Chapter 7: Trapped in Wedlock

“A happy marriage is the union of two good forgivers.”Ruth Bell Graham

They arrived at the twilight of sundown. The pair of them were more powerful than an entire host of gods on Olympus.

He was the eldest son of Cronos and Rhea. He had spent what felt like an eternity in the belly of his father. For his part, he bore scars and markings from battle in a way his father and brother could never relate to.

She was, in turn, Lady Night, a Primordial wrought from Chaos itself, the First Queen of the Underworld, and one the first Chthonic beings to ever exist. To call her power incarnate was to diminish her standing.

Together, they stood at the entrance. Beings, who were stunned by the arrivals at the newcomers and strangers, were stunned into silence and fear. These two did not leave the realm of the Underworld lightly. To come to Olympus was not a common occurrence in the minds of the other gods.

Hades ignored the attention, tapping Nyx on the forearm before motioning to Prometheus going to some strangers in the background of the masses.

“It would seem your brother is using his wedding to his advantage,” Nyx murmured into Hades’ ear. She paused for a moment before adding, “I suggest you do the same.”

Hades nodded as they broke apart from one another and walked through the gods of Olympus.

The Egyptian king and queen followed the titan with the burned forearms with the Aesir in tow. All five of them found themselves in the presence of a tall, strong deity who clearly was the leader of Olympus.

His long white hair framed his muscular form. He wore a toga of white and gold. His arms had golden bracers and his sandals were silver.

“Welcome,” Zeus said, offering them all a seat at a round table for them to sit at. When the four seated themselves, Zeus snapped his fingers and a parchment appeared before them all.

“I am sure you wonder why you have been invited,” Zeus started.

Odin and Týr exchanged a look as Osiris looked over the parchment. He noticed that his paper was written with Egyptian hieroglyphics, the one before Odin and Týr had runes while the one in front of Zeus was written in Greek.

“My advisor, Prometheus, sent out invitations to the lands that surround Greece in the hopes of creating a pact to defend ourselves.”

“Because of the supposed Typhon?” Osiris laughed.

“I have bested Typhon already,” Zeus declared. “This is more of an agreement. It ensures that none of us will invade one another’s lands, should gods of another land try to attack our lands, we will muster our forces to defend the other lands, and finally, we shall be accountable for any gods coming into one another lands.”

“What does that mean?” Odin wondered.

“Olympus might send emissaries to your land or you might send them to ours, to bolster relations without harming one another,” Prometheus supplied. “But should the rulers, whether it be you Odin or you Osiris, send them away, they will, and the magic of this arrangement will hold them with the magic of all three of our lands.”

Odin nodded thoughtfully as Týr looked over the parchment.

“For how long?”

“Fifty thousand years or until the signed leader passes. Should say ... Zeus ... pass, the parchment will allow a year to pass while the magic holds, but we must send emissaries to renew this agreement,” Prometheus explained.

“Ah!” Isis said. “I believe it is a fair agreement.”

“Will this allow us to ask for aid from one another?” Osiris wondered.

“It would,” Zeus said with a nod. “But that would be a case by case basis.”

“I believe that could be agreeable,” Odin said as Týr nodded.

Before too long, each did sign. And when one signed their parchment, it reflected onto the parchment of the others.

The three leaders smiled, and Prometheus declared, “To peace!”

And each raised a goblet and said, “To peace!”

For so many others the day of the wedding between Zeus and Hera was a call for the celebration upon Olympus. The air was thick with those sounds: laughter, music, dancing, and rousing conversations.

Today would be perfect. Hera was sure of it. This was another of Zeus’ triumphs by Hera’s estimation. He had had his way with Demeter. He had always wanted Metis, but Typhon’s attack had taken her away. Hera could not be sure of how; she still believed that Zeus had something to do with it. That part never changed in Hera’s heart and mind, but she did not know what she was going to do. Rhea and Gaia were playing their bigger game. She was not sure how this would end, but she could rule. She would not be like Rhea and Gaia, ruling in the shadows or manipulating people.

