there.

The wood felt smooth and steady under her hands. Without thinking, she let herself lean further on the railing - she only had the railing to carve murals into the wood connecting it to the bridge, but she was glad for it now - and her head dipped down. She had reached some sort of state of equilibrium, where everything hurt the same amount, and she did not want to leave it. Walking would cause far worse pain, and the last dregs of energy seemed to seep from her body into the wood. 

One hand over the other. If she used the railing as a support, she could cross the bridge. Just- the door was a finite distance away. She would reach it eventually, as long as she kept going.

She reached her left hand over her right and had already began to transfer her weight when her hand found nothing to grab. Her right arm barely had enough strength to keep her from falling and-

It felt like her arm might sever from her shoulder. It felt like every ligament threatened to pull apart, scraping across each other and her bones. The taste of ichor filled her mouth. She had bitten her tongue, apparently

After half a moment, her arm gave out and she stumbled forward, her left hand somehow finding purchase on a doorknob. Just- twist it open. She pulled herself upright again, panting, and twisted the doorknob. The sharp rotation seared up her arm and against her will, a grunt of pain forced its way out of her. But the door was open. The final walk across the bridge left her half-unconscious. She could barely focus enough to lift her feet and stumble into the entryway.

Turning around to close the door caused another spell of dizziness to wrest control of her mind.

She reached for the doorknob. Couches- Next room-

Her right hand rested on the doorframe. What? No- doorknob. Not doorframe. 

Everything was wrong. What? She couldn't name any specifics, but an overwhelming feeling of dread consumed her nonetheless.

Right. Doorknob. 

Why hadn't she moved? She had to close the door. She pushed herself off the doorframe- Her hand hadn't moved. Her breath caught in her throat. What was wrong with her? She wanted to shout, but her mouth wouldn't open. When had she closed her eyes?

Somehow, she managed to twist slightly so that her right shoulder hit the door. That movement made her already-unsteady legs shake even more. She half-fell against the door, her body weight forcing it shut with a sharp, final slam. If she permitted herself a moment's rest, perhaps, she would have the strength to move to the next room. Slowly, using the door as support, she let herself slide down until she was sitting half-curled on the floor. A stupid plan, she knew, because sitting in the entryway would only get her bowled over if anyone tried to enter. Her right side, especially her shoulder and forearm, burned as they pressed against the door, but she would only sit there for a moment, and the pain seemed to be fading away.

See? Exactly how she intended, although being right offered little comfort.

She would only rest there for a moment. 

Please let Odysseus get home. Let Ares be alright. Let Apollo recover quickly. Let them all forget her.

Chapter Text

Returning to Ithaca should not have felt like landing on an unknown island.

At first, Odysseus had been so consumed with anger at those scum who dared to try and overwrite Penelope's will that he hadn't noticed. 

But when things had settled, when he stood on a balcony and stared out over his kingdom, it felt like watching the sea floor through six feet of water.

Penelope had readily embraced him, Telemachus called him 'dad' despite Odysseus having missed the first twenty years of his life, and he knew at least one anecdote for every room, tapestry, and piece of furniture in the palace. He was home. So why did the ground underneath him feel less stable than the clouds?

"Odysseus?" Penelope called gently, appearing from around a corner, "Dinner's ready. I know you're tired, so I asked the cooks not to prepare a large feast. It's just us. No aggrieved nobles, no tempremental diplomats."

"Thank you." He wanted to say more. He should say more. Those two words couldn't possibly properly convey his gratitude.

"I'm not quite sure how they would even think tonight would be a good night to ask for favors," Penelope continued, her voice soft and lovelier than any song, "Nobody likes getting interrupted on the best of days, and you've been away twenty years. Thank you again for coming back. I never doubted you, but many lesser men would have abandoned the journey far earlier."

She crossed the room and he wrapped his arms around her. "What did I do to deserve you?" And, really, what had he done? Killed an infant? Lost his entire crew in an act of hubris? Sacrificed the remaining men to Scylla or Zeus? Thankfully, Penelope could not see his face at that moment. She deserved the man she believed she had married, not the monster who stood before her. Odysseus could not bear to break the illusion. Penelope had endured enough.

"Beat up Poseidon," she said with a laugh, "I wish I could have seen the look on his face when he realized who he had messed with."

"I still can't believe I succeeded." He tried to mirror Penelope's levity, but his voice came out far too dull. He could still feel the trident's cool metal on his hands, drops of water and ichor coating it in equal amounts. It should have taken longer. Poseidon would never relent so easily. He half-expected that the next time he opened his eyes, he would be back on that rocky islet, or worse, on Ogygia. Since returning, he had obsessively checked for signs that he was dreaming. He examined himself in every slightly reflective surface he came across, turned away from scrolls to check if their contents remained the same, and tried to levitate each time he stepped down a stair. Each time, Ithaca proved real, but absence of evidence was not evidence of absence.

"I can. Come down to dinner, please? Telemachus and I would love for you to be there. If it's too much, though, I completely understand." Penelope squeezed him tighter. Please let this be real. It felt real. It felt so real, which would only make the eventual revelation it wasn't that much more painful.

"You and Telemachus will never be too much. You two are the only reason I had the strength to continue on. I'm sorry I couldn't return sooner."

Penelope hummed lightly. "You did everything you could, and more than anyone could have expected of a mortal. Nobody else would have made it back."

Nobody else made it back because he failed them.

Despite his best efforts, a tear forced its way out of his eye. He fought down a sob.

Penelope raised her head and wiped the tear from his cheek. "With the knowledge you had, what could you have done differently? I don't believe for a moment that Poseidon would have let you home unscathed if you had killed Polyphemus. Some games can't be won, but Ody, believe me, that's not your fault."

"I won today, though," he whispered, fighting to keep his voice from breaking. If he had just been stronger, or smarter- If he had just stayed awake a few more hours, Eurylochus never would have had the opportunity to steal the wind bag, and they never would have encountered Poseidon. If he had talked to Circe first, perhaps Elpenor would not have fallen off her roof. If he had just thought of some other plan, he could have gotten around Scylla. She targeted the torches; there had to be some way to trick her. If he had suggested foraging rather than pleading with a starving man to continue to starve, Eurylochus would not have killed that cow. 

"And today is an exception, not an expectation."

"You don't understand, I-" Odysseus cut himself off. He had no right to raise his voice at Penelope like that. 

"I know. I don't understand what you survived, and I don't think anybody ever could. But I do understand the facts as you've relayed them, and I understand my conclusion: you are not at fault."

For several moments, he remained perfectly still, trying to absorb her words the way cloth absorbed water. His head had cleared a little. "I love you," he finally said.

"As do I. Would you like to come to dinner, or would you prefer to eat alone?"

"I want to spend every meal for the rest of my life with you and our son." He took her hand and they walked towards the dining hall.

"Oh, and speaking of Telemachus. Something happened yesterday, but he hasn't told me yet," Penelope started.

Had someone hurt him? Whoever it was, he would hunt them down and-

"Something good," Penelope rushed to clarify, "He seemed excited when he came to tell me this morning, but then- well, you know how things played out from there. Then he decided that he wanted to tell both of us at once, so that we didn't think that he was, in his words, 'picking a favorite parent'. We're so lucky to have him; I can't wait for you to get to know each other."

It was only a short walk to dinner, and when they arrived, Telemachus shot up from his seat at the table and all but sprinted over. "Mom! Dad! You'll never guess what I've got to tell you!"

Before either Odysseus or Penelope could get a word out, Telemachus barreled on. "I met a god! And not just any god!" 

Hermes, probably. He would be the type to, immediately after giving Odysseus the wind bag, fly over to Ithaca and pull some sort of practical joke. Or perhaps Ares, who had helped him just that morning against Poseidon.

"I met Athena, and-"

Sure he did. "Telemachus, that is not an amusing joke."

Telemachus paused, his hands frozen in the middle of excited gesturing. "What? I'm not joking. Why would I be joking?"

"I failed her test and she decided I was a waste of time."

"Wait, Dad, she was talking about you?" Telemachus' eyes widened.

Really? Bad-mouthing him behind his back to his own son? She had the dramatic goodbye she wanted, and the satisfaction of being proven right. If she wanted to rub the death of his crew in his face, she could at least do it to his face.

"Telemachus, perhaps you should start from the beginning?" Penelope asked. She placed a hand on Odysseus' arm. "I think there's been a bit of a misunderstanding."

"Okay, so I was just walking through the halls with Argos, right, when suddenly I hear Antinous threatening Mom, so I tell him to stop. It somehow turns into a fight, and I've literally never been in a fight before, so I'm losing pretty badly, when suddenly everything turns super slow-" Telemachus bounced across the space in front of them, reenacting the fight. 

Odysseus closed his eyes. Why? Athena ignored him when he was about to jump off a cliff. He hadn't expected her to respond, though. She'd made it quite clear she did not deal in emotions, and calling out for help in a state of complete anguish was the worst time to do so. She had probably looked at him, thought 'What a disappointment. I'm glad I said goodbye ten years ago', and went about her day. 

"-and Athena just shows up and says 'Need some help?' and tells me to uppercut him and it actually worked! And I mean, I didn't win, but I didn't die! It was so cool!"

Whoever he met, it wasn't Athena. It couldn't have been. She would never intervene on behalf of someone who was losing. It had to be some sort of impersonator, who was likely already dead. But he had mentioned Quick Thought, and the only other person with Quick Thought was Ares, who abhorred cunning tricks of any sort. 

"You didn't need to put yourself in danger over my name," Penelope said, "I appreciate the sentiment, truly, but I'd long since learned to take any insult from that lot as a compliment." 

"I couldn't just let them talk about you like that! You should have heard the things they said!" Telemachus protested.

"Either way, they're dealt with now. Let's not let them take up so much mental space."

Telemachus spun to face him. "Wait, Dad, do you think she's hurt or something?"

Odysseus took a deep breath. "Athena? Not a chance. I don't think she suffered so much as a papercut during the entire war. We mean nothing to gods, Telemachus. They were here before us and they'll be here after us. What significance does a grain of sand have to an ocean?"

"Wait, no, I didn't finish! After the fight, I asked her why she had helped me and she said that she wanted to help, and I'm paraphrasing, because she made some sort of big mistake and lost a friend after a war, so-"

A friend? Odysseus burst out in bitter laughter. "I figured this was too good to be true." He turned to the window. "Come on, Calypso. I'm married. No trick you pull will ever make me want you." 

Penelope gasped and took a step closer, her hand hovering a few inches away from him. "Ody, she's not here. You're never going to see her again. She can't do a thing to you, and if she tries, I'll slit her throat."

"I'm not much good in a fight, but I'll help, too, as much as I can," Telemachus added.

"What, you think I didn't threaten to do the same? She's immortal."

Odysseus closed his eyes. He was back in the wooden horse, about to sack Troy. He could choose differently this time. He didn't want to go home, not before he made things right. When he opened his eyes, he was still home. Another trick to check if he was dreaming - some dreams would respond to the dreamer's desires, so if he imagined himself in Troy, he would be in Troy. Athena had taught him. If she could, would she pull every strategy she taught him from his mind to make a point of how much he had learned from her?

"Then she'll be locked up for eternity. Nobody treats my family so poorly." Venom laced Penelope's words, proof he wasn't under a spell - Calypso would never have someone speak of her so poorly in an illusion she controlled. The worst part of the past seven years was that he didn't know how long it would take before he could finally put any doubt they weren't over to rest.

Odysseus didn't know what to say next. His silver tongue could take over, but they would never believe him. Besides, Penelope always saw through his lies.

