Chapter 12: Those Who Sit in the Seats of Power

“The major gods of ancient Greece in myth and cult are the twelve Olympians. They are a family consisting of Zeus, his brother Poseidon, his sisters Hera, Demeter, and Hestia, his sons Hermes, Hephaistos, Ares, Apollon, and Dionysos, and his daughters Athena, Aphrodite, and Artemis.”William Hansen, Classical Mythology: A Guide to the Mythical World of the Greeks and Romans, 2nd ed., 2020, Oxford University Press.

Hera had made a promise, and she fully intended to keep it.

This led her to the throne room of Zeus. In a quiet power, she stood before him, bathed in the light of early afternoon.

Zeus sat on his grand throne. The regal golden seat only added to his ruling aura. Hera was unaccustomed to being given an audience like one of the common gods beneath them. However, for the son she wronged, and wished to make right by, this would be more than sufficient.

“Dearest Zeus,” Hera began, her voice rich with praise for her husband. She knew this method was the best way to ensure he listened.

“What is it, Hera?” Zeus asked, exasperated. He had hoped that getting her free of the chair would have made his life easier, but any official visit from Hera spelled disaster.

“I recall that you announced your Olympians,” she said, recalling her husband’s pet project. “I want Hephaestus to be one.”

“That would not do, Hera,” Zeus said, trying to sound respectful. “Hephaestus has been ... absent from Olympus for so long. What would the other gods think if I elevated him?”

Hera’s eyes glinted with a sharpness that only she possessed. “They will believe that his skills at the forge surpasses anything they could create. Raising him to be our equal makes it so Olympus has a master smith and an armory that he will make for us.”

Zeus sat back in his throne, his fingers lightly tapping the armrest as he considered her words.

“My dear husband,” Hera said, keeping a silken edge to her voice. “It is long past time we correct this oversight that speaks poorly of you and me as rulers of Olympus.”

She was unsure if she had overplayed her hand when it came to Zeus’ relationship with her, or if she had revealed her need to do right by Hephaestus, but this was the correct course. Nothing would steer her away from it.

“Hmm,” he muttered. He leaned his head back on his throne to look up at the ceiling. “I am not saying Hephaestus does not have value, my wife,” he said after a moment, “but the seat of the Twelfth Olympian is not something to be granted lightly, nor to be given away freely.”

“He has clearly thrived despite being away from Olympus,” Hera countered. She was careful not to sound demanding. “Zeus, his gifts surpass many who already have positions of honor.”

Prometheus watched the exchange. He restrained a laugh when he realized that if these two powerful people could set aside their differences and work together, Olympus would prosper forever.

As it was, he knew this would be another argument, so he stepped forward.

“With all due respect, my king,” he said, interrupting the two, “but the queen speaks the truth. Hephaestus is not like most. His creations could be incredibly useful in the time to come. Why wouldn’t he have a place here among us?”

Zeus glanced at Prometheus, his eyes narrowing ever so slightly. To be contradicted by Prometheus was not ideal when in the presence of Hera.

“Hmm. Perhaps,” Zeus said with slow consideration.

Hera was about to object when Prometheus shook his head the slightest inch to the left then right one time.

“Very well,” she said in deference to her husband. “All I ask is that you do not delay too long, dearest Zeus.”

She inclined her head to prometheus before bowing her head to her king. After which, she left.

“You know she has a good point,” Prometheus said after she left.

“Yes, but that it came from Hera gives cause for concern,” Zeus remarked.

“It would seem power has given you many gifts, but sensibility was not one of them.”

Zeus scowled on his throne. “Careful, Counselor.”

“Her suggestion is a good one. You know that. Posture and threaten all you want, but your job as king is not only to preserve your rule, but to maintain order. As you recall, this was the failing of your predecessors.”

Sharp as a lightning strike, Zeus’ gaze snapped to Prometheus.

“And what precisely do you mean by that, Counselor?”

Prometheus stepped forward, his stride deliberate. “You hesitate, Zeus. You distrust Hera’s motives, and perhaps rightly so. But I continue to wonder: Why?”

Zeus leaned back in the chair.

“For all of the gifts that power did not give me, it gave me vision, Titan of Foresight,” Zeus said, oozing derision. “The issue, Prometheus,” he went on, becoming both regal and serious, “is one of deception. Hera omitted something pertinent.”

Prometheus raised a brow. “What did she withhold, Zeus?” Prometheus asked with an exhausting sigh.

“You mock, Prometheus, but Hera kept the fact that Hephaestus was her son from you and me when making this magnanimous request.”

“What?” was all the counseling titan could say.

