Chapter 5: The Regretful Choice

“Time flies over us, but leaves its shadow behind.”

— Nathaniel Hawthorne, The Marble Faun, originally published by Ticknor and Fields, 1860.

Years bled into decades — on and under the high mountain of the divine.

Rhea continued to give birth. Both to her annoyance and thankfulness, her next two children were girls, whom she named Demeter and then Hera. That meant she still had time.

It was oxymoronic how she felt. On one hand, she wanted Cronos deposed as quickly as possible; on the other, to move against him before she and Gaia were ready meant they would fail. She did not fear waiting too long. Cronos was despondent as a creature of habit.

Nothing about him changed.

Even that thought brought about contrary statements that made Rhea laugh.

She was getting pretty good at being pregnant and giving birth. The labor pains were becoming manageable. But then, when she looked at the other Titans, Rhea observed that they were having children left and right. With the passage of time in their Realm, even some titan children were having children.

There were Oceanids, Nereids, lesser titans, some like the one called Cratus were throwing around the title ‘god’.

When the children of the Titans considered themselves the equal to the offspring of Gaia and Ouranos, Rhea let out a snort of a chortle. They were titans in a manner of speaking, but they were not Titans. The honorifics mattered, and Rhea held that truth inwardly. As Queen of Olympus, there was no reason that she could not remind others of the distinction.

She was superior as a trueborn daughter of Ouranos and Gaia. She was superior to her Titaness sisters. She was equal to Gaia, both because of their shared plotting and because Ourannos had taken Rhea to bed over her mother.

When she went back to consider the landscape and population of the lands, she was finding the changing flows of reality to be rather charming. She wondered if Gaia had seen the Titans in their youth the same way Rhea saw these children. If so, she wondered how her mother handled such immaturity, entitlement, and their youthful spirits.

Rhea laughed from her palace on Olympus. Every piece of existence was changing. Just as it had changed in the past, she supposed life always would change, but it was fascinating to watch it happen and so very rarely be involved.

Her thoughts of the mundane world down below were often interrupted. Her jailer would walk by her palace, returning her thoughts to her plans of usurpation.

Cronos’ behavior did not seem to change in Rhea’s estimation. He continued to treat her like an object to slake his lust on, but that did not stop her from using him for the same purpose. There was no love in their intercourse. It was primal, almost hateful. Every additional sexual encounter gave Cronos his release but could potentially conceive a son that would depose him.

If anyone were to judge her, she would not tell them her life story. She would remind them that sex was only an act. Those who did not know what she went through, could not lay claim to judge her. She was a queen trapped in a farce of a marriage, with a man that cared more for his power and prestige than the woman he claimed to love.

Though ... that realization brought a sad change to Rhea. She no longer pretended it was Ouranos with her in those carnal moments. She could not bear to think about what was lost when she needed to focus on what was to be gained.

Her mind singularly dreamt of Cronos’ defeat.

In the end, that was her satisfaction in every regard.

As time went on, Cronos came to regret his consumption of Aether. It grew within him like a mass that gnawed at his innards until it traveled up his spine to the back of his mind. There was a lingering pain within his stomach from time to time. He wondered if that was just his imagination. If it was not, Cronos suspected that the ache was a remnant of Aether as an echo within his belly.

The throbbing irritation may just have been a sign that he had gone too far. It might have been better to allow Aether to live and his first son to take the throne whenever that child was born. There was very little pleasure in ruling for Cronos.

Gaia would only come to Olympus to see Rhea. His Titan brothers and sisters were more involved with one another than with him. Their children paid reverence to him once or twice, kneeling to acknowledge him as their sovereign before departing. He scarcely saw him on his mountain ever again.

He was starting to suspect that they were purposefully ignoring him. His crimes against existence certainly gave them excuse enough not to. No. He was no fool. He knew his act of devouring Aether had been a line too far. He recognized that much of it. He had not gone against the Fates by doing so. It had been about his father, not about the child. What did it matter? Aether was not his son. He was the son of Ouranos.

Did the other Titans know? Is that why they separated themselves from him?

If that were the truth, he could not go down to Greece and ask them. To inquire about their fear of him might only push them further into their fright of him. When they got distant enough, would they decide he no longer deserved to rule over them as they had with their father?

Even he could see that his rule was becoming a lonely and sad affair, but more ... it was becoming a cage for him to wallow in. He could only sit on his throne and see his relationships deteriorate without realistic recourse to repair any of them.

Cronos’ mind fell into the plague of doubt. He once had an unwavering resolve, but upon having his seat of power, he could feel that resolve faltering.

Was it anyone’s fault but his own? The Fates had warned him. They could not be blamed. When he was younger, he did not aspire to power. He had only wanted to be with Rhea.

He mused that he could stop what he was doing and free Rhea. They could be two Titans in the lands. All he had to do was let the idea of the throne go. After all, the Fates said if he let his oldest son have the throne, Cronos could live.

Looking out at the majestic beauty of Olympus, Cronos closed his fist.

No. To give up was too give into the idea of not being enough. If he backed down from the responsibilities of ruling, Ouranos was right to take Rhea from him. It was as if Cronos were admitting that it was better that Ouranos should live and rule and Cronos should have nothing.

To step down was to surrender. He had surrendered too much of his joys and wants to just give up on the throne. He had won this seat of power through battle, sweat, and ichor. To surrender would be the greatest injustice of all.

To find qualities necessary in a ruler was far more difficult than Rhea had expected. What sanctioned a good ruler? Was it prudence? Kindness? A firm hand? Patience?

Explaining it was impossible. To weigh one piece of someone’s identity against another became an infeasibility that Rhea could not communicate through language. It was as though the structure of words suddenly held no meaning to her.

The simplest, most fundamental truth of what would make a good queen was that Rhea felt she would know. It was instinct born from the intuition that Rhea had cultivated since before she was queen. While there was rationale to the process, she firmly believed she would feel the answer.