Telemachus spoke next, in a saddened voice. "Dad? I'm sorry for upsetting you. I didn't mean to."

 "You didn't. I promise," Odysseus said, turning slowly to face his son, "I believe that you told me exactly what happened from your perspective. But if Athena really said all that, she must have been talking about someone else. I haven't heard a word from her in over a decade." If she really regretted what happened ten years ago, she would have helped him on Ogygia. He knew gods could reach it because Hermes had told Calypso to release him. If she had really wanted to, she could have.

"That's why I'm concerned. Because I told her that she should try to help you and she said she would, and then you got released from Ogygia that same day, which can't be a coincidence, except she didn't show up there, and now you're here, and she said she'd come back but she's also not here, so where is she?" 

"None of us can answer that question," Penelope interjected, "but she is immortal. Perhaps an urgent matter came up, or some event somewhere else demanded her attention. Perhaps she wanted us to enjoy today as a family."

Athena, if Penelope's right, I'd really appreciation the confirmation. If not for my sake, then for Telemachus'.

"Maybe," Telemachus said, the doubt clear in his voice. 

If Athena really had shown up and said all the things she did to Telemachus, she better have a good excuse for disappearing again. What test could Telemachus have failed? She showed up after he was already losing the fight, and Telemachus hadn't mentioned any sort of trial between then and her allegedly leaving to help him. 

"I believe dinner's getting cold," Odysseus said. Tonight was supposed to be jubilant. The past twenty years would not let him go, but he certainly wouldn't surrender to their pull. Penelope shot him a pointed glance and he returned a small smile. 

Dinner turned into a wash of golden anecdotes, tinged with a longing to have been there. This was his family. Some days, he knew Penelope better than himself, and he spent the past twenty years planning ways to make up for lost time with Telemachus. Yet every story, however endearing, seemed to widen the gap between them.

Once, when Telemachus was about five, he ran into Penelope's room while playing with Argos, only to rile Argos up enough he jumped through Penelope's loom. Another time, while walking on the beach, Argos had run after a fish in the sea and Telemachus had followed him in, forcing Penelope to pull them both out of the waves.

After Penelope finished the beach story, Telemachus jumped up, running off to his room with a shout of "Wait, wait, sorry, I forgot something! I'll be right back!"

Penelope covered a knowing grin with her hand and said, "He's been waiting for twelve years for this, you know. I can't believe it's taken him this long to remember."

Telemachus came racing back in, holding something in his hand. "Okay, so one day, I was collecting shells on the beach, and I found this really cool one with a hole in it, so I made it into a necklace and gave it to Mom. Then, a few days later, I found another one, and she told me that I should keep it for myself, and then I found one for Argos. It took me a really long time but I found the perfect one for you!" With a grin larger than the entire palace, Telemachus handed him a small nautilus shell with a blue thread through a hole in the top. "I chose it because it kind of looks like a horn, and when I was eight, I thought it meant that we would be able to communicate no matter how far apart we were."

Odysseus did not deserve this. The gesture felt too kind, too innocent, and far too good for the monster he'd become.

"I have so many now," Telemachus continued on, "I've been collecting them for years. Now that the suitors are gone, I'm going to make friends and give them all out."

"We're not mad you didn't come home sooner," Penelope added gently, "You did everything you could. We just don't want you to have to be alone like that again." She held his gaze for a moment, and her eyes said It's not your fault.

Odysseus held the shell tightly. "I spent so long imagining what you would be like, Telemachus. I'm overjoyed to have properly met you, because you're better than any son I could have imagined."

Telemachus wrapped him in a hug. "Same. I mean, I knew you were really awesome, but I think you're actually the coolest dad anyone could have." 

He could believe them for this one night. Believe that he still had a chance to be a good husband and father. Believe that this gentle warmth could thaw him from the past twenty years. For the first time in twenty years, he could go to bed feeling content.

Athena had never replied, though. As he'd expected. Odysseus would have loved some happy ending where they reconciled, but he knew it wouldn't happen ten years ago, and he knew it just as well now.

Chapter Text

When Apollo woke the next morning to raise the sun, his arm still tingled, although he couldn't tell whether it stemmed from physical or psychological damage. He hoped for the latter, because if it still affected him, with his stronger healing and relatively light punishment, that morning, what would it mean for Athena? 

He hasn't spoken with anyone since the games, not even Artemis. He would have to eventually, he supposed, but he didn’t know who he would talk to besides his twin, and even then, he had no clue what he would say to her. Artemis resented needless displays of power, and preferred to spend her time in the woods for a reason. As long as she could find some amount of peace after last night, he would be happy. Besides, he didn’t even know what to say to himself.

How could he?

For as long as he could remember, he had been the one to fix things. One role among many, yes, but he prized healing above all others. Prophecy seemed to bring more harm than good, and while he enjoyed music and poetry, of course, with healing, he could undo the wrongs of the past. The sun, too, provided great assistance, but he felt that role fell more to Helios, the literal sun, than it did to him. 

If he spent much longer hesitating, Zeus may come to berate him. Against his will, he flinched away at the thought. He did not want to see his father, and did not know if he ever would again. Apollo wanted to believe in redemption, but-

The things Zeus had said yesterday, the things he had done- Over nothing. He wanted to hope for the future, but his father didn’t seem to share his hope.

He had to get moving. It would happen regardless, so he may as well get it over with. He traveled to the edge of dawn, where he found Helios already waiting.

“Heh. Almost thought you weren’t coming,” Helios said, in a bit of a jest. 

“Well, here I am,” Apollo replied. He didn’t have the energy or care to joke around at the moment. Did Helios know what had happened last night? The two of them had been consistently friendly over the centuries, but they didn’t have much in common besides this shared responsibility. 

Helios seemed to sense Apollo’s disinterest, though, and without a word, they raised the sun together. At least it was over.

Immediately after, since he always found peace when mixing herbs, he headed to his healing ward - Athena really should be here, not collapsed in the arena - and found a short note from Asclepius stuck to the door.

Father , it read, I hope you are doing well. After last night, I decided it would be best for me to step away until all has come to pass, so as to not agitate the wrath of the God-King further. I do not want my presence to incidentally bring greater harm to you, Athena, myself, or any other god. I will travel through Greece on foot for a while, I imagine. Please find me when all has passed, and I pray it does so quickly.

Pray to whom? Even years after Asclepius ascended, he still invoked prayer. His son had made the correct choice, Apollo thought. Zeus had struck him down once, and Olympus did not need any reminders of that day. Apollo had only saved him on technicality, by lashing out against the Elder Cyclops in a manner that more resembled Ares than him, and forcing Zeus to deify him to keep peace on Olympus. Even now, it seemed odd, because Apollo did not stand a chance of overthrowing his father. Nobody on Olympus did; only Metis’ son could have, and Zeus made sure she would never have one. 

He attempted to distract himself with medicine, first relying on the routine of simpler mixes and then attempting to create new ones, in hopes of becoming so consumed he forgot all else. Neither worked. When closing his eyes to blink, images of Athena lying limp on the ground greeted him, and the thought of the lightning caused his arm to prick.

Hera woke to the sun streaming gently through the window. The morning felt far too mundane. Last night, something had changed on Olympus. She knew why, but not what. Yet the sun hung in the sky, same as ever, and the occasional fluffy white cloud floated across a beautiful blue expanse, a picturesque lie.  The sky should hold more turmoil. She has known Zeus long enough to recognize his moods by the clouds, even when he tried to project an image of control, and today, the skies did not betray a hint of guilt, or even hesitance.

Did he take some sort of sick pride in his actions? Did he derive some sort of satisfaction from striking down his own daughter? If instead it had been her and Ares… Yes, they had their disagreements. The entire Trojan War, as an example. But she would never have done that to him. 

And then, after striking Athena once, when she proved beyond any possible doubt that she only wanted to help Odysseus get home, he had struck her again. He shocked Apollo, and then directly targeted Athena’s head. Her stomach turned and she rolled over on her bed, lying diagonally and pulling the blankets off-center. No matter how badly she wanted to fall back asleep, she knew she wouldn’t. 

She had seen Zeus’ rage before, or at least thought she had. He had thrown Hephaestus from Olympus for defending her and sent Ares after countless monsters. Everyone, herself included, had justified those moments as quickly-passing anger, things he grew to regret but would not say because of the injury apologies would cause his pride. In the case of Ares and the monsters, even Ares had come to justify those incidents as necessary training. The consequences, perhaps, had been long-term, but never the punishment itself. As it stood at present, Athena would never receive any medical attention. She would be fine eventually, but Hera did not see any use in dragging things out so long. She only saw cruelty.

One of her peacocks squawked, loud and annoyed but not anxious. Hera dragged herself out of her bed and glanced out her window. Ah. Ares. Her son stood near the stairway up to her palace, trying to shush the peacocks. The tallest of them pecked at his hand, clearly searching for food. Ares seemed upset, pushing its head away and trying to force his way through the gathering crowd. 

With a shimmer, she transformed into a peacock. They couldn’t fly far, but she could certainly fly to the stairs.

“Ares? Is something the matter?” Hera asked when she landed and transformed back, then quickly added, “Well, besides-” Everyone on Olympus knew to mind their words. “-the usual?”

“No,” Ares said, in a lie revealed by the stretching of time as he pulled her into Quick Thought. “What’s ‘the usual’ supposed to mean?” he asked, one eyebrow raised. 

“That we both have to watch our tongues, especially after last night.”

Ares huffed. “I saw her. This morning. A few minutes ago.” Winds howled around the red plane.

“And how was she doing?” Poorly, Hera assumed. Otherwise, Ares would have seemed happier.

Ares threw his hands up in anger. “What do you think? She could barely walk! I talked to her for a little bit, but she wouldn’t sit down even though she was clearly exhausted and she closed her eyes for half the conversation! I tried to encourage her, which only made everything worse, because Zeus couldn’t be bothered to specify what help meant. Now she’s convinced that even a positive conversation counts, and she’s probably right about that. Even if she’s not, there’s a chance she is, and I’m not going to take the risk of him hurting her even more. How could I?”

Hera stood speechless. Surely Zeus didn’t want Athena completely isolated from the rest of Olympus. Surely he didn’t, right? Except yesterday, if someone had asked her if she thought Zeus would strike down his favorite daughter, she would have told them surely not. She wanted to find a flaw in Athena’s reasoning, no matter how unlikely that seemed. Besides denial that Zeus would be so cruel, Hera couldn’t find a single argument in favor of a definitive alternative interpretation. He had even said ‘in any way’. If Hera stood a chance, she would challenge him herself. 

“Then, when she pointed that out,” Ares continued, “I froze for a moment, and she told me to just pass on what she had told me, and then I think she tried to run away. She barely made it twenty steps before she just froze and started swaying. I could tell she was going to fall, but- If he had been watching, what would he have done? Would preventing further injury count as helping, too?”

“Most likely,” Hera almost-whispered, one hand twisting at the fabric of her peplos. It would crease, but she needed a release for the fury and disgust blooming in her chest. 

Ares wrapped his arms around himself. “At least I didn’t let her fall for no reason. Because she basically just passed out. In the middle of the road. Athena. Of all people.”

“I know it’s hard to watch. It scarcely feels real. He called me back to the arena, right before she woke up for a short while, just to make it look like I- like I supported him. At least in the moment, there’s not much we can do. The best way we can help is to not make things worse. Remember, Athena is not a war goddess because the Fates found it amusing.” Hera didn’t know what else to say. No words she could say would right the situation. 

