olympiabrats // pt. 1
They were raised on divinity and ambrosia.
They were raised on divinity and ambrosia.
That’s what Zoe remembers. It’s freshly New Years when the streamers pop, and champagne tips out of flutes, and Jackson pulls someone else in for a kiss as the clock hits 0:00. Her heart aches - the great goddess of wisdom feels her ribs tug at the weight of her heart, sinking under the waves as she watches the God of the Seas take to someone else. She should have expected this. All she has to feel now is bitter at her own stupidity. And so she turns, unaware of the eyes burning into her back. She stumbles into the kitchen with half-a-mind to stumble home, half-a-mind to find a bathroom, half-a-mind to turn her hands into weapons of destruction and wring the necks of those - she finds Barry nursing a beer at the kitchen table. His eyes are glassy when he meets hers. She wonders if they’re both missing something.
Sanity. Dignity. Sense of self-worth.
It’s not a surprise that she takes a seat next to him at the table, dropping her arms on the table and her head to her arms. In this life, they are not brother and sister. He has too many siblings. She has none at all.
But she remembers him. She knows who they are, and now, as she nurses an oncoming hangover, her mind throbbing, her heart aching, she remembers the brother she once had. Because she was Athena once and he was Hermes. His smile is the same - that impish grin and the light in his eyes, the one that seems to never die.
“You’re older in this one,” she states. “It’s annoying, really.” Barry snorts. His beer clinks on the table, and she hears his chair creak as he tips it back.
“You’re the brat this time,” he replies. A ghost of a smile crosses her lips. Footsteps echo off the tile. Her head raises, neck craning, only to find Andre stagger in, looking as exhausted as the rest of them. He slides into a chair. Syd isn’t far behind, and she is just as eager to pull up a chair and collapse. Zoe doesn’t question it, not even as Syd shoots her a drunken glare, something just as wary and angry as Zoe feels.
Axel stumbles into the fray, and with him comes Henry, who limps after him into the dim lighting with the ghost of worry flickering across his face. They stop when they see the congregation. Axel opens his mouth, an angry sound coming out of it. But it’s slurred, his words tripping over themselves.
“Shuddup,” he says, his face heating up. “Just all of you. Shuddup.”
He plops onto the floor, back against the cabinets and Henry joins, not bothering to find another chair. No one says anything, not as their heads loll, as Axel snatches a stray beer and downs it. The party rages on outside. Someone shouts, and it sounds like Jackson’s cry for help as Julian gripes about him being stupid.
Paris stumbles in with a whoop and a champagne glass sloshing in one hand.
“Whoo - oh.”
He sobers. Six heads staring down, at his disheveled hair, the way his shirt seems to be hanging off him.
“Par-ty?” he slurs, before he’s stumbling towards Zoe, collapsing on the floor at her feet.
Siblings, Zoe thinks, as she adjusts her chin so it rests on her arms, watching as Axel locks Andre into a headlock.
“Why are you like this?”
“I’m a reincarnated god with anger issues, shuddup.”
“You’re an asshole,” Syd emphasizes, just as Andre flaps his palm against Axel’s forearm, trying to tap out, and someone laughs, and Henry chokes out a warning, and Paris falls against Zoe’s legs, laughing as he tilts his head back, meeting her eyes. There’s a spark in his eyes that’s just as devious as when she met him - the first time.
Not as Paris. No, she realizes, as she looks away, as she takes in each person crowded round the worn table. The first time she met her siblings.
______________________________________________________________
Athena couldn’t remember who was born first. Ares? Ares or herself? No, it was her, she was born first. She remembers it now. She had been lonely, until the night came where Ares was born of the spite Hera bore for her. A perfect opposite.
Athena is young and she sits on the steps of the temple, her legs curled under her, a scroll rolled open in her lap. Behind her, the adults’ voices clang loudly as they discuss the politics of something. Poseidon’s voice booms;
“You cannot just give away a man’s fish like that!”
This is parried by a loud guffaw from father. Athena glances back, but she can only see their legs, sandals and skirts swirling around as the elder gods swarm around the room. She has no doubt Poseidon is chasing Zeus around the room.
