Chapter 6: The Suffering of Leto

“The mother of fair-haired Apollo and arrow-shooting Artemis”Apollodorus, The Library (Bibliotheca), Book 1.4.1, translated by James George Frazer, originally composed in the 1st or 2nd century CE

Leto had a home on Mount Olympus. It was a palace like most. It was pretty, but for the most part, empty. There was a serene disposition for the Titaness to enjoy in her usual grace. Recently, however, her movements had grown slower from the very real changes in her body.

Her figure had a faint glow to it while her stomach was burgeoning. The fat on her lower body was becoming more abundant as well. The new life growing within her.

Regardless of her advancing pregnancy, she still worked on the nursery for her coming child. She prayed to Chaos that the baby was a boy. With Zeus’ waned interest, Leto was uncomfortably aware that her life was her own, for good or bad. Any previous ambition to bear many children for Zeus, becoming queen, or even having the respect of the other gods was as possible as grasping a stream.

For all of her thoughts, she was shocked back to reality when the doors burst open with a force that shook the walls.

Hera strode into the potential nursery. She held a wrathful authority about her that showed Leto the difference between a queen and someone aspiring for a throne. Her skin glowed with an ominous emerald hue, and her brown hair had a sheen of violet aura in her fury.

While Zeus was the Thunderer and commander of storm, it was the Queen of Olympus who was a tempest personified at that moment.

Leto froze where she stood. Her golden eyes grew wide in confused fear. “Hera,” she said softly. Her voice was steady despite the growing dread in her chest. She tried to maintain a sense of decorum and manners. “To what do I owe—”

“Silence!” Hera’s voice cut through the air like a whip. The venous look in her angry eyes warned that she would broker no deception but welcome resistance. She advanced on Leto deliberately. “Don’t feign innocence with me! Do you thought you could hide your choice? Did you think he would protect you?”

Leto instinctively backed away, her hand moving protectively to her midsection. “I don’t know what you mean—”

“Don’t lie!” Hera thundered. In her anger, her voice echoed, not only through the room, but up Leto’s spine. “Did you think I wouldn’t find out? Did you think I was stupid?” Her eyes flicked to Leto’s stomach.

Both women paused for the briefest of moments. Leto worried for her unborn child. Hera struggled to hold her vengeance at bay. Children, to most, were sacrosanct, but Hera had hurled her son from the height of Olympus. She was not above a mid-term abortion.

“While I suffered, carrying Olympus’ next prince, you opened your bed, spread your legs ... for... my ... husband!”

Leto’s lips trembled. She was caught, and with the life of her child on the line, Leto discarded any hope for her survivor, but the life of her unborn child mattered so much more than any self-preservation. As such, she considered her options. Rather than considering the truth, deception seemed her own way.

Leto started without cowering. “I never sought to challenge you, Hera. Zeus—”

“Zeus!” Hera spat. “Yes, always Zeus! Zeus! Zeus! Zeus!” She said his name like a child’s song, but with all of the hatred she felt at him, coupled with the powerlessness of her position.”Do you think that excuses you?” Hera accused. “You could have refused him, but you didn’t! You let this happen.”

The air in the room grew heavy, charged with Hera’s growing power. The golden ichor that coursed through her veins was alight with the fiery loathing, and sparks similar to Zeus danced across her fingertips.

“Do you know what you have done?” Hera exclaimed. “How dare you even try and encroach on what’s mine! You put my title in question, chased my position... risked my family!”

Leto took another step back, but found her back pressed against the cold wall. “Hera, please,” she whispered. “Think of my child—”

“Your child?” Hera’s laugh was hollow and cold if not downright hysterical. “Your child has no right to exist! You dare speak of children to me? Zeus mocks my offspring! Now you bring this bastard into my realm?”

The golden aura surrounding Hera intensified, her hair lifting as if caught in an unseen wind. She raised her hand, and a swirling sphere of emerald and violet energy formed in her palm. It crackled with unrestrained fury, a manifestation of her intent.