Ares plopped to the ground and Hera sat down across from him, her legs curled to her left. Normally, she would scoff at the red dust getting tangled in her clothes. Today, she welcomed it, like she welcomed the pomegranate juice the prior night. Another show of imperfection, even if only she would know the meaning behind it.

“That’s what I keep trying to tell myself,” Ares said, “but you didn’t see her. She was leaning against a tree because she could hardly stand by herself and I saw more blood than clothes or skin. It took her multiple tries to explain that kind words might count as helping. I know she won’t die, but if he did something permanent to her-”

“You’re concerned for how she’ll handle it,” Hera finished. She hadn’t even considered that. “But I think it’s too early to draw that sort of conclusion. Last night, he told her that what he did to Apollo was her fault.”

“How did he even justify that?” Ares interrupted, enraged, “Fates, she probably believes that, too, at least going off of how she felt the need to apologize for the state of the arena! Like I would possibly blame her for getting struck by lightning! I tried to tell her I wasn’t upset without actually saying it, but I don’t even think she understood me. Did he blame her for the arena last night, too?”

Hera pursed her lips. “He did. Either way, back to what you were saying, the lightning undoubtedly had temporary effects, especially considering how he directly targeted her head with that third strike.” Three. It shouldn’t have even been once. “Last night was horrible to watch. I can only imagine how much worse it would be to actually go through it. She was likely panicking at the thought of you getting struck for something that she believed would be her fault.”

“Yeah, but I can tell you exactly how many times I’ve seen her actually panic before,” Ares said, before raising an fist. “Never. She always just thinks up some clever way out.” The realm had grown darker than Hera had ever seen it. Some of the reds looked closer to black. The winds whipped dust around them, but very few grains landed on either of them. A small lighter circle surrounded them, enough that the lighting resembled a cloudy day rather than night.

“The circumstances are unprecedented.”

“Mother, I understand that you don’t care for her all that much, but please don’t just brush everything aside. It’s not normal.”

Hera shook her head. “That’s not what I’m doing. I’m sorry for implying that. All I’m trying to say is that I believe she will heal.”

“You’d better be right about that. For her sake.”

“I understand I haven’t been the best mother, to put it lightly,” Hera said. The admission still felt unsettling, a slight tug in her gut. “And for that, I’m sorry. I’ll do better, especially at controlling my temper.”

“I- thank you. You do know that I’m not really the one you need to apologize to, though, right?” The slightly shocked look on her son’s face told her exactly how overdue this apology had been.

She nodded. “I know. But you’re the one who’s here right now.”

Ares sighed. “This might sound ungrateful, but…”

“I won’t take offense.” At least, she wouldn’t tell him if she did. She wanted to hear it regardless.

“I wish you weren’t the parent apologizing right now. Genuinely, I think you’ve been good to me. I know you care, unlike Zeus.” 

“If I could snap my fingers and make it so, I would. And you don’t sound ungrateful.” He deserved this apology from her, and he deserved countless more from Zeus. She knew that Zeus wouldn’t give a single one.

“None of this is right,” Ares continued, “It hardly makes sense. He hates me, but she is - or at least was - his favorite!” 

“It doesn’t. He shouldn’t have even entertained the thought. It shouldn’t have even been a thought at all.”

“And then he hurt Apollo, too! For breaking a rule he literally hadn’t even told any of us.” His voice held a mix of despair and rage.

Rage propelled Hera to her feet. She could picture last night as clearly as she saw her son in front of her, and although she could not say it anywhere else, she felt the need to shout “Let me be the first to declare that he is the furthest from a ‘just and merciful king’ one could be.”

Ares stood up as well. “Then let me be the second.” Then, in a quieter voice, he said, “Thank you for listening. I can’t say much has changed, but I do feel at least a little better.”

And Athena, worst-off of them all, had to handle it all alone. “I’m glad,” Hera said. “I think I’m going to check on Apollo now. It would likely be beneficial if you came, at the very least for Quick Thought, unless you feel strongly opposed.”

Ares shook his head. “No, I’ll come. We’re not the closest, but as far as I’m aware, we’re on friendly terms.”

“Make sure to play it off casually,” Hera added.

“It’s all about appearance now, isn’t it?” Ares muttered, mostly to himself.

It always has been, at least on Olympus. Perhaps below, there could be more room for compassion and honesty. Or perhaps their problems had spread, reshaping the world like a raging sculptor seeking something to reflect their brutal realities.

The red plane faded from view.

“Nothing’s wrong,” Ares said, and Hera briefly wondered if Zeus would even suspect he was lying. Did he realize how upsetting last night had been? Did he have any conception of what he had done?

“Is there any particular reason you’ve come here?” 

“Bored,” Ares said with a shrug, “not much action as of late.”

Hera raised an eyebrow, which would tell him how poorly he lied but would appear to Zeus as little more than disbelief. “Well then, let’s take a stroll.” Perhaps she lied poorly as well.

“Not much more exciting than sitting on a chair,” Ares scoffed.

“I could send some peacocks to chase after you, if that would prove more entertaining,” Hera said, beckoning a few more of her birds over to them.

“That will not be necessary.” Ares took a step away from the gathering of peacocks. 

“Oh, alright,” Hera said with a sigh. “They’ll get their exercise another way.”

They walked slowly down Olympus’ many pathways. A few times, she would half-heartedly point out something mundane, to an unimpressed response from Ares. 

“Let’s invite Apollo,” Ares said, as they neared Apollo’s home. 

Hera nodded. “Alright, then.” 

After around a minute, they reached the door. Apollo answered quickly. His golden hair, normally tied back to avoid contaminating any medicine, hung tangled down his back, and his clothes were tied looser than he normally preferred.

“Hello,” he said, uncertain.

“Good morning, Apollo. Would you like to walk with us?” Hera asked.

Apollo’s eyes darted to the sky. “Ah- I’d rather not at the moment, if that’s alright with you.”

Zeus should have to witness the consequences of his failures. Except he likely wouldn’t care. He would even be glad, as long as they all remained subservient. 

“No worries,” Ares replied, “how are you?”

Very subtle. Hera fought the urge to pinch the bridge of her nose. “Ares means to ask if there’s any particular reason you’d prefer to stay inside.” She shot a glance at Ares, trying to remind him to use Quick Thought. It apparently worked, as time stretched once again. She couldn’t tell if it felt more or less familiar, but she supposed this sort of hiding would become increasingly common.

Apollo looked at them strangely. “Do you need something?”

“I wanted to check on you after last night,” Hera explained.

“Yeah. He tossed you half-way across the arena. Looked painful,” Ares added.

Apollo shook his head. “Honestly, I’m not the one you should be concerned about. In the end, I’ll be fine. I’ve almost entirely healed, anyway, and to top it all off, I made everything worse.”

“No, Zeus made everything worse,” Ares argued, “he didn’t have to do anything he did. He could have just not done that. What’s even his goal with the ‘no-helping’ rule? It’s such stupidity.”

“I know him well enough to know to wait,” Apollo countered. He stared down at the ground. 

“The situation was far more urgent than normal,” Hera said, “None of us could have imagined that punishment. I, too, thought he was done when he sat back down.” This had been exactly what she feared. She had known Apollo would feel responsible for Athena’s injuries, and just last night, Zeus had told Athena that Apollo’s injuries were her fault. Neither of them would blame the other, but at the same time, they could hardly talk to each other, and Apollo didn’t seem to accept that the true blame fell with Zeus. Athena would heal, but for everyone’s sake, Hera hoped she would heal quickly. The longer things dragged on, the messier everything became.

“For a little bit, I was almost happy to see her stick her neck out for someone,” Ares said, “and then- I just don’t get it. Why would he possibly do that?”

“Maybe because she’s normally so loyal he felt even angrier?” Apollo suggested.

Yes, that would be the kind of logic Zeus employed - that any deviation from the normal meant far more than any other god making a request. Except why would he give her something she would win so easily? Zeus certainly liked to convince himself he was the most accomplished in every domain he cared for, but even he relied on Athena for information. Surely he wouldn’t have expected to beat her at a game of wits.

“Speaking of Odysseus, how is he doing? Has he reached Ithaca yet?” Hera asked. They had fought on the same side in the war, but she hadn’t ever met him. She had already been inclined to release him - she saw no reason to keep him on that island - and had just wanted to put up enough resistance to satisfy Zeus. After learning that he had remained faithful to Penelope for twenty years, though, she fully supported his return. That level of commitment deserved a reward, given how uncommon it seemed to be.

“I can check, but not from within Quick Though. Ares, do you mind?” Apollo said.

Of course. Hera didn’t fully understand prophecy, but she understood from Apollo that the future often branched far too quickly to be truly predictable, save for a few inevitable events the world flowed towards. However, events only a few milliseconds in the future could be seen with very high accuracy, which effectively amounted to a view of the present.

“Nope,” Ares replied.

“Just remember to be careful what you say,” Hera said. 

Quick Thought faded out of existence and they were back on Apollo’s doorstep. 

Apollo furrowed his brow in concentration, his gaze growing distant. After a few moments, he said, “Hm. That doesn’t look good.”

“What doesn’t?” Hera asked softly.

“Odysseus has apparently angered Poseidon. Years ago, by the sounds of it, but Poseidon has been waiting to take his revenge. Poseidon’s confronting him off the coast of Ithaca.”

To her left, Ares shifted slightly.

Hera turned to him and her eyes begged him to be careful, lest Zeus take this as an attempt to help Athena and punish both war gods for it.

“I was promised bloodshed,” Ares all but growled, “and I intend on getting it. He’s not going to be of much use in that from the underworld.”

Hera knew full well what he meant, and Apollo likely did as well: after everything Athena has already and will continue to go through to free Odysseus, Ares wasn’t going to let him die an hour from his home. He had better make it worth it.

“I hope, then, that he follows through,” Apollo said, “although after this final hurdle, I imagine that you’ll have plenty without intervention.”

“What do you mean?” Hera asked.

“There’s a number of…” Apollo swallowed. “Suitors… in his palace, believing him to be dead and seeking his wife’s hand against her will.”

Ares’ eyes glowed red. “Oh, he’s getting home.” With that, he was gone in a flurry of feathers, flying off as a vulture.

If he didn’t, she would have. How dare they? How dare they attempt to create such a counterfeit marriage, with Penelope so clearly unwilling? How dare they seek to defile a union between two who have been so faithful to each other despite the twenty years since their parting?

“I know it’s likely a coincidence that Poseidon is involved, but I’m still reminded of Alcippe,” Hera murmured. Looking back, she could not believe Zeus had not punished Ares more severely. 

“I hope that they will not get that far,” Apollo replied.

“Did we interrupt something?” Hera asked.

“Nothing particularly urgent. At the moment, I was re-organizing some of the supplies. You won’t be able to help much, but I wouldn’t mind the company.”

Hera would take that as a success, both because company provided some small amount of comfort and because it meant that Apollo trusted her enough to let her stay.

“Lovely,” Hera said.

Apollo led her into the healing ward, where she sat on a plain stool next to Apollo as he busied himself sorting jars and other various items she didn’t know much about.

After allowing a few minutes to pass in silence – where was Ares? Poseidon was a dangerous opponent, even for a war god – Hera said, “Apollo?”

“If you’d like to leave, I can show you to the door,” Apollo replied, without turning around.

“No, I’m just fine here. I’m sorry.”

Apollo placed the jars down on the counter and turned to face her. “What for? You’re better than you used to be.” 

“Thank you, but I’m afraid that doesn’t say much. I’m sorry for the cruelty I showed to your mother, when I misdirected rage onto her. And I’m sorry for the disdain with which I treated you and Artemis when you were younger.”