Ares’ blade clashes against Apollo’s. Athena returns her gaze to the fight, dropping her cheek into her palm. The brothers are complete opposites, she realizes, her head tilting slightly. Whereas Ares is olive-toned with dark curls and eyes that burn like coals, Apollo is the sun. Golden skin, beautiful hair like spun sunlight that curls off his forehead.
One has inherited their father’s charm, and the other, a tribute to the fierce visage their father carries into battle.
“Do you ever wanna join them?” It is Artemis who joins her now, standing next to the goddess of wisdom. She’s young - her frame boyish and her hair like cool shadows, tumbling down her shoulders. Their hair colors might be different but Athena can still pinpoint the exact slope of Apollo’s nose in Artemis’, or the way their lips curve like bows. Speaking of, she sees Artemis’ bow clutched in her fingers, glinting silver in the dying light.
A clash of swords and a yelp and they turn, just as Apollo is stumbling to a knee, huffing out his defeat in short breaths.
“I have no reason to,” Athena says, shrugging her shoulders. But then again, battle is a necessary means to an end.
Artemis rolls her eyes before her steps are quick down the stairs, arriving at Apollo’s side with a glare thrown at Ares. Not the young god cares. He is too quick to catch Athena’s eyes, his wicked smile curving into something more sinister. They look alike. Athena knows that, as many have commented on it. Their dark curls, or the way their noses are too sharp, too straight and proud, like their father’s. But their eyes are different. Ares has eyes like coal, and Athena, grey like slate off the mountains they call home. Ares smirks at her, then behind her, and Athena glances back, only to find Hermes bouncing towards her, seemingly innocent.
Out of all of them, he carries the most charm. The impish smile. The gleam in his cerulean eyes, the color of Poseidon’s realm. And when he smiles, his toothy grin reminds her a little too much of their father.
He opens his arms to her, and Athena has no reason to protest other than to gather her younger brother in her arms, banding her arms across his waist as he settles back against her stomach to watch the fighting. He’s not as sweet as he looks. Athena knows that. Yet, her arms tighten around the little imp. As if that could protect him from all the evils he will one day witness.
She hopes useless wishes that he will not be scarred by Olympus.
It’s Apollo who rises to his feet, shrugging off his sister. She merely returns to Athena, settling at her feet.
“Another round, brother?” Apollo demands.
The attention turns to the two boys sparring in the shady courtyard before them.
Ares laughs, and for once, Athena doesn’t hear the cruelty of the sound. Ares raises his sword to Apollo, but the young god shakes his head, lifting his palm to reveal a bow. Twin grins sprout on their faces. The shadows grow longer and the sun grows colder, the sunlight a little more golden as the two boys' weapons begin to clash against each other.
They settle in, as if they have all the time in the world.
***
Athena is the first. She doesn’t remember much of what happened, but there was blood and screams of pain and an axe. It clattered to the ground, just as she lurched out of the wound. The world tilted. She was small, her legs unsteady, her eyes fierce and yet - terrified. Her hand pressed into her tunic. Her little heart beneath her palm beat erratically, and the tears threatening to burst from her eyes. Her mother had warned her that the outside world may be different, strange, and she was right about that. Athena hissed, stumbled, until gasps ripped jagged from throats. She turned, only to find them - the man with the gaping head wound. Her father. He was just as her mother described him, blonde, and strong, but the golden blood dripping from his forehead came as a quick reminder of the nature of her birth. No, she realized, not her birth, but her arrival. She swallowed, staggered back only to stagger into strong legs. Wide grey eyes snap up, only to find another man, dark hair sweeping across a jagged scar. He laughed. And that is how she came to dare Prometheus to scoff at her when the wary cry ripped from her throat. Her mother taught her that.
Athena lunged into a fighting stance, though she teetered under the heavy helmet a size too big for her.
Mother told her she was not to be afraid. So she tried, baring little teeth at the men in the room. That elicits a chuckle from a few men in the room, something that has Athena’s little face flushing. One of them let a bloody axe clatter to the ground.