Hera would sit in her throne of power and command respect and authority.

These were her thoughts in her private chambers. The room was sparse, nearly barren, because her belongings had been cleared out in preparation for her new life as the Queen of Olympus.

In front of her polished mirror, Hera stood reflective over everything. There was just so much happening even as she adjusted the folds of her dress. It was a magnificent gown of white, gold, and electrum. She had no idea who made her wedding dress, but it shimmered brilliantly in the soft light that filtered through the window.

Even with her mind elsewhere, entirely lost in her thoughts, her brown, curly hair bounced beautifully down to her shoulder. The dress clung to her figure, accentuating her body, showing off the beginning of curves that might only get better through the centuries. Zeus would be pleased with her body, she knew that much of herself.

However, this held no joy for her, only quiet resignation.

For all her thoughts and everything going on, she did not notice another shadow amongst the others.

Hades moved silently across the floor, his ashy blue skin blending into the dim light. The crimson and obsidian robes swirled around him as darkness had coated his frame.

His dark aura was a stark contrast to the bright, godly light that typically filled Olympus. His long black hair, streaked with gray, framed a face marred by the golden-ichor scars from his time within Cronos.

His presence might have been oppressive if he had intended it to be, yet he carried himself with a calm for her. After all, Hera had been the eldest son of Cronos’ first love. Perhaps she always would be.

Hera was oblivious to his presence until he spoke with his deep voice that cut through the silence like a knife.

“I suppose you made your choice, Hera,” he whispered softly. Despite the quietness, the weight of his words was undeniable.

“Hades!” Hera exclaimed, turning.

“Is this why you have not come to see me?” Hades asked. “This was your true desire? To marry Zeus?”

Hera froze at his words. There were so many things to say, so many words that would prove insufficient at the task of explaining herself to Hades. He had been the exemplar of the three sons of Cronos and Rhea.

When she looked at her reflection in the mirror, she could see a flash of betrayal surprise in her eyes before quickly composing herself. He was not meant to be there on that day. Nothing less than Hades could have unraveled her so quickly.

Slowly, she turned to face him. In that turn, when her gaze met his, all of the surprise, hurt, or uncertainty were erased from her features. Despite the distance between them being short, Hera could not allow him to get close to her heart, and so she created this chasm.

“It’s not about what I want,” she replied, steady. The deeper regret would never come forth. Her soft eyes had a violet hue in the light, hiding any uncertainty. “This union ... it is what is meant to be.”

Hades studied her with dark eyes that knew her better than anyone else.

“But is that what you want? Is this what you wish for?”

Hera’s gaze faltered for a moment. She could not bring herself to lie to him. The idea of using duty or necessity would prove to be insufficient to her when dealing with this deserving king. “What I wish for ... is immaterial.”

“Hera,” Hades said, stepping forward. He went to put her hands into his. “But is it what you want?”

She could not say why, but those kind words from that good king broke Hera. Her voice carried an explosion of bitterness over this battle that she had long fought in her heart and lost to her more practical mind. The Lord of the Underworld’s gaze meant nothing to the inferno of rage that was swelling within her conflicted heart.

“Hades! Grow up!” Hera shouted at him. She stood at her full height, so that he was forced to look at her in the eyes of hatred. This hatred did not have its source in him, but in the trap she found herself in.

She knew how unfair this would be to Hades.

Further, she was all too aware of what this would do. Ever since meeting him, Hera was cognizant of the fact that Hades had always been an outsider even among the sons of Cronos. He was made to be King of Olympus, but he would walk in shadows (whether from Cronos’ belly or from the responsibilities of the Underworld) while the other gods reveled in the light of victory.

Then, at that moment, standing in front of Hera, she could feel the same shadows reflecting in her eyes.

The room fell into a heavy silence. The distant sounds of celebration would never penetrate the solitude erected between these two lovers. In the years to come, both would know that is was this moment that would tore them asunder. For all their immense power, for all the powerful deeds they had done during the war, for all the amazing feats they would perform in the millenia to come, they could feel the tangible powerlessness of the moment. This was not the threads of fate of the Moirai but the ties of duty that would lead to heartbreak. Both were caught up in the storm of vulnerability perpetuated by the existence of Zeus.