Just like Ares earlier, Apollo seemed shocked. They all deserved better, so she would have to be better.

“I’d prefer to focus on the future,” he said at length. “Although, truth be told, I thought we had already talked this over following the incident with that beast.”

Hera nodded. “We did. Even since then, though, I have not been the best at caring for you and Artemis.” Or many of the others, but they weren’t there at the moment. And given last night…

“You’re here now. Even after what I did last-” his voice broke and he cut himself off. “I want to believe you. I want everyone to heal; I can’t stand all this division. I can’t speak for Artemis, but I believe in second chances. ”

“I’ll prove that I am worthy of your trust, then,” Hera replied, “you may not be my child, but we are still family.”

How much of this forgiveness came from contrasting her with Zeus? At the same time, Apollo had told her the same things years ago. It didn’t truly matter, she supposed, as long as she made things right for him.

“You already somewhat have proven yourself. I didn’t trust you at first, not really. You were friendly after that, and then I slowly began to trust you. I know we’ve never been particularly close, but you were rarely hostile. Also, thank you for apologizing. Apologies are rare here, rarer than they should be. And you’re right. We are family. So why can’t-” Apollo’s voice dropped to a whisper so low Hera had to strain to hear him, “Why can’t he act like it?”

“I don’t know,” Hera replied, just as soft, “If I knew, I would have been able to stop him.”

Apollo turned back to the counter, resting his forearms on it and dropping his head with a sigh. His breaths shook. Cautiously, Hera placed an arm over his shoulders. 

He leaned slightly towards her, relaxing slightly. “I want to hope for the future, but I don’t see how this gets fixed.” A tear fell onto the counter.

He wasn’t just talking about Athena, she knew. Zeus had set a new precedent of cruelty yesterday. Tears pricked at her eyes. She wanted to scream and shout and rip Zeus’ crown in half, but she could only do two of those things, and both of them would make the situation infinitely worse.

Chapter Text

Athena did not feel much better when she woke up next. Her body had stiffened in her current position. Attempting to move her legs felt like tearing open skin. Although…movement at all was an improvement. Her limbs obeyed now, at least more than they had before collapsing against the door. Something wet trickled down her leg. Although she didn’t want to, and the band of pain wrapped around her head told her to keep her eyes closed, she forced herself to look. A thin scab covering a small, thread-size wound had apparently broken open, leaving her knee leaking ichor. Her eyes tugged shut, a wave of exhaustion seizing her despite having just awoken.

She fought it and leaned closer to see the rest of her legs in a similar state - either covered by a scab of yellow crystals so thin ichor still surfaced between the cracks or still actively bleeding. When she took a proper look around her, she saw ichor smeared across the door and pooled on the floor around her. The thought of cleaning it made her want to sleep for a century. 

Drowning in self-pity rendered her no more useful than a grain of sand. She had always asked Odysseus “Well, what can you do to make the situation better?” when anger or guilt distracted him during training. When he didn’t have an answer, she would ask “What can you do to avoid making the situation worse?”

Wounds required medical attention. She knew that well enough from how Apollo always insisted on following her after she’d been injured in a battle. No matter how scarce she tried to make herself - could she not handle the shame of failure without judgemental eyes? - he always found her and didn’t even say anything, except for a few awkward attempts at small talk. Despite that, she always tensed when he came to help. 

“Be mindful of Apollo,” Zeus had hissed in her ear after she met her half-brother for the first time, “he claims to want to help, but he’s just looking for weakness. I trust that you will not disappoint me by showing it.”

She hadn’t fully believed her father, but she kept Apollo at arm’s length regardless. Everyone on Olympus only acted in their own self-interest, so she did the same. She refused to accept any aid, hoping that an image of invincibility would protect her.

Wounds required medical attention. Yes, that was what she had been thinking before getting distracted. Hopefully, some sort of bandaging would help them heal faster, and at the same time, prevent blood from spilling out onto her surroundings. A few doors down, she had a storage room filled with medical supplies. Always trying to prepare for the worst scenario, she had dedicated a room near the entry on the bottom floor for bandages, cloths, and various medicines. She had never expected to need it, and she had always told Ares as much when he asked. But, she figured, if for some reason she became grievously injured, she would like to have the supplies available and as close to the entryway as possible, and it wasn’t like she had any spatial limitations when designing this palace. 

She likely couldn’t properly use everything in there in this state, but she could do at least a little and would do more when she had recovered more after resting again. 

Only two doors down, on the right. She had traveled much further just leaving the arena. She could make it two doors down.

Athena placed her left hand on the floor, deliberately outside the puddle of blood, and flipped herself over onto her knees. Her knees protested at the sudden impact. She cautiously tried to push herself to her feet, but the world seemed to tilt away from her until she fell against the wall to her right, knocking her head and right arm against it in the process. 

She really needed to stop hitting her head. Her headache already worsened from that impact alone. Between the lightning strikes and the various hits from falling, she probably had a concussion already. The thought made her stomach turn. Even when her physical body alone could not prevail in a fight, her mind always led her to victory. Every time Zeus’ shouting had brought her to the brink of tears, she would retreat to Quick Thought for as long as it took for her to steady herself. 

Who was she without her mind? 

Worthless. Utterly worthless. As if she hadn’t given everyone enough reasons to hate her already. Now she wouldn’t even have the one thing that made her worth keeping around. Would they toss her off Olympus, banish her to Tartarus, or inflict some other punishment for losing the one thing about her that mattered? Most likely. Without her mind, she would have lost everything that distinguished her from Ares, and there was no point in having two war gods around. Without her mind, Ares would undoubtedly triumph over her in a contest of brute strength.

Clearly standing and walking down the hall was out of the question, but she had to make her way to the medical room. Had she really been reduced to crawling? Apparently. Her face burned with shame. In some form of mercy, nobody could see her that she knew of. She wouldn’t put it past her father to want to watch her struggle to confirm that his punishment had the desired effect. 

No. She would stand, even if she had to lean against the wall to walk. Once again, she pulled her right leg forward and placed her foot solidly on the ground. Using the wall for support, she managed to force herself to her feet. Her legs trembled. She really shouldn’t be standing, but what other choice did she have? Leaning more on the wall than on her feet, she slowly made her way down the hall, each step more unsteady than the last. When she reached the first doorway, she clung to the edge of the wall, desperate for a slight break. Her lungs felt empty, even though she had barely moved. Almost without realizing, she slowly slid down the door until she sat on her side, hoping to avoid a total collapse.

She reached up the wall again, trying to push herself to her knees, but her thighs threatened to give out and, in combination with the pounding in her skull, sent her falling forward. She landed on her forearms, a cry of pain twisting from her mouth. The next door lay only a few feet away. Consciously blocking any memory of the moment from forming, she dragged herself across the floor until she reached the medical room, shame burning as bright as pain in her chest.

She had designed the room well, at least. The cabinets were all close to the ground, easily within reach, and a small basin filled with clean water sat directly on her left. Each cabinet had the same amount and arrangement of cloths and bandages, with the ones higher up containing medicine. She had figured that if she couldn’t stand, she didn’t want to give herself the option of administering medicine. At the moment, she probably shouldn’t. 

She leaned back onto her knees, finding even the relatively neutral position extremely uncomfortable, and pried open the nearest cabinet, pulling out several cloths and a large roll of bandages. They fell into a heap on the floor, some of them already covered in specks of gold. It would make the most sense to start at the top of her body and then work down. With shaking hands, she dipped a cloth into the water and raised it to her face. She clenched her jaw as the cloth dragged over her face. These cloths were the smoothest anyone could make, but she still felt slight aberrations as it dragged over her hyper-sensitive skin. It came away covered in gold after only wiping her forehead. The cool water eased her headache slightly, a small part of her noticed, but it returned quickly. 

Athena dipped the cloth back into the water basin and attempted to wring it out. She utterly failed. Another prick of shame traveled through her body and she decided to just let the cloth fall to the bottom. Next time, she wouldn’t bother trying to wring them out. She dipped a fresh cloth into the water and managed to wipe her face and her neck.

The droplets of water on her skin led to her feeling slightly cooler and more comfortable, so she decided against drying her face at that moment. She dropped the now-dirty cloth on the floor and picked up a third one. 

Just after pulling it out of the water, a voice echoed through her head. Athena, if Penelope's right, I'd really appreciate the confirmation. If not for my sake, then for Telemachus'.

It sounded- Well, it sounded like Odysseus. And who else would be with Penelope and Telemachus? What did he want confirmation of? What had Penelope said? Had she somehow already guessed Zeus’ punishment? Was their death inevitable? A chill raced through her. Odysseus would gladly die for his family. Had she, in attempting to help, failed him again? Of course she had. That seemed to be all she could do now. She had consistently failed Odysseus since they had met, and in doing so, had failed his entire crew. She failed Telemachus when fighting Antinous. She had failed Apollo yesterday, and probably Ares earlier that morning. Now, she had failed at making things right, because if Penelope knew, Odysseus and his family would only be reunited in death.

Unless Penelope had guessed at something entirely different? She could only hope. She needed to do something. If she traveled to Ithaca in her owl form - surely it wouldn’t be as injured as her human one - and told them she wanted nothing to do with them, they would hate her. Odysseus would be proven right again and Telemachus would realize what a fraud she was. Then they wouldn’t care a smidge about the games because she wouldn’t matter to them. If they learned of her injuries, they would rejoice. And she could handle it. She had to. 

She could picture both of them already. Odysseus would look completely unsurprised at first. “For all you claim to be the goddess of wisdom, I was right ten years ago, and you keep proving me right,” he would drawl.

Telemachus would stare at her for a moment, hurt and confused, and ask what he had done. She wouldn’t be able to tell them the truth, instead only reiterating the lie that they had failed her test. At this, Odysseus’ face would harden, and he would say, “Get the hell out of my house. Was ruining my life not enough for you? Or did I anger you so much trying to do the right thing that you wanted to destroy my son to prove a point? If I could, I would have killed you instead of that ridiculous boar of yours.”

She would fly off after that and return here. Alone, just as Odysseus told her a decade ago. If she hadn’t abandoned him so easily after one incident, he could have made it home safe. She would have been able to keep them safe, rather than sitting alone and hunched over, trying to clean wounds that never seemed to run out of blood to spill, utterly unable to help herself, let alone anyone else. 

Would Zeus come to gloat if he killed Odysseus? Or would he rather leave her in uncertainty? She had no clue how to tell, and she didn’t even know which would be worse. 

If she saw them all herself, and then angered them enough that they refused to let her steal any more of their time, then Zeus would have no reason to kill them. 

A simple plan, really. Except while Athena had clearly made a habit of self-delusion, she did not intend to consciously continue: she had no chance of reaching Ithaca in this state, let alone returning. She dragged the cloth over her right arm, disrupting some of the crystalline scabs, which led to more blood replacing what she had just wiped away. With a sigh, she dropped the cloth and instead held a towel over the wound in hopes of drying it. She had to get these wounds bandaged - just looking around the room, she saw far too many surfaces splattered gold. One more mess for her to clean…

After a few seconds, she dropped the towel and awkwardly grabbed the linen bandages. She pinned one end under her arm for the first loop, but found that she lacked the dexterity to quickly wrap it. She settled for pushing the material around her arm rather than attempting to hold it. Each time the fabric brushed over the edge of a wound, a shock jolted her, forcing her to pause and take several shuddering breaths before continuing. By the time she finished wrapping her right arm - she decided to wrap the entire limb because most wounds traced down its entirety - some hints of gold already stained the bandages near the top. 