“She’s a fierce one,” Prometheus had hummed, and he was there before Zeus, before the nymphs who cowered behind the King, peering at the strange little goddess.
Zeus said nothing. His brows pulled together, his face too pale, too silent as he regarded the child regarding him back with the same fierce eyes. Someone had sat him down, had forced him to sit so they could attend the wound on his head. She held that gaze, fierce and proud. Gods healed fast. She supposed the King would heal faster than most. But it was Prometheus who scooped the girl up, the girl bathed in blood and a helmet on her head, and her eyes - all too reminiscent of the wife that never was. It was Prometheus who carried her to the Queen.
And it was the Queen, who taught her how the world worked.
***
Ares is born mere months behind her. A sort of revenge, she had been told, by Hera. She is there, holding tight to Hestia whose hip she sits on, when the King announces the birth of a son before an eagerly awaiting crowd of nymphs and gods and goddesses alike. Hera is proud. She stands side by side with Zeus, with her chin held high, and her eyes gleaming with pride as she presents her son. The Prince of the Gods. The first son. Ares.
He is swaddled in cloth as fine as clouds. Hestia squeezes Athena a little tighter, adjusting the helm that is much too big for her, her arms holding her tight, shielding her from the crowd surging forward. Athena is still. She is still and observant, and she watches, as Hera’s eyes track to her, to Hestia holding her tight. Her lips twist. But the moment passes, and then the Queen’s eyes return to her son, to the cheering crowd.
Athena’s first sibling had arrived.
***
Hephaestus disappears.
Athena is sure he is born, and when she comes to the King, pulling Ares behind her by his little hand, their faces lined in confusion at the absence of their brother, Zeus only turns them away. Pain lines his expression but it’s something Athena has yet to grasp. Hera refuses to speak of him. She doesn’t claim to know what happened to her wayward son. She only turns her back.
“Play with the nymphs,” she says, the same pain lining her face, and it’s Athena who tugs Ares back, who pulls him before he can demand the answers. Hephaestus doesn’t return. Not for a long time.
***
The twins are born on an island, in the sea, one that is always moving. Athena can’t help herself. She watches the drama from her balcony overlooking the Aegean, the marble cool against her elbow. Hera storms through the palace behind her, chasing Eilythea and shrieking at her handmaidens.
“ZEUS!”
But father is not around. Athena knows that. Ares knows that too. He jaunts up to her, settles at her side as they watch his mother storming past them. A trail of nymphs follows. It’s comical really. A vase crashes. Ares snorts. They’re not much older than the newborn twins, maybe a few years? Maybe older. Athena is not sure. But she is sure of one thing. She looks to Ares. His eyes are coal, and his gaze hardens, just as the heavens above them rip open.
Rain slams into Olympus, just as Athena confirms the suspicion they both held.
“The twins have arrived.”
***
“‘thena?”
Artemis is not much younger than her, but already she is at Athena’s waist, silverish eyes like the moon she so loves peering up at Athena. It’s strange how Olympians age. Athena has tried to imagine how the aging process works for them. She even went as far to question the goddess Hestia and Demeter, but to no avail. Hera hadn’t known. Nor had Zeus.
“Athena? Are you listening?”
“Forgive me, Artemis. What was it?” Athena asks, doing her best to be patient. Artemis is young. She’s wild and Athena almost reaches out to smooth a stray curl - only to realize that Artemis’ hair is just stray curls tumbling down her shoulders. Artemis stamps her foot. The wooden bow clutched in her little fist trembles.
“I said, have you heard the news?”
Athena looks at Artemis’ face for a second. There’s dirt smudge on her cheek, but it doesn't distract from the ferocity in her eyes. There’s worry there, too. Athena’s heart sinks.
She has a feeling the Queen won’t appreciate the news.
***
Hermes is born with little fanfare. Athena thinks it’s due to the cleverness of his mother, Maia, a Titaness. She is watching the cave from her perch in the hills across from the little nook in the mountains where Maia hides. The sun rises, it’s golden arms spilling out over the hills - Helios, pulling his chariot across the stars.