“Do I look like I am joking?” Zeus asked, challenging Prometheus to call him a liar. “Before Ares, she had another son. Some weak, inconsequential thing. She and I even discussed it, and right after, he vanished as if the Fates stole him away or Thanatos came to claim him.”

He shook his head as a maddening smile touched his lips. “I actually thought she killed him for a time in rage at Leto’s pregnancy, but then I forgot all about him, until she made this plea.”

“Why?” Prometheus asked, still not seeing what his king did.

Though Prometheus recalled a pregnancy and child before Ares, he was too busy with his own machinations and the birth of Athena at the time to put any further thought into it. He knew that he could not make such a mistake in the future. If he had been apprised of Hephaestus’ lineage, he could have worked with Hera. Shaking his head, he made sure he would do rectify his own failings.

“Hephaestus’ sudden return is ... convenient. Wouldn’t you say?”

Prometheus did not even ask how. He let his megalomaniacal superior continue.

“Hera becomes ensnared in a trap that, according to you, no one could free her from, and who should appear, but a smith of unparalleled skill to rescue her?”

“You’re insinuating that Hera allowed herself the humiliation of being imprisoned and screamed and wailed like a child as an act?” Prometheus countered. He shook his head. “We both know that your wife is not that sort of goddess.”

“Regardless,” Zeus said, waving the issue aside. “Hephaestus’ skill may be remarkable, but I will not reward someone for fixing a problem that they caused.”

The smile that curled on Prometheus’ lips was wry and bemused

“Oh, I see,” he said, his tone cutting through the air like a blade of tempered wit. “The only one who should be rewarded for fixing their own problems should be you, Zeus.”

Zeus’ fingers paused mid-tap. Lightning crackled on both sets of his hands.

“Careful, Prometheus,” he warned.

“Tell me that I am wrong, my friend,” Prometheus challenged.

To that, Zeus had no answer.

The clang of metal against metal rang out over the training ground. The courtyard outside Hera’s palace was alive with the sparks of combat. The Queen of Olympus had been gracious enough to allow Athena and Ares to practice their combat so long as they did not destroy anything.

Athena and Ares faced each other in the sun-drenched arena. Athena had a spear of sharp bronze, and Ares had a short sword in his hand. Without the Cyclopes or Hecatoncheires, Epimetheus had tried to be the armorer for Olympus, but he was not nearly a gifted smith.

Ares lunged, striking with swift brutality. Athena countered by dodging and using her spear’s reach to her advantage. Her movements were fluid in every step. The sunlight caught in her polished shield as it rested off to the side. This battle was for her spear against his sword.

“You heard, right?” Ares growled with the venom of lingering resentment. He pivoted against her stab, bringing his blade down in a sweeping arc. “Father’s about to announce his precious Olympians.”

Athena said nothing. While he swung, she studied. She sidestepped his strike and held back her spear from a deliberate thrust. She knew it would bear her no fruit with how Ares reacted. He was likely to catch the shaft mid-motion, which would make her disengage from him.

“Of course, you’ll be one of them,” Ares spat, circling her like a predator. His sword slashed through the air only to miss her by a breath. “Perfect, wise Athena. Dad’s golden child. Isn’t that what they say?”

Athena said nothing. Her eyes shone in curious intention. She needed to understand her brother’s attack patterns. His words were immaterial.

Her silence infuriated him. For one such as Ares, rage was the kind of motivation that focused and strengthened him rather than make him overly foolish, so when Ares lunged again, his blade found its mark.

The edge carved a shallow cut across his sister’s forearm. Ichor welled up from the wound like liquid sunlight. Athena smiled, impressed by her brother when she looked up in pain. She seethed as the wound burned her entire arm like a spreading wildfire.

Athena hissed softly through her teeth; however she remained calm, not allowing her pain to affect her expression. Her aura flickered faintly over the wound, creating a barrier. She looked at what was happening with mild interest. The pain was dulled but did not vanish.

This all happened within a second.

Once the moment had passed, she countered with her spear by driving toward Ares with a force that made him stagger back. The barrier formed around the end of her spear making an ethereal globe of a shield around the pole and just covering the tip of the weapon.

In the moment after, her aura wavered, and for a heartbeat, the barrier on her arm and spear flickered out of existence.

“You’re silent because you agree,” Ares pressed. His breath came in short bursts as they broke apart. While his attack had made her burn, hers had been far more impactful. “You’ll have a seat by father’s side while the rest of us scramble for scraps.”

“Words have value. I speak when mine contribute to a conversation in a productive manner, Brother,” Athena finally replied. She looked to him, across from her, before adjusting her stance. She held her spear at the ready. “What good does guessing about the future do, Ares? Nothing has been decided yet.”

Ares bared his teeth like a feral animal.