Athena slumped back against the cabinets. She had barely succeeded in wrapping one arm and already felt like sleeping again. She still had three other limbs, plus her torso. Not to mention that she should definitely change her clothes. Remaining in charred, blood-soaked clothes would only increase the chance of infection, which she most definitely wanted to avoid.

She fumbled for the cloth again, forcibly reminded how much weaker her right arm was. It took all her focus to place it against her left shoulder and drag it down her arm, and then repeat the process on the inside. Her hand trembled as though from exertion, even though she had barely moved it. How had she become so weak so quickly? She still had to wrap her left arm, too.

Each movement made her right arm feel like it had been struck again. It had to be in her head, but shocks traveled down her arm as she feebly tried to wrap the linen around her left arm. When she finished, black spots swam before her eyes and she sagged against the cabinet again. Objectively, the wrappings on her her left arm were far worse than those on her right, and Apollo - please let him recover from the strike quickly, let him feel better than her in that moment - would definitely declare both completely unsatisfactory and insist on redoing them if he had been there. But he wasn’t, and she felt that if she tried to redo them, they would become worse, not better.

She abandoned the idea of changing clothes for now. Bandages, however sloppy, were far more important, and she doubted she would have the energy for anything other than rest after she finished.

She shifted so that she sat with her legs in front of her. When she reached for them, though, she realized she still had her greaves on. Where had the rest of her armor gone? She didn’t remember removing it, and if she had done it subconsciously, the greaves would be gone too. The metal warped and twisted, the images once plainly visible deformed beyond recognition. 

Had the lightning melted the rest of her armor away?

It must have. The thought made her tense, but she really didn’t have time or energy to spare to evaluate that question or the resulting emotion right then. She willed the greaves away, but they didn’t even move. Right. Right. She was broken. Nothing worked properly anymore. 

Her left hand shook as she manually removed them. At least the skin underneath didn’t seem as damaged as the skin elsewhere. 

She pulled her left leg up so that she could reach under it and wipe them down. Watching the cloth dislodge more yellow crystals made her stomach turn, especially as the crystals twisted and pulled away from her skin. She looked away. Cleaning them, at least as much as she could in the moment, felt less draining than her arms. Now, she just had to wrap the wounds. This time, thankfully, she could use both hands, although her right arm did little more than move the roll a few inches upwards so her left hand could grab it, however clumsily, and maneuver it around her leg again. The process felt significantly easier than her arms, and the slight lean forward even pushed back a slight amount of the dizziness. 

The amount of bandages trailed out near the bottom of her calves, mostly because despite the number of cabinets, she still had a limited amount of bandages.

Would asking Apollo for more count as help? She didn’t know and couldn’t take that risk. She’d have to manage these resources carefully. 

Well, she had at least accomplished one thing. 

The entryway on the other side of the hallway was large, at least. It took up the length of this room and the previous one, so she only had to cross the hallway. Couches dotted the room, and she could even see the back of one directly from her vantage point. 

She felt better, she realized with a start. Maybe she could walk the distance? Maybe she could even change. Tentatively, she placed her left arm on the floor. It shook after barely a few pounds of pressure. Apparently ‘feeling better’ came from feeling cleaner after having wiped away some of the blood, which she supposed made sense. For all the bandaging she had done, the benefits wouldn’t be immediate, so the only immediate outcome was exhaustion.

Her shoulders slumped. No new clothes, and definitely no walking. She really didn’t want to have to crawl again, but what other choice did she have? The bloodied cloths lay in a heap on the floor, and they would stay there. Another mess for her to clean up later. 

She slowly made her way into the entry room. She had to turn slightly to the left to align herself with the couch. Now she just had to lie down on it. She grabbed onto one of the couch’s cushions, despite the burning in her left arm, and tried to straight herself. Suddenly, it felt like her skull had shrunk. An overwhelming pressure gripped her head from all sides. 

Stop. 

Stop. 

Stop.

Please, someone just stop it. 

Please.

After some time – a few seconds? Minutes? More? Less? – the pressure receded. Her breaths shook, and perhaps resembled gasps of pain more than breaths. Tears traced down her face. At least nobody could see her looking so pathetic. She was leaning over her knees, her arms wrapped around herself. She didn’t remember getting in this position. She didn’t know how long it had been, or even what day it was. For all she knew, she could have sat in the doorway, or in the medical room, or on this floor for days. On instinct, she reached back into time, trying to witness what had happened. That mistake released a shock of pain down her right side. If she hadn’t already been kneeling, she would have toppled. 

How could she have fallen so far as to accept that? Yesterday she had gotten to her feet, and this morning as well. If anything, she had had more time to heal since then, too. Not standing now showed enough acquired weakness to make her stomach turn. How had she not broken sooner? Surely she couldn’t have always been this pathetic, right?

She just wanted to rest her head. Even glancing at the small amount of late-afternoon light trickling in through the windows forced her to flinch away. If she thought she stood any chance of drawing the shades without passing out on the way over, she would have. At present, she didn’t even feel confident that she could get onto the couch before losing consciousness again.

She dragged a bandaged hand roughly across her face, trying to wipe away her tears. The action caused her left forearm and the wounds on her face that she had apparently forgotten to scream. She took deep, shuddering breaths. From what she could see of the bandages, gold traced the outline of her wounds, but at least they hadn’t started to leak. She didn’t know when she would have the energy to try and change them again.

Now to properly lie down. Technically speaking, she didn’t have to be on the couch to rest her head, she only needed a pillow. Grabbing one pillow would be far easier than lifting herself onto the couch, and it reduced the risk of her accidentally rolling off it if she woke up and forgot where she was.

Just turning her head to look directly at the couch sent the world swimming. 

She hated this: the exhaustion clinging to her like stubborn burrs, the world twisting more rapidly than a river, the perpetual need to mind every single movement lest she disturb a wound, the seeming impossibility of a comfortable position, the constant dread for her friends and brothers-

A small pillow lay almost directly to her left on the couch. She reached for it and grimaced at the jagged outlines of pain in her shoulder. Her fingers grasped uselessly at the edges of the pillow. It sat right there! So close, and yet it took thirty seconds for her to finally find grip on one of the corners. 

She tugged at it until it finally cleared the ledge of the couch, falling down right in front of her knees. A small hint of satisfaction rose at finally being able to lie down, followed by a larger wave of disgust. Yanking a pillow down to the ground because she couldn’t straighten on her knees enough to flop onto a couch shouldn’t cause any sense of satisfaction, only loathing.

Both feelings faded quickly, her mind seemingly lacking the energy to concern itself with anything other than shutting down. At least she found a slight reprieve from the pain, enough to slowly push the pillow a little further in front of her and lower herself down. She turned slightly to the left at the same time, hoping that it would cause the least damage to her wounds. 

As soon as her head neared the pillow, her muscles gave out and she fell the remaining few inches. The world danced before her eyes. The walls twisted and the floor thrashed like the ocean. Pain flew from her head down to every nerve ending in her body. Her vision blurred, making the already-unstable landscape an indecipherable mess of color. Despite her immortality, this should have killed her hours ago. Right now, she almost wished it had.

Chapter Text

Apollo had sorted this particular herb at least five times by now. Realistically, he finished reorganizing them hours ago. Still, the repetition provided a mild form of comfort, and he desperately needed it at the moment.

Hera sat quietly on the stool next to him. She hadn’t moved, even though it had been almost thirty minutes since Ares had left. Was she just sitting there out of pity? While they had been friendly for a while now - except for during the Trojan War - their interactions mostly amounted to pleasantries and perhaps idle chatter that rarely progressed past the current day’s happenings. She had apologized for that, though. Only the future knew if she meant it, but she seemed to be good at following through on her apologies.

The door slammed open and Apollo whipped around. Only Zeus had ever barged in like that-

Ares entered, shaking water droplets from his hair with a vicious grin on his face. “Now that’s proper revenge!”

“I take it Poseidon is no longer an issue?” Apollo asked.

“Ha! I’d reckon after that, he’s even a little scared of Odysseus, or at least he should be. Wasn’t just me helping, either. Don’t know what the hell it was, truth be told, but it was very enjoyable to watch. Right as I get there, he comes flying out of the ocean using some sort of bag to keep him in the air. Can’t wait for Athena to hear about that. And just a few minutes later, Poseidon is completely unarmed. Problem is, that bag had a storm inside, and now, there’s no way for Odysseus to get back to Ithaca, or so Poseidon claims. Then - and this is the best part - he just picks up Poseidon’s trident and stabs him until he relents.”

Sometimes, by which he meant most of the time, Ares’ bloodlust unnerved him. Still. “That sounds…remarkably fast,” Apollo said.

Ares shrugged. “Yeah. Sometimes battles are like that, though, and it’s not like he could really afford an endurance battle. Poseidon’s better long-range and that bag allowed him to get in close. Besides, like I said, there was something else involved.”

“Like what? Some sort of curse?”

“Who knows. Not any sort of force I can recall encountering, at least not anything particularly prominent.” Ares grabbed another stool and dragged it over so that the three of them formed a triangle.

“Poseidon is certainly a skilled warrior,” Hera interjected, “but like Ares said, he’s a distance fighter. He doesn’t have an exceptionally high pain tolerance for a god, and he’s a pragmatist. He figured that the fastest way out of the situation was to just give Odysseus what he wanted, so that’s exactly what he did.”

“Oh,” Ares said, his eyes lighting up, “Mother, this is the part you’d enjoy.”

Hera raised an eyebrow. “Is it now?”

He nodded. “The entire time, Poseidon’s been whining that Odysseus is a monster, which is rich coming from him. At the end, Poseidon asks him how he’s going to sleep at night, to which he just says ‘next to my wife’.”

“As he should,” Hera replied with a slight smile.

Time slowed.

“You know,” Ares commented, “Father really didn’t think through the games. I had no real reason to actually help Odysseus. He sacked Troy. Except Father let Athena argue on his behalf.”

“Yeah, and look how that ended for her,” Apollo muttered. “Yes, I know she’s immortal, but permanent damage can still occur, or at least damage that takes an exceptionally long time to heal. Wounds from weapons as powerful as Father’s lightning take a lot of care, which I doubt she’s capable of providing to herself.”

“I know she’s got some sort of medical room near the entrance,” Ares said, “never actually seen it, but she said she wanted it there in case of ‘exceptional circumstances or emergencies’.”

“I doubt she even intended to be the one to make use of it,” Hera said, “or at most, she expected to use it to help someone else.”

“Whatever’s in there is still probably not enough to properly care for that type of injury. When I went to her last night, there was already so much damage.” Apollo tried to force the image of Zeus looming over him after tossing him across the arena from his mind. 

For a moment, he was dangling from his arm again, hoisted into the air by his father. He could feel the shock run through him again. The sky was fully dark, and-

“He can’t do anything to you here,” Ares said.

What had happened? Apollo closed his eyes and took a deep breath, trying to steady himself.

“You’re safe,” Hera added.

“Sorry,” Apollo said, “I don’t know what came over me. It felt like I was back there,” he trailed off. He didn’t know how to finish that sentence.

“It’s not your fault,” Ares said immediately.

“He barely did anything to me, though,” Apollo said.

“I’m upset, and he did absolutely nothing to me,” Ares replied. He kept his voice low, but it carried a surprising amount of conviction.

“Agreed. He threw you halfway across the arena. There’s no excuse for that. Neither of you deserved what he did,” Hera added. 