She sighs, and she almost gets up to leave, when she sees it. He’s no more than a day old. But gods are funny things, and Hermes is one of them after all. He crawls from the cave. The morning sun is just coming up, and the light catches the brown of his hair, the wild curls so reminiscent of their father.
Hermes pushes himself up, onto wavering legs. He stumbles, and she has half a mind to go to him. But she doesn’t. Instead, she watches her brother, curious about this child god as he struggles to his feet. She has many brothers and sisters, it’s true. Zeus has left a trail of demigods on the Earth below. But not all of them are gods.
Hermes struggles before finally teetering to his feet, chubby arms stuck out to keep himself from toppling over. With a giggle, he totters off, to only Zeus knows where.
***
Athena always forgets about Hebe.
Hermes runs past her, cackling as Apollo chases him around Demeter’s garden. They are under the watch of Leto today, though she gossips in the shade of a chestnut tree with the Titaness Asteria. Athena hums, counting the amount of arrows in Artemis’ quiver. She is convinced Ares stole three of her arrows, so Athena diligently counts just to make sure. Ares likes to tell Artemis things just to rile her up and watch her little face contort in rage. It's a brotherly thing, Athena is told, but Athena is convinced Olympus has no qualms with letting boys do as they please with little consequences. Artemis pouts by her side, watching as their brothers chase each other around the garden.
“AHA!”
Athena looks up as Apollo gives a great cry. He almost has Hermes - his arms outstretched, lunging for the little imp - Apollo gets a mouthful of dirt and flagstones instead.
Hermes giggles from where he is safe in the tall branches of the chestnut tree.
Apollo sits up, blowing a strand of blonde hair out of his eyes. He looks on the verge of tears. A sigh pulls out of Athena, and she hands Artemis her quiver back and touches her shoulder before sweeping towards Apollo.
“What is it this time?” Athena asks, brushing the dirt off Apollo’s face. He looks at her and Athena tries not to be startled, but she can never help but see Fathers’ eyes in his wide, blue eyes.
“He stole my lute again,” Apollo simpers as Artemis bounces over and throws her arm around her brother's shoulders. The golden lute in question glimmers in Hermes grubby little hands.
Well, it’s better than Ares snapping it in half.
“Hermes,” Athena chides, looking back at him with a half-glare. Fortunately for him, she is never mad for long. It’s hard to be mad at such an impish grin.
“I made it for him!” Hermes yells back, sticking his tongue out at Athena.
“Yes, but you also gave it to him. A gift with conditions is no gift at all, Hermes,” Athena parries, and stands, situating her hands on her hips. She almost marches to the tree and pulls Hermes out herself but she stops midway, her eyes catching on a flash of gold. She frowns. There it is again, winding through the hedges before stopping at the entrance. A chubby little face peers around the corner, watching them, her golden hair curled and bundled back in a fancy updo.
Hebe.
Hebe is most often kept at Hera’s side, away from the bastard children like Athena and Apollo and Artemis and Hermes. The most Athena ever sees of her sister is when she’s clinging to her mother’s robes, curious golden eyes taking them all in. But there has always been something else in those eyes and Athena sees it now; longing.
“Hello Hebe,” Athena says gently, curiously edging towards her sister. Hebe startles and with a yelp, she hides behind the bush. Athena can still see her though, as if she’s too scared to run altogether. She frowns.
“She’s always like that,” a new voice says and Athena spins, only to find Ares, hands on his hips, dark hair swept chaotically over his red eyes. He smirks at Athena, something that makes her cock an eyebrow.
“And where have you been?”
“Around,” Ares replies coolly before marching forward. Athena watches curiously as he disappears behind the bush. “Hebe. Come say hello.”
He drags with him an anxious Hebe. She frets and wrings her hands as if her mother might storm in at any moment and pull her out of there. But later, as Athena and Ares sit on the steps, watching the younger ones play, Hebe throws her little arms around Hermes shoulders and giggles alongside Artemis as Apollo plays his lute. Athena realizes later, after they’re all tucked in bed and she watches the stars twinkle in the velvet sky outside her window, that is the first time she has ever talked to little Hebe.