Leto’s breath quickened, her voice barely above a whisper. “Hera, I beg you—”

“You will pay for your betrayal. I will make an example of you, and when I am done, no goddess will dare to look at Zeus, let alone share his bed.”

The light started to grow around Hera in an oppressive heat and powerful aura. Leto closed her eyes, bracing for the wrath of the Queen of Olympus.

The room crackled with energy, Hera’s wrath poised to strike. The power was made into the shape of a sphere of emerald and violet light in her hand.

Leto was pressed against the wall, clutching her belly protectively. Tears streamed down her cheeks as she awaited the inevitable. This was her price to pay for her ambition. This was the price for laying with the King of Olympus.

As Hera was about to bring her hand down and strike Leto with the might of a queen, a sharp crack of thunder resounded through the chamber.

A hand grabbed Hera’s wrist. When it did, the tempest of Hera’s power dissipated in an instant. Hera staggered, momentarily disoriented from the amount of power challenging her. She quickly returned to herself and turned her furious gaze upon the figure that had appeared between her and her target.

The King of Olympus stood tall with all of the undeniable presence granted to the ruler of the gods and winner of the Great War. His storm-gray eyes blazed with authority if not downright lightning. A faint golden glow encased him to shield the Titaness behind him.

“Hera,” Zeus said calmly. “Enough.” That simple, single word was the only warning granted to his wife.

Hera looked at him shocked before becoming angered before transforming into derision. Her lips curled into a sneer. The remnants of her power crackled faintly around her. “You,” she hissed, her voice trembling with equal parts rage and pain. Tears might have formed, but she knew she needed to control herself when dealing with him. “Of course, you would protect her.”

Zeus did not flinch. “This ends here,” he said firmly. He motioned to Leto. “I will not allow you to harm her or the child.”

Hera’s laughter was sharp and bitter. The madness in her eyes warned everyone that she was inches away from destroying everyone if she could.

“The child?” she repeated mockingly. “Your bastard, you mean?” She took a step forward towards her husband with burning, bloodshot eyes. “Do you think I’ll stand by and let this ... this mockery exist?”

Leto shifted fearfully uncomfortable behind Zeus. She said nothing, realizing the gap between herself and Zeus, and by extension, the gap between herself and Hera. The Queen of Olympus was every bit Zeus’ equal. It was only when her and her baby’s life was in danger that she realized the depths of the mistake she had made.

Zeus raised a lightning-pulsed hand, palm outward to Hera. “You will leave, Hera,” he said coldly.

Hera lowered her arms and balled her fists at her sides. The emerald glow flared briefly before dimming out into nothingness. Her gaze flicked between the two of them—her husband, the Thunderer, and the Titaness who had dared to carry his child. Her lips curled into a bitter smile.

“Leave?” she repeated his words again, softly. Slowly, second by second, an eerie calm washed over her. “Do you really think this ends with me walking away?” Her eyes narrowed, and her voice grew sharper. She looked from her husband to his mistress. “No,” she scoffed. “Even you cannot be so foolish.”

She looked at the floor and shook her head. She was regaining her composure by the moment. “You may protect her for now, Zeus, but I swear this: her children will never be born.”

Zeus stiffened, his jaw tightening. “Hera, don’t—”

“I mean it,” Hera interrupted. Her voice was rising to punctuate her severity. “By my will as Queen of Olympus, by the oaths we took to signify our union, I will see that this woman—” she spat the word, “—receives nothing but anguish.”

With a final, seething glare, Hera turned on her heel and strode out of the nursery and out of Leto’s palace.

Leto’s trembling voice broke the silence. “She will come for me again,” she whispered.

Zeus turned to face her and placed a steady hand on her shoulder. “She won’t touch you this time,” he said. “But I should warn you that I might not be able to intervene again if she tries again.”

Leto blinked from the sudden whiplash. One moment he seemed soft and caring, but within a snap of her fingers, he seemed to be treating her in such an impersonal manner. It was as if she went back to not mattering to him.

This point was further compounded when he continued speaking.

“It would be in your best interest to leave Mount Olympus until you have given birth and the child can fend for itself.”