His shoulders slumped. He didn’t like to focus on the past, especially when it held nothing but pain, and right now, his brain wasn’t giving him a choice. 

Ares placed a hand on his shoulder. “If there’s anything at all that I can do to help, I’d be happy to.”

“You can’t change Zeus’ mind,” Apollo replied, “Which is the only thing that would fix this mess.”

“Athena is strong. I can’t guarantee rapidity, but she will heal, even if she’s not doing well at the moment,” Hera said.

“Apollo, did I tell you that I saw her leaving the arena?” Ares asked.

“No,” Apollo replied. “How poorly was she doing? And when?”

Ares crossed his arms. “Barely able to stand. Right before I went to see Hera, which was right before we came to find you. Oh. She also told me to pass on that Zeus could possibly construe any interaction as a violation of his stupid rule.”

Apollo sighed. Not much better than he was expecting. Honestly, he was surprised she could stand at all, but knowing Athena, she had probably disregarded all of her physical limitations to do so. And of course Zeus hadn’t bothered to explain what his rule entailed. “What, exactly, does he even hope to accomplish?”

“Absolute loyalty,” Ares replied.

“Obedience. He can’t stand anything that would challenge his ego,” Hera all but spat. 

“I wish there was anything I could do,” Apollo whispered. “I know what I’d do, and I know I could help, but if I tried, Father would only retaliate. I know she won’t die, but without any proper attention, nothing will heal properly.” For a war god, that would go over especially poorly. Especially given the strikes directly to her head. For the goddess of wisdom, that would surely be one of the worst outcomes.

“At the very least, we can avoid asking her to do anything,” Ares said.

“We could even justify it as not wanting to accidentally help her in some way,” Hera added.

“That feels like so little,” Apollo replied. Just talking about last night - despite his episode earlier - helped him feel more in his own body than he had all morning. Athena had none of that. She always preferred to recover alone, but this was different. She would have seen that if they’d had the chance to show her. Now, with the stakes of accepting help so needlessly high, she would only isolate herself further. “Is there a chance that if I explain just how bad the injuries are that he’ll relent?”

“It’s possible, I suppose,” Hera replied, “but I wouldn’t place any bets on it.”

“Ugh. Maybe there’s some sort of loophole?” Ares asked. “Except there aren’t many loopholes in the word help. It covers a lot of ground.” 

“The other problem with exploiting loopholes is that he won’t care,” Hera said. “Realistically, Athena’s the only one of us who would even consider permitting a loophole.”

“Well, that just brings us back to convincing Zeus to back off, which isn’t going to happen,” Apollo said. This was pointless. They were going in endless circles, hunting for a treasure that didn’t seem to exist. Except, just like sorting the herbs earlier, he couldn’t bring himself to stop. Perhaps if he turned the problem over in his mind one more time, a solution would present itself. He could not let that question go unanswered. Healers healed. Outside of necessary conflict, letting anyone suffer when he knew he could prevent it ran antithetical to his entire existence, especially when it was someone he cared for. 

Nobody replied. The world seemed to detach from him again. He stared at the ground like he was trying to memorize every wind current of red dust, but he scarcely saw it. 

It took lightning crackling across the red sky as it circled around them to pull him back. Divine summons. Zeus hadn’t even bothered to send Hermes. He didn’t know how long it had been.

Ares crossed his arms with a huff, but his eyes darted around. “Well, that’s probably about Poseidon.”

“Please be careful,” Apollo said. He couldn’t stand to see another strike. Not against another relative. Not if he couldn’t fix it. If it never stormed for the rest of time, he would not complain. 

“Don’t anger him any more,” Hera added, “he won’t have calmed down from last night.”

“He rages at the way I breathe. Not my fault. But I’ll try. At least I’m not asking for anything. And does anyone want to bet on how long he’ll yell for?” Ares added a forced laugh to the end.

Apollo glanced sideways at Hera, who looked unimpressed. Nobody knew what Zeus would do next; nobody knew if Ares would walk away or be struck down.

“Just trying to lighten the mood,” Ares said, likely more for himself than anyone else.

Apollo took a steadying breath. “It’s not working.” His fingers fiddled with the fabric of his chiton. He had to calm down. Zeus wanted respect and obedience, maybe even fear, but not panic. Not the ice that gripped his arm like the memory of his father’s hand or thoughts racing faster than his father’s lightning branched when striking down another family member. How little would set him off today? How long before another bolt descended? Who would it hit this time? Did Zeus plan to make an example of Ares, as well?

“Apollo, if you need a second, we can wait,” Ares said.

“Agreed. Time hardly passes here - it’s not like he’s counting the milliseconds,” Hera added.

“No, it’s best not to delay. The worst thing to do right now is make him even angrier. I’d rather get this meeting over with than prolong it.”

“Are you sure?” Hera asked.

He closed his eyes and nodded. He shouldn’t have any role. He could stand there, quietly, and nothing would happen to him. What other choice did he have? None.

Quick Thought faded, and they reached the arena a few minutes later. Apollo trained his eyes on the ground. Dried blood splattered the ground, following a set of weaving, uneven footprints. Apollo felt sick. This had happened because he had failed in his duties. He couldn’t look at this any longer.

Zeus lounged in his throne at the top of a staircase at the far end, the throne itself a heaping monstrosity of jagged metal resembling lightning and intricate carvings of attacking eagles. His eyes surveyed the arena. For anyone else, the distance would have muffled their voice. He seemed only mildly irked at first, which certainly didn’t fit him, especially if he had summoned them directly rather than sending Hermes. Then Apollo realized he was attempting to project confidence and to make himself appear more reasonable. That gave him a hint of hope – if Zeus realized how unreasonable he had been, he might lift Athena’s punishment. But realistically, if he wanted to do that, he would have already.

He, Hera, and Ares took their places in the front row of the arena’s stands. Almost everyone else had taken their seats, but Artemis had yet to arrive. It made sense, though, given how far she liked to wander with her nymphs. Sometimes, he thought she delayed on purpose, arriving at the meetings at least halfway through and hurrying through the door with claims of distant travels or mid-hunt summons. Whenever she arrived late, Zeus would demand that Athena check the past to see the truth. She always said Artemis told the truth, but Artemis always seemed vaguely amused.

He did not know every detail about his twin - they communicated through subtle movements and facial expressions, or long stretches of silence at dawn and dusk. They bantered by splitting each others’ arrows down the shaft and through increasingly ridiculous trick shots. He knew her closest friends, the nymphs and hunters that had stuck by her side the longest, and she in turn learned of his medicinal endeavors, both his own discoveries and his most exceptional students. There would be stretches where they wouldn’t see each other for several years – after living for several millennia, a peaceful year or two could pass without much notice – but the second they reunited, he knew exactly how she had and hadn’t changed, just as she did for him. Right now, he could not imagine her demanding a justification for last night; he just missed her.

He didn’t mean to devalue Hera or Ares, but he didn’t know them nearly as well as he knew Artemis.

Just then, a peacock flew in, its green-blue feathers sparkling in the sun. It landed about ten feet in front of where they all stood and sat down, tilting its head to the side.

“Hera, remove that,” Zeus demanded, glaring at the animal.

“I did not command it here; I rarely bother to control them directly. This one seems quite intent on staying put.” Hera asked. She approached the bird, beckoning to it from a few feet away. It didn’t move from its spot on the ground. 

“Did I offer you the option to refuse?” The sun vanished behind darkening clouds.

It was just a threat, Apollo knew. Surely Zeus wouldn’t. Everyone knew Hera’s peacocks took after her: stubborn - that seemed to be a common trait among all the gods - and only caring for the thoughts of a select few. They might listen to her on occasion, but if they felt strongly enough, her words would not move them. Surely he wouldn’t take offense. They weren’t extensions of her; they didn’t mirror her thoughts. Apollo had noticed as much quickly. After Hera’s initial apology to him, several centuries ago at this point, some of her peacocks had come over to greet him, some tilting their heads curiously and some happily circling around him. Others kept their distance; they didn’t know him then. Zeus had known Hera far longer than he had. Surely he’s long known how individual they are.

Hera murmured something softly to the peacock, and after several seconds, the peacock slowly stood up and shook the sand out of its feathers. It walked slowly out of the arena.

“Now, with that taken care of, let me make it clear that there will be no further interruptions today. Apollo, where has your sister run off to now? Honestly, how is she so grievously irresponsible?”

His mouth went dry. If Zeus struck Artemis-

He didn’t know how he would react, whether he would scream or cry or fight, but however he responded, it would surely be enough of a show of defiance that Zeus would strike him, too.

That would make three in two days. He had never feared for his family like this before. Very few desired to harm them, and of those few, only a fraction of a fraction even stood a chance at landing a single hit. What he wouldn’t give to return to this time yesterday, before the games.

“I’m right here, God-King,” Artemis replied, “I arrived a few minutes ago.”

“You certainly took time enough returning,” Zeus said, “be grateful for my mercy.”

“I always am.”

Apollo glanced at her. Only a few years after their birth, Zeus had separated Apollo and Artemis at meetings. She looked over, as well, and when their eyes met, her face shifted to a mix of concern and fear, but in a manner subtle enough that nobody else would have noticed. He would have tried to assure her that he was alright, but she had never believed any of his lies. He settled for gratitude, followed by a telepathic If we act this scene well enough, nobody gets hurt. She seemed to accept it. 

Apollo’s eyes went to the sand again. He could see two overlapping charred areas, the edges sharp and spiked. Ichor stained both. His stomach turned. Ares said he saw her leaving that morning. Zeus had left her unconscious in a pool of her own blood. 

Zeus glanced down at the sand and scoffed. “Athena really did leave quite a mess, didn’t she?” He then trained his eyes on Ares, daring him to respond.

Please be smart.

For once, his brother was.

With a dramatic sigh, Zeus said, “Now, let us address the core issue of this convocation. Ares. You assisted a mortal in defeating Poseidon. Explain yourself. Surely you understand that as gods, our first priority is maintaining the stratification between us and humanity, correct?”

Ares stepped forward and gave the same excuse he’d given earlier: “I was promised bloodshed. I am not one who will accept an unfulfilled promise, as such things are dishonorable.”

Poseidon emerged from the shadows. Ichor slowly bled from stab wounds on his arms, but most had been bandaged already. Apollo felt nothing at the sight. “And would his not have been enough for you? A blasphemous man, who took a lesson in mercy away from a war? He is scarcely a man anymore; don’t lie to me and take full responsibility for what he did. That monster should be hunted, not helped.”

Ares seemed unaffected. “I was promised that he would spill blood aplenty. As of a little bit ago, he killed a hundred men. As far as I am concerned, I’ve received everything I was owed, and I don’t see the problem.”

“The problem,” Poseidon said, his voice low and furious like a riptide, “is that that mortal brat just diminished the status of everyone here.”

“Why would I diminish my own status? If anything has changed, I have elevated myself above you, something that means nothing for the rest of us.”

They continued back and forth. Apollo fought to keep his attention on the argument, in case something happened and he needed to respond, but he did not want to be here, not in front of Zeus. He wanted this horrible meeting to end.

Gods could argue for quite a long time, especially Ares. To be honest, seeing his brother continue to stand firm against an older, more powerful god gave him a frantic hope that perhaps he could convince Zeus to relent. 

Apollo didn’t know how long they argued for, and he knew they had likely argued about far more than the topic of the meeting. 

Eventually, the constant noise of voices cut when Zeus declared “Silence!”

Everyone looked up at him, awaiting his verdict.