***
She’s sure there’s demigod siblings she’s never heard of. She is well-versed in her father’s infidelities. None of them matter so much as a mortal being smited or turned into a cow, and while Athena certainly does not approve of the destruction of life, does not see the justice in punishing the victim, not the abuser, she is content to watch. She is something like 10, her arms packed with scrolls, her helm pushed back on her head, and she’s bustling to the library. She has yet to make a name of herself outside of the Goddess of Wisdom. That’s fine. But she is more than that. She is more than wisdom and books and -
The shriek is enough to have her stutter to a stop.
She knows that scream.
Athena turns heel, rushing through the halls and into the throne room, practically stumbling from the scrolls in her arms. The scene is simple. Hera, tearing at her hair. Zeus only stands feet away, and he seems none so ashamed than annoyed. Poseidon is here, even, and she pauses, takes in the Gods of the Seas. He stands proud, and his skin is tan, as if he’s spent too many days in the sun. Athena scans the room. Hermes edges near father, and Ares lounges lazily in his mother’s throne, watching with disinterest. Demeter is the one who stands besides Hera, whose arms pull her in, uselessly banded against the Queen’s waist to hold her from tearing at her husband next.
“Why must you insult me in this way?” Hera cries, and it’s desperate, but rage - pride. Athena has seen that pride, for it is the same that flashes in Zeus’ eyes now.
“Wife, you forget your place - “
“You forget your vows.”
The room stills. Poseidon is the one to clear his throat, awkwardly stepping back from his brother, as if he can distance himself from blood.
“Do you forget yourself?” Zeus snarls, stepping forward.
Unfortunately for Poseidon, blood cannot distance from blood.
“I am your wife! You should remain faithful to me, to your vows - “ Hera’s voice is fire, and Athena watches as Zeus’ clouds with some undeniable fury.
“Enough woman!”
Hera’s tears dry on her cheeks. She is quick to wrench herself from Demeter’s grasp. She meets Zeus’ step forward with her own, meets his upturned chin with her own.
“You will regret this. This time, you will regret this insult,” Hera seethes, and with that, she turns. She storms towards Athena. Demeter is close on her heels, but Hera does not stop. She sees Athena and for a moment, the goddess of wisdom feels for her Queen, tilting her head to the side. But Hera does not falter. She storms past her. Athena doesn’t move, only stares, only watches as her father turns to meet her eyes, shame burning as he regards her.
She is the first mistake, after all.
***
Hera makes good on her promise.
Athena doesn’t know the full details. The nymphs hiss in the shadows when Athena spied on them. It was simple. Someone, something convinced Semele that Zeus was not who he was, that he lied. The princess had demanded to see Zeus's immortal form.
She died.
There was nothing anyone could do to save her.
Athena holds her suspicions about what happened, but to air them publicly? She holds her tongue. Whatever happened, happened.
Athena is seated at the steps of her father’s throne, poring over tomes. Artemis and Apollo play war with wooden swords and Ares lounges at the foot of Hera’s throne, sharpening a double-headed axe. Demeter and Hera gossip healthily by the hearth while Hestia tends it. She almost expects Poseidon to stroll in, but she hears he’s too busy with the sea to be bothered by Olympus. She purses her lips, trying to read over the same line in a scroll. But it’s useless. She sighs, resigning herself to watching as Hermes tests out his winged sandals, soaring over the thrones with gleeful laughter.
BAM!
There’s a flash and a loud bang as Zeus materializes in the room. Smoking. Athena leaps up, as does nearly everyone else.
“Father! Are you alright?” Apollo starts only to falter. There is a look of rage on Zeus’ face she has never seen before. And it’s directed at Hera, who remains sitting, but regarding Zeus - no, Athena realizes with a start, not Zeus. The screaming babe in his arms. The baby shrieks, smoke curling off it’s raw, red skin and dark curls singed. Athena can only stare, the horror numb inside her.