Leto stared bewildered at her lover. He had laid with her, in defiance of his own marriage, and when the moment came to defend her, he was doing little to nothing. Having seen the power at Zeus and Hera’s disposal, however, warned Leto what she could and could not do.

And so, in the end, she lowered her head and said, “Yes, Lord Zeus.”

Zeus smiled before leaving. When his back was to Leto, he smiled softly. Never before had he seen such passion in a woman as he had in Hera when she was seeking retribution. There was something in her eyes that made her second to none.

He would have to see about taking her to bed when this was all over.

There were many times in Hera’s life where she felt a gap between herself and her mother. This was to say nothing of the chasm between her and Gaia. While both Rhea and Gaia had been queens before her, Gaia had been there at the dawn of time, and Rhea had served for a longer time than Gaia or Hera if the stories were to be believed.

Time was a funny thing in the early days of Olympus. However, it was believed millenia had past under Rhea’s watch. However, on this day, Hera knew herself to be the match to the women she had come to see.

The Queen of Olympus approached the ever-familiar, secluded grove where Rhea and Gaia usually were. The area was alive with gentle winds, which did not shock Hera as all. As she understood it, the island was a physical extension of the Primordial Queen.

Gaia rose to her full, towering eight-foot height as she saw Hera enter. The Earth Mother’s form of vines curling and bark groaning was one that might have been alien to the uninitiated, but Hera was up to this task. Gaia’s luminous green eyes looked upon Hera with calm, curious interest.

Rhea stood next to her mother. She was dressed in her serene sky-blue gown. Her hair of heavenly gold and earthy brown seemed to sparkle under the light of Helios.

In contrast, opposite to the former queens, Hera’s violet-empowered gaze never left them. Her magic still resonated from her earlier confrontation with Leto and Zeus. She wore a gown of lilac and deep purple that shimmered slightly with her power, and upon her head sat a golden wreath of a crown with a sheen reminiscent of flame.

“Good afternoon, Hera,” Rhea greeted softly, stepping forward. “You seem troubled.”

Hera saw the hollow nicety for what it was and refused to engage with it.

“I assume you knew,” Hera said. Her voice was sharp with a bitter edge.

“Knew ... what?” Rhea wondered.

Before Hera could retort, Gaia forestalled them both. “We were aware of Zeus’ infidelity,” she said calmly.

“And you decided to do nothing?” Hera asked, raising her voice to her predecessor.

“Young lady, what precisely would you like us to do?” Gaia asked back seriously. “When we stand against your husband, he punishes, banishes, or disregards us. You are under the false assumption that we have any amount of control over the King of Olympus. We had hoped, by installing you, that you might exercise a modicum of control over him, including his wayward libido.”

Hera stared at the Primordial Queen entirely baffled.

“So when I say, ‘you seem troubled’, it might be best to tell me what is troubling you rather than hurling accusations,” Rhea said more firmly.

Sufficiently deflated, Hera exhaled. “I am more than troubled. While I bore Olympus’ next prince, Zeus wandered into another’s arms!” She spat the last words with a venomous rage that would know no end.

“That’s one way to say that,” Rhea said, blowing out a long breath.

“And now, this Titaness dares to carry his child,” Hera declared.

“What precisely would you like us to do?” Gaia asked

“I will not allow this insult to stand,” Hera declared. “My children will be the heirs to Olympus, not any slut that spreads her legs!”

Both Rhea and Gaia blanched at the strength of her words. It was a moment before the eldest queen regained herself

Gaia’s expression remained serene despite the concern. “We are aware, young Queen of Olympus. Your pain does not go unseen. After all, Zeus’ actions disrupt far more than your peace.”

Hera’s fists tightened. “Then you understand why I have come.”

Rhea tilted her dead, “While we offer you support, dearest daughter, we do not know why you have come.”

Gaia looked more closely at Hera, inspecting her with ancient eyes that could see what others were so adept at hiding. “Have you come before us, seeking our support or something else?” When no answer was forthcoming, the Earth Primordial pushed on. “Do you seek justice or vengeance?”