“Ares, Poseidon is above you. You ought to respect him, not aid a mortal in bloodying him. Your foolish sister’s promise means nothing compared to the weight of divine duty. For this, you shall not leave Olympus unless given express permission from me for the purpose of overseeing a ritual. If you refuse to listen… Well, I think this sand has seen enough, don’t you? It would be irresponsible to put it through more.”

If Apollo didn’t know better, he would have thought he saw a smirk on his fathers face. But nobody could take pleasure in that sort of threat. Nobody could be that sadistic. Forcing Ares to stay on Olympus would be even worse than it would be for most, too. Apollo knew from experience how much Ares loathed inaction. Often, he would pick a random direction and fly off, hoping to find some interesting location to hone one of his many skills. Just like striking Athena in the head. Zeus seemed to know how to tailor his punishments.

“Apollo,” Zeus said, “clean up the mess Ares and that mortal made.”

“Ha! As though I’d ever trust the child who unleashed that monster upon me with such a delicate matter!” Poseidon laughed, ichor flying from his lips.

Apollo felt oddly relieved. He did not want to heal Poseidon. A wave of disgust followed that realization. Healing was part of his existence. Who was he to defy it?

“Very well, then. This meeting is now concluded. Return to your domains,” Zeus declared.

That could have gone so much worse. So much worse. 

Apollo stood and walked as quickly as possible towards the exit.

Artemis ran over to him. Let’s leave , her eyes said, I know you don’t want to be here . “Hello, brother. I hope you’re doing well.” The formal words fell stilted from her mouth. She never liked small talk.

He shook his head slightly. He needed to stay here, in case anything changed. In case anyone else got hurt. Olympus needed a healer, and with Asclepius understandably absent, that role fell to him. 

Artemis fell into step beside him, her intentions clear: then she would stay here with him, at least for the next few hours. She followed him back to his palace, and when they were finally inside, Artemis pulled him into her arms. She didn’t say a word, nor did she need to. Apollo couldn’t fully relax. He didn’t think he would for a long time. A tear slipped down his face, one that had likely been waiting since the previous night. Artemis responded with a hummed bird song, one of the ones he had first heard when she took him deep into the woods. He had been quite young then, barely a few weeks old, and had declared it his favorite. He didn’t know much about music at the time, only that he loved it, and even now, she remembered.

Eventually, after he stopped crying, Artemis spotted the open cabinets and piles of jars of herbs on the counter. With a gentle tug on his arm, she led him over to them. She picked up a stack. “Where do these go?”

Apollo took them from her and placed them down on the counter. “These go towards the front.”

Artemis smiled loosely. “You’ve explained how you sort them at least a hundred times by now, and I still don’t understand.”

“Well, you wouldn’t keep them in jars to begin with,” Apollo replied.

“I wouldn’t,” she agreed, “that’s no way to grow a plant. Yes, I know you’re not trying to grow them in those jars.”

After a few minutes of putting away herbs, a light knock came at the door.

“I’ll go see who it is,” Artemis said, slipping away.

Another knock came, louder and faster, followed by muffled voices.

“That’s probably Ares and Hera,” Apollo said, “you can let them in.”

Artemis tilted her head quizzically, but nodded.

They’ve been shockingly kind, Apollo told her telepathically.

Artemis smiled. Good , she replied, if they had been anything but, I’d chase them off the doorstep with my bow . She opened the door. Almost immediately after, Ares and Hera stepped over the threshold and the time slowed. 

“Yeah, I don’t think he’s backing down any time soon,” Ares said, fuming, “he seemed proud of himself.” The howling winds matched his rage.

“He’s proud when he feels like everyone accepts his authority. Also, Ares, I’m sorry about your punishment. I can bring you plants from outside and help you grow them,” Artemis said.

“Thanks. Thanks, but it’s not really the plants. They’re nice, but moss isn’t a hundred-foot-tall waterfall to climb,” Ares replied.

Artemis only nodded.

“Here’s what I don’t get,” Ares continued, his voice low and tense, “Athena asks that her friend not die imprisoned on a practically-deserted island and gets struck by lightning. I help said friend torture Poseidon, of all gods, into submission, and get yelled at.” His eyes narrowed in suspicion. “So what was so unique about yesterday?”

“Who said he has a logical motivation for anything?” Artemis asked quietly. “What if only stubbornness and ego keeps him clinging to this decision? Then there’s nothing we can do.”

“Well – and this isn’t to excuse his behavior – Odysseus was on Ogygia directly after Zeus went to confront him for something involving Helios’ cows, which perhaps heightened the amount of disrespect he felt,” Hera said, “but surely further aiding him would be similarly offensive, especially aiding him against Poseidon.” She stared off into the distance, likely half-lost in thought.

“His second-in-command killed the cow, actually,” Apollo added, “and Odysseus begged him not to. Helios told me. He also asked Zeus to specifically punish whoever supported the killing, which wouldn’t include Odysseus.” Trying to decipher his father’s motivations felt harder than reconstructing a play with only a few lines of dialogue clearly belonging to different genres.

Apollo couldn’t fix anything, and he couldn’t even keep them from getting worse.

Chapter Text

Athena awoke disoriented and in pain. Each question she asked herself - where she was, what day it was, why everything hurt so much - got only a wave of confusion in response. It left her floundering, wholly surrounded by a dull panic she didn’t have the energy to feel in its entirety. She tried to shut her eyes, only to find it didn’t make a difference. So, it was sometime at night. 

She did not want to be awake right now. She was far too aware of every scrap of clothing brushing against her skin, of every slight change in the air, because each time felt like a knife against her. Perhaps if she could reorient herself, she would find a more comfortable position. She tried to roll onto her side far faster than she should have, and the resulting blossoms of pain tore a sharp gasp from her. Her mouth felt strangely dry… She needed ambrosia. When had she last drunk it?

That question, at least, unlocked some memories, although only tangentially related: lightning, brilliant and undeniable. Punishment. Ares - he couldn’t be hurt, not because of her, but he might be. Making it home. Attempting - and failing, for the most part - to clean her wounds. Odysseus, asking her not to abandon his son the same way she had abandoned him, only for her to have no other choice. Despite her best efforts to right her wrongs, winning debate after fight after debate, it had all amounted to no change. Perhaps that was to be her lesson: she could not fix the future any more than she could fix the past. All her dreams of a greater tomorrow came out to little more than a fool’s delusions of grandeur. 

Zeus set out to remind her she was powerless against him - and oh, she was powerless now. A light breeze could bring her down and prove itself more deadly than a thousand soldiers had been to her this time a week ago. Still, he was her father, and she his favorite child. He could be callous at times. Careless, egotistical, rash. But on some level, he had to care for her, or if not, for the vast array of knowledge he had access to through her. He would not let her suffer endlessly for no purpose. If she could figure his endgame out, she could save herself.

She knew how to decipher his decrees. She knew he knew she knew. How many times had he soared off in eagle form into the dark clouds, leaving her to explain the intricacies of what he wanted and how to appease him? 

Her brain scrambled to supply a number, fragments of memories floating past. Each time, the drumbeat of her headache pushed them away before she could gather an accurate count.

At least once within the past year, she thought, except which incident it had been - the flooding of a river? improper sacrifices? a new blasphemous sect? - eluded her. They all tangled together.

She had known uncertainty before, during her first days on the battlefield, when implementing her early strategies as warfare developed, when trying to understand protocols on Olympus - which didn’t turn out to be as complicated as she had originally thought; as long as she nodded along and kept her emotions to herself, she would be just fine. She had known it later, too, when her boar had wandered the woods for at least a century and she began to wonder if anyone could ever kill it, when the war dragged on and nobody could rouse the spirits of the Greek army, when she had helped Telemachus and thought for a moment that she could have an existence outside of brute utility to those around her - although it proved to be nothing more than a fleeting consideration and a blatant falsehood. Her pain for Odysseus’ life, because she doubted he would have held out that much longer with Calypso, a trade that sealed the separation between them. She would not change her choice to petition her father, but she had reconfirmed that her life would never be more than a zero-sum game, with every bit of good she did someone unraveling down the line like a poorly-woven cloth.

But she had never known uncertainty like this before, uncertainty where she could not ascertain the past, where her mind, the core of her being, rebelled against her. How long would she last without it? How long would it take to return?

She had been thinking of something before. Something important. Why could she not remember? How could she not remember? She had never been physically capable of not remembering, for better or for worse, whether it enabled her to act as peacemaker by settling an argument or kept her awake at night, replaying her worst moments at a merciless speed. Everyone knew Zeus’ lightning held immense power. But to do this to her? To change something she thought unalterable? That kind of power lay far beyond her. Far beyond anyone. How could he think anyone would dare defy him? He had nothing to fear. With that level of power, he shouldn’t have even felt the need to demonstrate. 

Unless it was an act of mercy. A reminder of that power. Outside of wars, most gods avoided actual fighting, except for her and Ares. Most often, their powers turned against mortals, so fragile in comparison that it made little difference whether it was her spear or Zeus’ lightning. By using her as an example, the others would be reminded how powerful his lightning was, so that they would not try to rise against him and force him to strike them all down.

Yes. Yes. That had to be it. It wasn’t that he didn’t care for her, but rather that he trusted her enough to understand his reasoning. And for that very reason he had denied her Apollo’s aid, to more fully reveal his power. (She had met other kings before. They did not jail their advisors to remind their citizens of their power. They knew their rule would not warrant rebellion.) Those kings were not gods. 

She had forgotten something. Some observation, that should have led to a course of action but had instead led her dark spirals, things she should not dare to think if she wanted to avoid further punishment. She had forgotten something important, and did not want to think of it now. If she closed her eyes again, perhaps she would wake next time in less pain. Except each time, she woke weaker. In less than one day’s time, she had gone from walking to barely able to roll over. What would she be like tomorrow? The day after? Injuries tended to worsen after the initial shock wore off - please let this just be that. She could not die. Her body could heal and it had to be doing so now. Any increase in pain stemmed only from mental inadequacies. 

She had wanted to change her clothes earlier, before giving up and crawling, crawling , into this room and flopping helplessly on the floor. It had to be done eventually, so she may as well do it now. She forced her eyes open, shocked for a moment when she only saw shapes draped with shadows. Normally, her eyes adapted to the dark far faster, but it took her several seconds now. She placed both hands on the floor and pushed herself to a seated position.

A flash of pain tore through her in protest. She hunched over, trying to wrangle the pain into something more manageable. It didn’t want to listen. She fought to even her breaths, and at least managed to succeed in not giving some audible indication of pain.

She could only imagine what everyone else would think if they heard her. It was night; everyone was trying to sleep. Hadn’t she done enough to them in the past day and a bit?

She had endangered Apollo and Ares without even meaning to. She hadn’t asked for anything, or done anything other than be near them while injured. If she could avoid worrying anyone anymore, they would be at least a little safer. 

If she kept on spiraling down tangents like this, she’d never get anything done. She had paused long enough. Using the couch as support, she managed to wedge a foot under her and rise shakily. It took far more energy than it should have.

At least her body seemed to cooperate a little now. Even though she felt more drained, her muscles seemed to have recovered somewhat. Though, given the degree to which she leaned against the couch for support, she couldn’t say that she expected the strength to last any particular amount of time. She took one successful step by herself, but the second devolved into a stumble and she crashed against a wall, only half upright. She squeezed her eyes shut, which dulled the headache in return for sharpening every other pain.

She stumbled across the hallway in a similar manner, only half-remembering that she had extra clothes near the back. At this point, she relied more on instinct than she felt comfortable with, but it was better than not relying on anything. The instinct proved trustworthy, at least. She reached into the cabinet without looking down, hoping to avoid a spell of dizziness.