“Nothing is decided?” he shouted, lunging forward. Athena sidestepped without much effort. “Father wouldn’t dare leave you out. You, who popped out of his head! You breathe wisdom and shit perfection!”

He started to swing more ravenously. He missed by wide margins as Athena barely moved around him. She struck him with the butt of her spear in his stomach and then on his exposed back.

“Olympus would fall apart without your perfect presence!” Ares said, trying to catch his breath. “After all, you’re Father’s favorite!”

Athena parried his next strikes without a care or worry. “Zeus has no favorites,” she retorted.

She knew what being Zeus’ favorite did for her mother, so she had no intention of being his preferred child. After all, he could come to consume her as Cronos did to her uncles.

“What about you?” she asked, her voice cutting through his rage. “Do you really not see yourself among the Twelve? Or is this misplaced anger just your way of compensating for uncertainty?”

“I am his heir!” he roared. He drove forward with a flurry of blows, not that it did him any good. Athena was more than ready for him. She parried and dodged with expert skill. “I should be the sword in his hand! How can I belong when compared to you?”

Athena blocked the next few blows before retaliating. She sidestepped his final swing before she maneuvered her weapon. Her spear darted toward his unguarded flank, making Ares stumble back. His grip tightening on his weapon loosened as he fell down...

“I do not deny your strength,” Athena said softer. “No one denies your position as a prince to the king and queen. You have nothing to prove, Brother.”

“Of course not,” Ares sneered. “I am sure the perfect Athena could never know what it is like to be unsure.”

Athena stepped back, so he could retrieve his weapon. “What good does your fury do when all it does is destroys your peace of mind?”

Ares turned from her when he sheathed his single-handed short sword. “What peace? There is only competition and conflict. You’ll see, Sister. When the time comes, you will see power can only shine on who Father values more.”

He trotted off as Athena looked at her weapon. Her aura made an impenetrable around her body and then spear. She could see Ares’ burning damage on her was his innate nature manifested into power. If she was to be a force on Olympus, regardless of Zeus’ favor or not, she would need to harness all of her gifts.

The grand throne room of the Underworld was not one for visitors from Olympus, but on this day, as imposing as ever, the room for Hades would receive a message.

Shadows draped themselves over every surface, clothing the realm in its one-of-a-kind darkness. Verdant flames were the only forms of light on the wall. Distant souls from the fallen Titans howled the halls.

Hades sat upon his throne in preparation for the visitor.

“Lord Hades!” Hermes announced, his arrival heralded by the faint hum of wings.

That was new to Hades. He had known Hermes to be quick, but to fly was a power he did not readily have.

“Welcome, Hermes,” Hades said, offering the young god a place in front of his throne.

He landed lightly on the floor of the throne room. As per usual, his casual grin practically glowed, especially in the gloomy atmosphere of the Underworld.

“Boss, looking good!” Hermes said, whistling at the changes made to the Underworld in his many years away. “You’ve really got the whole ‘dark and brooding’ aesthetic down. Love what you’ve down with the place. Ten out of ten; no notes.”

Hades’ expression darkened further. “Hermes. If you’ve come to waste my time with idle chatter, I will have Thanatos see you out.” His voice was a low growl, like the rumble of an approaching storm.

The reputation of the god of death had come long before him in Hermes’ life. Because of this, Hermes held up his hands in a mock gesture of surrender.

“No need to sic the dead guy on me, boss. I’m here on official business. You know, Zeus stuff. Big, important kingly matters. Very serious.”

“Speak plainly, then, Hermes,” Hades demanded in a cold, powerful way. “And mind your tone. This is not Olympus, and I am not some fool to be placated with foolery or flattery.”

“Right, right, of course. My bad, boss,” Hermes said, though the grin never left his face. He started to pace around the room. He had practiced his request one hundred times, but as he understood matters, Zeus, Hades, and Poseidon were equals. No one king could demand something of another without upsetting the delicate balance made and maintained by the three of them.

“Here’s the deal, boss,” Hermes said after letting out a lungful of air. “Zeus wants to, uh, ‘borrow’ a couple of your ... let’s call them ‘residents.’ Coeus and Phoebe, to be specific. Coeus gets a get-out-of-Tartarus-free card, and Phoebe? Well, the big guy’s thinking of bringing her back to the land of the living. Just a little resurrection. Not at all a big deal, right?”

Hades was silent for a moment. His loathing gaze bore into Hermes with the weight of the Great War that had preceded him.

“Coeus,” he said finally. Venom hissed out of his mouth. “The Titan who advised Cronos during the War? Phoebe was slain in battle and is now a specter of this realm, bound to its laws and to... me.”