There, in her room, Hera knew what she would have to say even before the words ever left her lips.

The Chthonic King stared at her. His eyes were soft in their obsidian reflection of the Underworld.

“Hera...” Hades breathed. She could see the begging to not do what she would, but she would not stop herself, not even for him.

“You’re the King of the Underworld. I am the Mage of Olympus. We were living in a dream to think that we can make this work. You belong there, and I, here!”

“Hera,” the ruler of the Underworld said more firmly as if to stop her, but her name would not hinder what was to come.

“Whatever this was, it cannot survive this day! You know that! Look at where our paths have led us. Look where they will take up. If you use that mind of yours, you will see I am meant to be here on the top of this Mountain, and you belong in your pit!”

Hades stepped away from Hera. A single tear started to roll down his face. The noise of the wedding celebration grew louder, reminding him of where he was and what was to come.

Hera’s firm gaze told him that she meant every word no matter how much he did not want to believe her capable of such cruelty. For the briefest of moments, the air between them weighed heavy with the enormity of what could have been and what was going to be.

Hades opened his mouth to speak, but the words were lost in the air in his lungs, never to reach his tongue. Weakly, he nodded in acknowledgement of her decision before stepping back. His gaze hardened, turning cold to the one person in all of creation that had been meant to be soft to.

Words like sorrow, acceptance, loathing, rage, jealousy, and love were hollow to him. The world had lost its luster, lost its sound, and became as empty as it had in the belly he had grown up in.

“As you wish, Your Majesty,” Hades said, moving one foot back in a dramatic bow before turning from her.

Hera watched him leave. A small part of her longed to reach out and scream his name. She wanted to swear that she meant none of it. She longed to explain it all. Everything from Zeus’ selfishness to the manipulations of Gaia and Rhea to even the Moirai could have flooded out of her mouth, and he might understand, and they might still heal what she knew she had entirely destroyed, yet her shaky resolve held firm at that crucial moment.

When the door closed behind him, she turned back to the mirror. She resisted the urge to punch the reflective surface. If she could not harm herself, the visage of her would have done well as a substitute. Still, Hera restrained herself.

The gods continued to celebrate all throughout Olympus, not for themselves, but for her, she knew. They were oblivious to the exchange that had taken place within Hera’s chambers or the momentous decision she had made.

How could they know? This was a decision no one on Olympus could ever be aware of. It would be Hera’s secret shame. Her love of Hades was not the secret, just that she was the one to shatter him into the deity she knew he might become because of this.

She inhaled deeply, steeling herself for the rest of the day. She would become Queen of Olympus soon enough. She was not entirely sure of Zeus’ plans, but she would fit into them, and into whatever twisted future Gaia and Rhea had worked out.

The youngest daughter of Rhea and Cronos would persevere. More than that, as Queen of Olympus, Hera would thrive. That was a promise to herself that would be kept. Beyond even that, she knew that there would not be another Queen of Olympus after her. Surviving Zeus was only the start; Rhea and Gaia would know her for the force she was, and Hera would topple even them.

The sun began its slow descent over Olympus when Prometheus could finally appreciate that some of his effort had born fruit. The hues of orange and gold highlighted the gods gathered in the grand city of unparalleled majesty.

He might have cheered and joined in on the celebration when he heard a voice boom over the others.

At the heart of this gathering stood Gaia. The ancient Earth Mother had an interesting position on Olympus. She was the mother of the Titans, but she had sided against Cronos and aided Rhea and Zeus. As such, she had a unique authority on Olympus. She had been one of the mountain’s creators.

Further, as one of the last living Primordials, she wielded power and might that transcended the politics of Olympus. Her very presence commanded respect no matter what she did.

Of course, when her voice rang out to address the assembly, it carried with it authority of the ages. This declaration that would echo through the annals of history despite how expected it was for the gathering: “At sundown, Zeus and Hera shall be bound in matrimony!”