In retrospect, she hadn’t made the best choice making them all white, had she? The blood would show quite visibly. When she designed this room, she had hardly expected to use this room at all – and for thousands of years, she hadn’t even entered it except to make sure everything was in usable condition – and she certainly hadn’t expected to not have access to medical assistance. 

The new chiton lay on the counter. Now, to take the other one off.

She could cut it off… but she didn’t trust her hands to hold steady long enough, and she’d have to put the new clothes on either way. Not to mention, she didn’t have access to anything sharp. Summoning a weapon would likely go quite poorly for the foreseeable future. 

She settled for gripping the fabric, at least as much as she could, and felt something… sharp. Sharp? No, that couldn’t be right. Fabric was soft. Not sharp. She glanced down at it and sucked in a breath. How had she not noticed this earlier? Bits of metal clung to the fabric, twisted and warped, their color darkened beyond recognition. Her armor. Completely melted by the lightning, except for the greaves she had removed earlier.

How could he have done this to- She forced the thought from her mind before it could finish. She had learned her lesson about challenging him: don’t. 

She tightened her grip slightly, using the pain to jerk herself out of another mental tangent, and slowly pulled the garment off. She suddenly felt very grateful to her past self for at least attempting to bandage some of the wounds, because at least when the fabric brushed against bandages, it did not hurt as much as when it tugged at her face. It dropped to the floor and her fingers fumbled for the new chiton. It fell lightly around her, and with her task completed, she allowed herself a moment to breathe. The chiton felt fresh, although it would soon be bloodied like her bandages that she really should change the next time she woke.

The previous chiton lay discarded on the floor. She couldn’t tell what color it had originally been – all of the visible fabric was either stained gold, charred black, or both – nor could she remember. To anyone else, such a detail may have been inconsequential. But a few days ago, she could have easily recalled the color scheme of any outfit anyone she knew had worn since the day of her birth thanks to her abilities.

That brought back a memory she couldn’t place. She was younger, by several thousand years at least. That memory felt so disconnected from her that even in this weakened state, she felt that she hadn’t acted on this memory in millenia. Or perhaps it was only a dream, another effort of her exhausted mind to force her to rest when she had things she needed to do. Nobody else could help her now. 

It rose up around her. This- It felt almost like a time dive, but it was completely different. Unbidden, uncontrollable, unpredictable. Besides that, she was in her own body this time, rather than watching from the outside. Dimly, some part of her moved to sit down on the ground. The pain from lowering herself flashed through her in quick intervals, keeping the memory at bay long enough for her to fully sit. Normally, she didn’t need to sit down before accessing the past, but for one, if this was a time dive, it certainly wasn’t a normal one. More importantly, though, and to her shame, she couldn’t trust her body to not give out on her in the middle of it.

She didn’t know what it would be. Hopefully it was fast, because she wanted to make it back to the entry room to rest her head against a pillow again and she didn't know how much longer it would be before her body gave up on her again.

She sat sideways on a large rock in the midst of the woods. It sloped slightly upward, pointing away from the center of Olympus. The sun gazed gently through the branches, its light warm and relaxing. Various animals rustled through the bush, their sounds almost entirely masked by a symphony of songbirds. She was writing a treatise on the laws of logic in no particular rush, delighting in placing each word on the page in the perfect order for maximum effect. 

Aphrodite sauntered up the rock to her from behind. “Say, Athena,” she said, an amused lilt in her voice, “What’s your take on uniquely designed armor and weapons?”

Athena put down her stylus. “Well, I’d say they’re rather vital. Each person’s body and style is different, so for maximum efficacy, they should have theirs custom-made. Of course, standard armor and weaponry can work for less skilled fighters, provided that they’re all about the same size, but at higher levels, personalization is required.”

Aphrodite plopped down next to her on the rock, seemingly flippant but managing to not disturb any of the pages Athena had already written in a way that implied great care. “I was speaking more of the actual design. Engravings and such.”

“Well then, if you wanted my opinion on engravings, you could have said the word engravings,” Athena said with a slight laugh. “But if we’re talking purely about aesthetic additions, since they serve beauty over fact, I’d say you’re more qualified than me to answer that question.”

“Okay, see, I’m not really sure what to do with that.” Aphrodite pulled Athena’s hair out of its typical plait and began brushing it with her fingers, “because Ares is insisting that it’s not that important. Except it is, because emotions do impact your performance, so if your armor makes you feel stronger, or more connected to your family, you’ll fight better.”

“And so you came to me to settle this debate? If he won’t listen to you, I doubt he’ll listen to me. He rarely takes who’s saying something into account when making a choice. Personally, I agree with you, but it won’t matter much.” 

Aphrodite laughed. “Okay, that’s true. But see, it’s funnier now that I know we outnumber him. Also, this is extremely off-topic, but why do you always wear your hair the same?”

Athena hummed noncommittally. “I typically find it not worth the time. What I was wearing before you started changing it works perfectly fine to keep it out of my eyes when fighting, writing, or weaving. Besides, I’ll do something fancier when the occasion expects it.”

“Ugh, Athena, don’t make me go get Apollo to settle this debate!” Aphrodite said, her voice light-heartedly dramatic in a way Athena had only ever heard out of her. She had begun braiding it along the back of her head, starting just behind her left ear and continuing down. 

“You say that as if I’m any more likely to be convinced by a majority’s opinion than Ares,” Athena replied. 

“War gods, war gods,” Aphrodite sighed, “utterly incomprehensible.”

“I’d often describe you the same way.”

“Okay, but back on topic-”

“Which topic? You keep changing it.”

“Very funny. As I was saying, I feel like your outfits and hair don’t ever really match. The things you weave are always so intricate and beautiful.”

“Yes. That would be because weaving is one of my domains, and hairstyling is not.” A light breeze tumbled through the woods, brushing across the two of them and lifting the corners of the pages off the ground but not threatening to blow them away. Athena loved the wind on her face.

“You don’t say.”

“Weaving, to me, is more about artistic intent. Beauty is a secondary benefit.”

“Utterly incomprehensible,” Aphrodite reiterated. She had finished the left side of the braid, stopping halfway across her neck, and was now working on the right side.

Athena reached behind her and gave Aphrodite’s right arm a light, playful shove. “Rude. And to think, I was just about to tell you about all the outfits I don’t wear because they don’t match me.”

“Wait wait wait- You can’t just say that and not elaborate!”

“That’s not true. It’s clearly possible; I just did.”

“Athena!” Aphrodite exclaimed, her protest dissolving into a light giggle. 

After a moment, Athena joined her in laughter, not bothering to cover her mouth with her hand as she usually did.

When Athena finally managed to shove aside that memory – or a dream? She and Aphrodite would never have treated each other kindly and casually – her body trembled. The vague impression of levity, laughter, and casual companionship still remained in her mind, but as it faded, a deep, empty ache rushed to take its place. 

A fragmented voice, coming from wherever that dream-memory had, forced its way into her mind. What happened to your hair? … Aphrodite? Take it out; she’s trying to make you look absurd. … I said take it out, Athena, no daughter of mine will look like that! Don’t give me that look of rebellion.

Now that she could believe was real.

A tear wandered down her cheek. How long since she had last cried? Centuries at least, she suspected. That wasn’t to say she hadn’t been sad, overwhelmingly so at times. On those days, she would wait until the dead of night and fly to the peak of an uninhabited mountain to watch one of the ever-dwindling clear patches of the night sky until morning, when she would stand up, dust herself off, and go about her day as if nothing had happened. She couldn’t do any of that now. Transforming was another ability that was likely broken in some way that she didn’t care to know right now, and even if it worked, she couldn’t stay awake the whole night. She could barely stay awake for an hour. 

But crying? Over what? A dream where she talked with someone who hated her about matters as trivial as hair and armor decoration? And her hair was likely another mess to deal with. She reached her left arm up to her shoulder, going slow enough that the pain wouldn’t deter her. Some of her hair had fallen forward. Some parts had matted together, and dried blood clung to others. Even uninjured, she would hate dealing with it, and she didn’t have any idea how to start at the moment. She would just leave it be for now. Any attempt at detangling would pull at her skull and only make her headache worse. No, that could wait. 

It felt as if someone had attached weights to her eyelids. Each time she woke, she seemed to fatigue quicker. That frightened her more than she’d like to admit. She had to be healing, but she saw no evidence to prove she was. 

Perhaps it would be wiser to bring bandages back to the entry room with her.. That way, she wouldn’t need to spend energy coming here as often, and thus accomplish more.

One roll lay half-used on the floor, left there from the last time she had been here. She really had to find the energy to clean some of this up at some point, or this room would soon become unusable. She leaned forward to grab it, deliberately ignoring the strain on her core and left arm, as well as another out of an open cabinet. She also took two cloths, as though two would do much good.

From there, she forced herself to her feet using the cabinet doors as leverage, the details of the movement overshadowed by the pain they caused. Her legs shook, even as she held onto the counter for leverage. 

She took slow steps, putting as much weight on her arms as they could bear, and awkwardly pushing the bandages across the counter as she moved. Each step generated a thousand needles stabbing down the back of her legs.

When she reached the doorway, she all but pushed herself off with as much strength as she could manage, and stumbled across the hall, somehow missing the door but managing to reach the back of the couch.

Almost there. She only needed to take a few more steps, and she would be able to rest at last. The pillow was on the other side. Then, without warning, her vision blurred and her legs buckled. She barely managed to catch herself on the back of the couch. Something sparked into motion in the space where her heart supposedly lay and tore through her body with a vengeance. Against her will, her muscles tensed and she curled in on herself. She thought she heard the faintest echoes of thunder outside, but in this state, she did not trust any of her senses. She could only sit and wait for it to end.

After some time, it faded as quickly as it began, draining out of her and leaving her slumped against the back of the couch as her body finally found some form of peace, her breaths kept to shallow gasps to minimize motion. It seemed to take the last remnants of warmth with it.

What was that?

It felt like something else had seized control of her body. Could it happen again? Stronger? Longer? With greater control?

The uncertainty quickly reformed itself into fear. She prided herself on her precision and the control she had over her body in every moment. In battle, each strike was deliberate, exactly where it needed to be and exactly with the strength it needed to have. That quality carried over to everything else: a measured evenness to her steps, a rigid posture, and a face that showed either determination or nothing at all. Struggling to control her body chipped away at her ability to control her presentation enough. But for something else entirely to wrest control from her? Unthinkable. 

She fought back tears burning behind her eyes – for the second time today, how pathetic – with the knowledge that she had to make her way to the other side of the couch if she didn’t want to collapse here. This time, she didn’t bother trying to stand or collect the rolls of bandages and the cloths she had dropped. She made sure to keep her movements as steady as possible, but her limbs shook desperately when she asked them to support any amount of weight. 

More helpless than the newborn she had never been, she finally made it back to the other side of the couch and lay down on the ground.

Father, please. I cannot bear this anymore. I swear to never step out of line again. The words faded as soon as she thought them, rather than echoing between minds. Trying to catch and project them felt more impossible than pulling the fletching off an arrow mid-flight.

Why would anything work properly anymore? She was broken, after all. The confusion proved it. The constant pain proved it. The inability to walk, or clean her wounds, or even eat more than proved it. She didn’t know if her abilities stemmed from anything external to her – or if she had ever known it, she had forgotten somewhere between lightning strikes – but if they did, she couldn’t blame whatever source they had for abandoning her.

And if they came from her? Well, she had abandoned friends over less. She deserved nothing more.