“Dionysus,” Zeus announces, though he’s staring right at Hera. “My son. And a god.”
Hera doesn’t even so much as twitch, but the rage is there, simmering right behind her eyes.
No one dares move. No one except Hestia. The quiet goddess rises from her place at the hearth and crosses to her brother. Without a word, she takes Dionysus from Zeus’ arms and beckons Apollo to follow. He is the god of medicine after all. She leaves the temple quickly, skirts swishing as Apollo follows at her heel.
Hera says nothing. She rises and brushes past Zeus. The King says nothing, only glancing at his wife before turning and following the way Hestia had gone.
Athena catches Ares’ eyes. A grim smile cracks his lips and it’s almost as if he delights in the chaos. Athena purses her lips.
So Dionysus has arrived.
***
It was Persephone they truly did not expect.
The screams that Hera unleashed were as if someone had carved her heart out of her chest. And Athena might just believe that. She went to her aunt with questions, and returned with the answers she wanted.
Demeter had indeed wanted a child. No one expected she’d have it with someone she hated so publicly. At least, Athena didn’t expect it and she calculated for near every time another sibling might crop up.
Truly she wasn’t sure how she felt about that. Dionysus and Persephone had come in such quick succession that it seemed improbable. But this was father, after all, and he did not bend to the will of others.
***
It’s a fine morning when Athena awakes to a set of big blue eyes staring down on her and a solid weight on her chest.
“‘Thena! ‘Thena, come on!” Hermes says, bouncing on her bed so much it shakes.
Two little arms tug at her and she realizes that Artemis and Apollo also peer at her, eyes wide, grinning at her almost a little too suspiciously. Ares leans in the doorframe, chomping down on an apple he no doubt stole from some nymph’s garden.
Athena eyes the congregation before giving a tired sigh.
“Yes, yes, I am coming, just allow me a moment,” Athena grumbles, rubbing at her eyes. She does not dare ask what they want but she is soon up and being led by a nearly flying Hermes down the hall and out onto the cobbled path leading to Demeter’s garden. Athena’s stomach churns. None of them have played here since...well.
Hermes lets go of her hand only to be replaced by Artemis. Both twins are prone to taking her hands, and she will never admit it, but there may be a day when she misses their little hands tugging her along. Apollo marches ahead, bow strapped on his back as he follows Hermes, who flies ahead, disappearing through the sweeping branches of a weeping willow and into a clearing, one Athena knows all too well.
When she sees what the commotion is about, she nearly roots to the ground in her spot. The goddess is sitting on a plush chaise, nymphs and muses and goddesses surrounding her, cooing at the little pink bundle swaddled in her arms. Artemis tugs her along. When her feet grow cold, Ares is the one to give her a push, none too gentle. He keeps his hand on her back. The young gods part the crowd.
Athena looks up to find the elder goddesses’ eyes and for once, there is no rant, no chiding, no lecture. She only smiles as Hermes comes to rest on her hip, resting his head on her arm so his bronze curls spill, peering at the bundle in Demeter’s arms. The twins come closer, Artemis on her tippy-toes, Apollo resting a gentle hand on Artemis’ back. Ares brings up the rear, stepping so he is behind Demeter’s shoulder, his red eyes taking in the small babe.
Athena hesitates. She knows she shouldn’t, knows what pain this child has caused the Queen and Olympus, knows she should do this and that and -
But Demeter smiles at her so warmly, it’s almost as if she knows. No, Athena realizes, of course she knows. She understands better than anyone. The birth of Persephone brought the utmost joy and yet the darkest days Olympus has seen in a long time. Still Demeter beckons the young goddess forward. Athena bites her lip, caught between loyalties. But she understands the look on Demeter’s face. There is nothing they can do now but welcome the young goddess into the world. There is nothing they can do.
Demeter smiles and curls her fingers for Athena to come to her.
“Come,” she says warmly, “meet Persephone.”
***
They had thought Persephone might be the end of the young gods.