The crowd erupted into cheers, but as with the rest of the day, more was to come. After her words, a tree bearing golden apples sprang up behind the Earth Primordial.

This caught the fire titan’s attention. As wine flowed freely, and the gods laughed and cried out in the joy of the occasion, Prometheus stood on the fringes of the celebration.

Something was wrong about this. He could not pinpoint exactly what it was, but something was amiss.

His burn-scarred forearms were crossed over his chest as he observed the merriment.

Others would not be able to understand the source of his frustration because he did not know where it was coming from.

On this day he had accomplished something that could not have been planned. The treaty between Zeus, Odin, and Osiris was a reality, and this would shield Olympus from the threats that loomed beyond the horizon.

It would also give them time. Mortals would be born. Zeus was also now aware of the other gods in the world. Osiris might not nearly be as powerful as Zeus, and Prometheus suspected that this Odin being was not either, but the Aesir, as Prometheus had come to know him, showed promise. Both Osiris and Odin would shake hands of friendship, but surely they also saw the danger that Zeus might come to possess, and they would ready themselves, if not their lands, for the possibility that Zeus could become problematic.

Perhaps Typhon did not kill Zeus, but these kings would keep Zeus in check.

This treaty would safeguard the realm in more ways than anyone could ever know. Generations of time had been bought, and all Prometheus had to do was be mildly duplicitous.

Despite this accomplishment, annoyance tugged at Prometheus. The frivolity of the crowd grated on him. All of Olympus was oblivious to the hard work of the fire titan. This would just be another moment they would take for granted. The younger gods were blind to the sacrifices, much like the loss of Metis.

Was this to be how contributions were made? Large events would be viewed through the scope of Zeus and those he favored while the real sacrifices that made peace possible would go unnoticed.

Even as those thoughts flickered through his mind, Prometheus smiled; it was not important to seek recognition. Metis had not thought it was important. What mattered was the outcome and planning for what came next.

So he would smile with quiet pride that no one acknowledged. He knew the benefits were true. In the end, that was what mattered. Olympus was more important than any one god, including Prometheus.

Nevertheless, Prometheus allowed himself a moment of contentment at the wedding. He had done something for everyone while Zeus used this day to glorify himself.

The wedding would soon begin.

That was what would be remembered. That was what was important.

The sun had all but fallen below the horizon of Mount Olympus. The gods and goddesses gathered around the center of the godly city. Their faces were alight with anticipation for the union of Zeus and Hera. The entire day had been hectic to say the least. The foreign gods of Asgard and Egypt were still in attendance, and their presence had rocked Olympus.

Hades and Nyx were a close second in terms of the effects they had on Olympus. That did not stop the arrival of the unknown goddess, Aphrodite, from still making waves herself.

The air was filled with the scent of blooming flowers and the earthy perfume of ancient trees because of the very presence of Gaia. The Primordial Queen’s presiding over the event just capped off the first day of what was sure to be three days of exhausting celebration.

The Earth Mother towered over all present. She was a majestic figure at ten feet tall with her form of intricate blend of bark, earth, vines, tree, and stone. Her presence was welcome, and her unique visage was something even the young gods cheered for. It was her unique existence that reminded them of their origin in Chaos. Gaia was that direct link to the Progenitor, and more, she was the grandmother to both the king and his bride.

Despite all of this, Gaia’s visage was that of a gentle woman. She was every bit the grandmother in that she was wise and mature, but everlastingly eternal as only divinity could be.

Before her, Zeus and Hera stood side by side. Zeus exuded power and confidence in his white hair and golden wreath glinting in the fading light. As the vanquisher of Typhon and one of the leaders in the Great War, he appeared every bit the King of Mount Olympus as his reputation would have suggested.

Hera, for her part, was resplendent in her dress of white, gold, and electrum. She radiated a calm and composed beauty for the ages. While most knew of Zeus’ great affection for Metis, the fallen Oceanid, Hera was every bit a queen from her brown curls to her delicate feet. She had quiet strength in comparison to Zeus’ more obvious existence.