“Yeah, those two,” Hermes confirmed with a shrug. Though he tried to remain casual, he was finding that to be impossible with the oppressive power and stature of the King of the Underworld. “Zeus figured you’d understand. It’s all for the greater good, you know? Big plans, lots of strategy, family unity! Rah rah Olympus and all that.”

Hades leaned forward, the movement subtle yet powerful, like a landslide poised on the edge of collapse. “Understand this, Hermes. Their release will never happen. Coeus rots in Tartarus for his crimes, and there he shall remain. As for Phoebe, she is a shade that is bound to this realm and rightfully belongs to me. Zeus has no claim over her—or any of my subjects.”

Hermes rubbed the back of his neck, his grin faltering for a moment. He knew Hades would be difficult to deal with, but a rejection would not be something his father would want to hear. However, as things stood, Hermes knew it would do him no good to fight with Hades.

“Okay, fair points, all around. Totally valid, boss. I’ll just, uh, take that as a hard ‘no,’ then?”

Hades’ gaze sharpened. “Do not mistake my patience for tolerance of your tomfoolery, Hermes. You may tell Zeus that his request is denied.”

“Gotcha, boss. Got it. No Titans, no resurrections. Message received loud and clear!” Hermes said with a cheerful salute.

Hades loosed a sigh. “Leave now, Hermes.”

“Gone, babe!” Hermes said, taking a quick step back before vanishing in a blur of golden light.

The throne room was silent once more.

Hades sat in thought over what had just transpired. Zeus’ request was an unusual one without any precedence, but as Hades thought about it, he considered the possibility to bringing a being back from the dead. Had it been done before? Was it at all possible?

“Nyx!” Hades rumbled.

If anyone could provide answers, it was her.

Beyond that, he had to wonder what was going on with Mount Olympus. From Hera to Hermes, the visitors were growing.

Hermes came and went, giving the rejection from Hades that Zeus had suspected was coming.

Otherwise, the chamber in his palace was quiet. Zeus stood at the map of the Grecian Realm. He glanced at the Underworld portion with idle curiosity. The sharp clack of footsteps announced the arrival of another.

“You summoned me, my king,” Prometheus said. He spoke in his usual, respectable manner.

“Ah, Prometheus,” Zeus said, looking up. He gestured broadly at the map. “I find myself troubled by developments in the Underworld.”

“Clarity can sometimes be difficult. What is it that vexes you so?”

“I sent Hermes down to the Underworld,” Zeus started. When Prometheus reacted, Zeus raised a hand. “I know. I know. I should not have tried this endeavor without you, but Hades refused my request out of hand. Both Phoebe and Coeus remain bound to his Realm.”

Prometheus arched a brow, folding his hands behind his back. “You cannot be surprised by this. When he was given reign of the Underworld, there was a certain expectation of autonomy, Zeus, and let’s face it, Hades is not one to relinquish what he considers his. Still, I suspect it is not his refusal that weighs on you.”

Zeus nodded slowly, his gaze shifting back to the map. “You’re not wrong. His no is expected. I am concerned about resentment that bothers me.”

Inwardly, the youngest son of Cronos was more than aware Hades did not reject his request because of any resentment. The Underworld was his domain, and he had every right denying Zeus’ desire.

Prometheus allowed a faint smile to touch his lips before nodding. “Ah. You did exclude him from Olympus. We were aware there would be consequences after he went to the Underworld. It is the most isolated of the Realms, after all.”

Zeus sighed, shaking his head. “Perhaps I hoped his dominion would have tempered his stubborn disposition. After all, all of the Titans kneeled to Cronos. I assumed that Hades would have recognized Olympus’ supremacy.”

“I fear that outcome is unlikely to happen. Stubbornness aside, Hades is patient and in charge of a place shrouded in uncertainty. Most do not know what occurs in the Underworld. Most do not want to, Zeus. You might be able to assuage him with the twelfth seat of yours.”

Zeus shook his head. “That is never going to happen. That was always meant to be your honor.”

Prometheus looked closely at his king. He suspected something had changed on that front.

“And? He asked, unsure.

Zeus chuckled, looking off into the distance. “I believe you might have been correct, old friend.”

“Oh?” Prometheus asked, wondering.

“I can’t help but imagine a time in the future where my brother might start a conflict between the Underworld and Olympus. Someone like Hephaestus might prove useful.

Prometheus stared, dumbfounded. While this was the worst motivation to elevate Hephaestus, it was a reason for the forge master to join the ranks next to a god of conflict, wisdom, cold, sea, and lightning.

“Of course, Majesty,” Prometheus said with a nod.

The fruit trees drank up the sun in the groves surrounding the Demeter’s palace temple. Demeter was draped in her flowing gown of purple, green, and earthy brown. Her brownish hair, streaked with green. At the roots, strands of white crept like frost, a testament to the turning seasons.