They were wrong. Lightning flashes outside. It rips the sky to shreds. Athena watches from her window seat, leaning back against cool marble. She sits with her knees pinned under her thighs, a book unread in her lap. Something is off about today. Maybe it was in the cold front, or the way her curtains snapped back, the wind tearing at them, but whatever it was it felt like chaos was brewing just at the edge of the world.
Whatever it was, it meant father wasn’t happy.
Three sets of feet pitter-patter into her room, and she looks to her doorway, only to find Hermes, followed by the twins. Their faces are as stormy as their father’s rage thrashing against Olympus. Dionysus has long since been sent to live with the nymphs, and no matter how much she pressures answers from the nymphs, Hephaestus is still nowhere to be seen. It’s just them.
Well. Athena looks up, just as Hermes pulls himself to sit at her feet, and the twins crowd at her side.
Ares walks through the door. Except he doesn’t come alone. The air in the room dips several degrees, enough to send chills crawling down her spine. Athena’s eyebrows hike up. She draws Hermes into her arms.
Ares stops before them. His face is impassive, but she sees the spark in her brother’s eyes, the way the red seems more blood than his usual red ocher. Her eyes flick to the baby in his arms, swaddled in white cloth. Her skin is olive, the tuft of hair like coal. She sleeps so peacefully, despite the storm flashing behind them. As if she was made in this.
“Eris,” he announces to his siblings with a gleam in his eyes. “Goddess of Chaos. Strife. Our sister.”
Athena’s arms tighten around Hermes.
***
Dionysus visits occasionally. Mostly though, Father insists he remain on Mt. Nysa for his own safety. He must be protected at all costs, though Athena is not sure whether this is truly because Father isn’t entirely ready to deal with Dionysus, or if he’s using it as a way to punish Hera.
The fear Hera instilled into them wouldn’t subside for a long time. The nymphs still whisper in shadows about it only to stop anytime Hera passes. Athena wouldn’t dare admit it aloud, but for this alone she almost pities the Queen.
There is a side to the Queen very few see.
Athena sees it one day, when the Queen looks at Dionysus. Athena sits on the steps, scroll in her lap when she catches it. The Queen is on her throne, discussing something with Hestia when Dionysus chases Eris into the room. The two race out of the temple just as fast, their little giggles changing into cackles as Hermes comes barreling into the room after them, wings fluttering tiredly on his shoes.
“Hey, wait!” he whines before the trio is stumbling outside again.
No one else seems to catch it.
Hera’s lips twitch, there’s a softening of the eyes, and she almost says something motherly, her mouth opening to give a warning not to run too fast, to not trip on the stairs. But nothing escapes her lips because she clamps them down nearly immediately. Whatever it was, is gone. Those same eyes cut away, but not before catching Athena watching. She looks away quickly, heat flushing her face.
They say the Queen hates them.
But Athena will always disagree. Hera is just in pain. No one wants to see the objects of their pain on a daily basis.
***
Athena is older now. She is sitting on marble steps leading into the aquamarine clear sea, her toes dipping into the warm water. It’s the day before she leaves to train with the nymphs in the south Aegean, to go away with Poseidon. Speaking of which, the sound of Poseidon’s booming laughter echoes off the sea. She watches as he twirls Hermes around by the arms, before letting him go so the young god cannonballs into the water. A wave goes up, slapping against the stone steps she sits on. There is no book today, no scroll. Today, Athena merely watches.
Ares catches her eyes from where he and Eris play chicken with Apollo, Artemis sitting on his shoulders.
The sun beats down on her back. The light is starting to recede into something golden as the sun begins to dip beneath the sea. Athena stretches her arms before settling her elbows on her knees, watching Poseidon beckon a dolphin towards an eager Persephone, who claps her hands together and leans over the edge of the pier, her eyes wide with wonder. Demeter watches warily, hand on her daughter’s back. But despite the wariness in her eyes, a smile tugs at her lips. There is a sense of calm in the air, as the golden sun bathes them, like time will never end here.
A pair of sandals slap against the marble pier. Athena doesn’t bother to look back. She knows who it is.