“Zeus, King of Olympus,” Gaia intoned with formality. She could not help that her voice carried with it the weight of ages long since gone., “Hera: his bride and the next Queen of Olympus. Today, your union in matrimony shall be made eternal, binding you together as partners and rulers of Mount Olympus.”

As she spoke, Gaia raised her hands. The tree she had summoned earlier from the earth. Its bark was the same as any tree, but its roots were stronger than all trees in Greece. At its branches hung a plethora of golden apples. They each gleamed like small suns.

“Behold my gift to you both,” Gaia declared for all to hear. “Though a simple tree, it represents a marriage in its truest form.”

Gaia turned her gaze to Zeus. “Zeus to you, I give the apples of this tree. None shall eat of its fruit without your permission, for you are the ruler and protector of Olympus as well as the husband and keeper of your wife.”

Zeus bowed his head in acceptance. Gaia was the only one who could be sure that her grandson loathed the formality of appearing lesser to Gaia. After all, he had done everything in his power since being crowned king to distance himself from the Earth Primordial’s authority. While he did not know it yet, he would be free of that fear soon enough.

Gaia then shifted her attention to Hera. Her expression softened with an empathy most construed as her relating to her granddaughter; after all, they were both queens.

“Hera, to you I give the tree itself. You shall control its location, and not even Zeus shall know where you place this priceless treasure. For even as a husband is meant to lead, a wife must have the freedom to be herself in a place where she might thrive.”

Hera bowed her head in gratitude for the gift. The poor girl had no idea what Gaia’s ‘gift’ might do to her.

Gaia continued on. She had a duty this day, and she would fulfill it to the fullest.

“Today, you are both given authority on and over Olympus,” Gaia swore. “Your rule shall be as my union with Ouranos once was, but greater still, for you shall have a partnership of equals, which will be both harmonious and complementary. Zeus, with your strength, and Hera, with your wisdom, you will guide Olympus forevermore into prosperity.”

She turned her back and reached out to the tree. Two apples lowered themselves to their creator. Turning back to face her grandchildren, Gaia presented one apple to Zeus and the other to Hera.

Zeus reached out to take the fruit from his grandmother as was his way. Hera accepted hers with grace as was her way.

Gaia watched intently as they each took their bite of their respective golden fruit.

Once that was done, Gaia rescinded the bitten apples, and stepped away from the two. She could see the thin glow of her most ancient magic binding the two.

In the brightest moonlight sky, Zeus leaned in to kiss his new bride. Their lips met in a kiss of soft tenderness.

The gods erupted in applause and violent cheers.

Gaia raised her hands once more to finalize the ceremony. “As the Earth Mother, Child of Chaos, I declare you both husband and wife and the King and Queen of Mount Olympus!”

The cheers renewed, becoming so loud that they drowned out her next words.

“May your reign last as long as your marriage!.”

As she spoke these words, Olympus itself trembled, as if acknowledging the new rulers of its mountain. The tree of golden apples shimmered at the new era that had begun.

Gaia stepped away as cheers overtook everything. Zeus lifted Hera into the air as if he were in love with her, but the Primordial Queen knew better. Her grandson had only held affection for the Oceanid. With her gone, Hera was a consolation prize and nothing more.

She would do, and he would cast her aside. This Gaia knew, but with what had been done, Hera would be unable to ever retaliate. Zeus would have security in his reign as king, and Gaia would have Zeus’ favor until the end of time.

She was the lesser titan daughter of the titans Coeus and Phoebe. Her name was Leto. During the Great War, she had been among the titans on Olympus that had refused to fight for either side.

At the time, Cronos had accepted neutrality because he had so many forces on his side that he was overconfident. Zeus had accepted neutrality from any titan at the time because it meant that they would not support Cronos’ side in the war.

It had served her well. Of course it had. Her father had been the Titan of Intellect, child of Ouranos and Gaia. She had been born to a great line, like more deities, but hers was of the mind.

The reason she was important is she had always been given a unique perspective. While the gods and goddesses of Olympus cheered on the union of Zeus and Hera, Leto stood amongst the gods, mostly unnoticed.

She was thin and gaunt but with a figure of eerie elegance. Her black hair fell like a river of darkness over her pale shoulders. Her golden eyes were sharp and unblinking even as they were fixed on the pair standing at the center of Olympus.

Leto’s lips curled into a faint, almost imperceptible smile as she observed the ceremony. For all the symbolic gestures and grandeur of the ceremony, something was missing.

To others, they might not have seen, but to Leto, it was as easy as noticing the breeze’s effects on leaves.

She watched them take their bites of the apples. She saw the distance between the two until formality dictated that they kiss. There was no moment of tenderness, no meaningful touches, no longing in the eyes.

It was power, not passion, that had brought these two together.

The thought amused Leto.

As the gods cheered, Leto’s mind wandered into darker territories. Her father was very good at considering the strategies of war. Her mind was built for the politics of peace. Where he imagined the possibilities of fighting Ouranos and Cronos slaying his children, she considered the probabilities of Zeus retaining power. Hera was a newcomer, and if he was expedient in his marriage to her, then Leto suspected the Metis had been more meaningful as a lover than most on Olympus suspected. She mused at what that meant. Could Hera falter in her role as queen? What if Leto could take her place?

No. That was unlikely. The Queenship was Hera’s ... for now.

But as the mother of the next generation of gods? Now there were possibilities. Zeus already had Hermes and those nine singing brats.

Her gaze drifted to Zeus. He was tall and imposing as ever. Leto was not his sister, like Hera was. While brother and sister relations were not taboo or restrictive, had not the Titans’ unions shown failure? Had not Ouranos’ union with his mother also proven problematic? Cousins though?

Perhaps that unique union could bear strong and powerful children of Olympus? These would be beings that could be molded by her own hand.

The idea was nothing more than a seed at that moment but it was growing rapidly in the fertile soil of her ambition.

She was a titaness from old power that had been on Olympus and knew the ways of every deity, young and old. Zeus—despite his might—was still a god driven by battle, desire, and shortsightedness. Metis might have protected him from all of that, but Hera would surely fail.

As for his desires. Leto could see none of his desires were aimed at Hera, not really. It was obvious in their placating kiss.

His eyes would wander eventually.

But how? When? How could Leto turn his gaze toward her?

This could prove dangerous as Leto knew Hera to be formidable, both with a bow and magic. That was a direct contest though and Leto was nothing if not patient.

She could wait and watch for when the moment was right. Her father’s mistake was he was never sure of when to act. Leto had no such deficiency.

One way or another, Leto would help shape the course of Mount Olympus.

Zeus was busy schmoozing with the crowd. Hera knew she needed to be responsible. She kept busy. She knew what the night would bring.

She would have a duty to bear Zeus’ offspring, and so she would, but that would be later that night. Right then, she had every intention of not thinking about it. Atlas’ daughter, the Hesperides, were where she would go. She would move the tree to her private garden on Olympus.

It had been a gift from Mother Earth after all. The Primordial had seemed somber, but she seemed to be trying to give Hera a gift beyond measure.

Hera would cherish that, even in her captivity.

Zeus walked among the people. He would have to bed Hera later that night. He would, of course, fulfill his duty, but not right away.

He was not one for compliance. Gaia would not have the power to order him around. He was sure she enjoyed that bit of the ceremony. By making Hera his equal with her little speech, Zeus knew that Gaia had elevated his wife.

He would need to strip Hera of that little notion. Not on their wedding night of course, but soon. There would be a night to fuck, and then two days of celebration.

Time would come to put Hera in her place, but not just yet.

That was when something caught Zeus off guard. Something was wrong. A smell, a trick of the light. When Zeus looked upon Chelone, something about the descendent of Oceanus was wrong. She was not the nymph.

He looked from her to Odin and then Osiris. No ... Chelone was like them but not like them. This was another foreign god pretending to be a god from Olympus. When he saw the smile and nod to Hermes from Chelone, Zeus suspected his son had played a part in this.