Father takes a seat besides her, stretching so his legs dip into the water, leaning back so he braces against his palms. A comfortable silence settles between them. The wind rustles past them, tousling Athena’s hair so some of it catches on her lips. She brushes it away just as a warm hand presses down on her head, ruffling her windswept hair even more.
He doesn’t say anymore or any less but there is a message in there, Athena thinks. But for once, she tries not to delve deeper into it. He ruffles her hair once more before letting his hand drop.
A cry echoes across the water. The sunset makes the water ripple golden and from here she can make out four dark silhouettes against the horizon. Eris has hold of Artemis’ hands sitting atop their brothers shoulders. With a triumphant yell, the winged goddess topples Artemis and with a splash, the twins disappear under the water.
Hermes and Persephone giggle, their little legs kicking off the edge of the pier as they lean their heads together, conspiring about something - only to shriek as Poseidon rises up from the waves with a roar, sending the munchkins scrambling away drenched and shrieking.
For a moment, the world is peaceful. For a moment, Athena feels okay leaving them behind.
“They’ll miss you,” Zeus says plainly. In the dying light, she catches her father’s eye. She understands it now. He will miss her, too. And maybe against her better judgement, maybe out of character, Athena leans into her father’s side, watching as the sun dips below the ocean.
The twins wade through the water, swinging a cackling Eris between them. They look up, waving at the two with wide grins. Ares isn’t far behind and she catches his eye, for what seems like might be the last time in a long time. He doesn’t smile, nor smirk, but he does have that dangerous glint in his eye, a kind of knowing as he nods. Somewhere she can hear Hera calling out for Hebe, and Demeter calling for Persephone, but for now, as the twins and Eris come nearer, Ares bringing up the rear, she can take a moment to let time last forever. A smile crosses her lips, and she lets her eyes slip close.
There are so many things she will miss at Olympus, like her scrolls and her chambers and the sound of the world waking up in the morning, bustling with life as the markets open and the birds chirp. She’ll miss the way the world seems so small from up above, the safety of their mountain home. She’ll even miss the fights. She’ll miss Demeter and Hestia, of course, even uncle Hades when he shows up. She’ll miss Father, of course, and maybe, she thinks, as the sun dips low, and Father lets go, as two twin hands comes to rest on her shoulder, as Hermes drops into her lap, and Eris pounces on her back, Ares stopping at her side to look at the sun setting, she thinks maybe, just maybe she’ll even miss Hera.
Most of all, above everything else though, she will always miss her siblings more.
______________________________________________________________
The world comes back to her. All of them seem glassy eyed. It follows that they shared the same collection of memories, the same flashback, for no one speaks. Likely all different, different instances. But all of each other. Axel raises his eyes to meet hers, and for once, he’s not the boorish, pigheaded brother she’s used to. He’s quiet. Her first companion. Then there’s the twins, whose gazes flicker from each other, to Barry, to Zoe, who jerks her chin in acknowledgment.
Paris sobered up first.
“Is Eliza going to kill me?”
“No,” Zoe snaps, “she’s changed. Stop it.”
The room quiets before Syd throws out there;
“She might not but I will. You know how many huntresses of mine you ruined?”
Barry snorts, and Paris chuckles, lolling his head against Zoe’s thigh. It feels natural. As uncomfortable as it might be, and crowded, and whoever’s kitchen this was, it’s much too small. Syd’s foot presses into hers, and she sees Andre’s legs, stretched out, knocking into Barry’s, who just grimaced and kept drinking. Axel dropped on the floor, too, now, taking residence next to Henry. Siblings. She snorts, dropping her head just as Giselle stumbles in, followed by Alana.
“What’s up fuckers?”
Zoe snorts. Someone else snaps back, probably Barry. Alana plops down nearly onto Axel, and Giselle smiles before finding a chair and pulling it right up next to Zoe’s.
They’re impossible, she thinks, her eyes drooping, her smirk only replaced by a drunken smile. Entirely horrible. But she would have never wanted to do this without them. Zoe swallows, and her heartbreak cracked until she found the piece of her she had been missing. She has never fought for love.
She fought for the day her siblings might come back to her.