She looked like a statue of light and fire. Her white peplos dipped to the ground, covering her feet and reflecting the embers of the hearth's flames. A golden himation and gauzy gold veil trailed down to the floor, emphasizing the fiery red waves in her hair. She was gentle warmth incarnate, and lost in thought while sitting on an ornately carved klismos beside her wide window.
"I now understand why my Uncle became desperate enough to declare war," Hermes said, breaking the goddess out of her reverie. "Hestia, I assume. Goddess of the hearth?"
The goddess' head turned, shocked to find someone else in her home when she had been alone just now. Hermes understood her confusion, for it was very seldom that god and mortal alike could detect his arrival. He was quick enough on his feet, but his talaria assured that he moved faster than the winds.
"Who are you?" Hestia asked, her voice coming out soft and unsure. "Why have you come here?"
"How rude of me," he replied, smirking. He tipped his petasos as a sign of respect and to shield his eyes while they scanned the goddess' well-furnished room. He quickly assessed the pile of gifts in one corner, spotting an odd trinket or two that seemed interesting. "Hermes, son of Zeus, prince of thieves, herder of sheep, messenger of the gods and bringer of souls to the underworld."
Hestia blinked, taking in his introduction for a while before responding with a mirthless laugh. It reached the messenger god's ear and bid him return his attention to her. She smiled forlornly, as if coming to a realization no one else had. "If you have come to escort my soul to the underworld, then your task is in vain. 'Tis already in the clutches of a fate worse than torture in the bowels of Tartarus."
Hermes' eyes widened, surprised by her easy acceptance of fate. Word had spread about her tiff with Poseidon, its reason, and its role in finally prompting the god of the sea to revolt against the Olympian king. It was not easy to accept the fact that if it weren't for the lottery among the Olympian gods, Poseidon and she wouldn't have ended up presiding over water and fire respectively. They would've had the chance to wed each other without cost, rather than live out the rest of their lives as entities of two opposing forces. Their love story was never meant to be, and Poseidon held Zeus accountable for that destiny.
Being forever separated from someone you held feelings for truly was a fate crueler than Tartarus.
"No, I have not. Among my many duties, guiding souls is my least favorite," Hermes told her, to her apparent dismay. He frowned, not at all liking the drooped shoulders and cast down eyes with which she responded. Something about her defeated stance did not sit well with him. He had a soft spot for pretty women, and in his mind women were wont to be prettier when they smiled. He scoured for something, anything to draw the slightest hint of amusement from her lips.
"Now thieving!" the messenger god suddenly piped up, startling Hestia once more. "That's the life. It's much more fun one-upping your fellow immortals than handing over unwilling passengers to Charon."
A corner of her mouth rose, granting Hermes half a victory. "I don't think I have the predilection for such a hobby, I'm afraid."
"You're missing out then," he replied, recalling his first ever act of 'brotherly' mischief. Not a day old, and he'd braved his half-brother's wrath by spiriting away his precious herd. The only thing that had been able to settle his brother's ire and save his young hide from Zeus' thunderbolt was trading the dumb animals for his lyre. "You should've seen Apollo's face when he thought his cattle had simply vanished into thin air."
"I heard," Hestia mused, the other corner of her mouth lifting, much to the winged god's elation. He wiped the back of his hand over his brow, yet again masking his wandering eyes. A square-shaped fold of cloth elegantly embroidered with gold thread caught his eye, but Hestia's voice called him to attention before he could inspect it further. "Now what task has brought you to my doors, Hermes?"
Her question soured his mood somewhat, but he took care not to let it show. He could only imagine what kind of reaction he'd get from her after she heard his missive. "A call to arms, I'm afraid," he sighed, resting his willow staff on one shoulder in an effort to appear candid. "Poseidon says, and I quote, 'I offer one last chance for you to become my bride and future queen of Olympus. Fight alongside me, my love, or forever flee'."
Hestia's brow crumpled. Confusion and disbelief warred in her eyes, and it unsettled him to see those emotions there. She gulped, folding her delicate hands over her lap. "He told me that he would instead lay with Demeter and make her his queen."
The winged god winced, hating what he had to tell her next. His next message was not from Poseidon, but from Demeter herself. It's only salvation was that the goddess of harvest bore no ill will and sought merely to inform her sister of her current condition. "He bred with her while she was in the guise of a mare and he a stallion. Your sister not only bears a female child in her womb, but also a profound hatred for him. She has denied his proposal to make her his queen."
Hestia's throat bobbed once again, and she looked away from him to contemplate. Hermes took that time to steal a glance at the lovely cloth that had caught his eye. He deciphered it to be a bag of some sort, with a long strap of golden cord tucked underneath the main body.
"Demeter does have a terrible aversion to duplicity," Hestia said at last, drawing him away from his preoccupation with the treasure and back to the goddess. "Poseidon shouldn't have tricked her."
Hermes was of the same opinion. His uncle had none of the natural finesse which a true god of deception possessed. The messenger god's numerous conquests knelt at his feet without complaint, while Poseidon had unwittingly botched any relation he could've had with his first.
"So you will take up Uncle's offer then?" he asked at last, thinking what a shame it would be if she succumbed to such a tactless lover.
The hearth goddess pursed her lips, no doubt wondering about what options were available to her. "What of the other immortals?"
Hermes pursed his lips as well, lifting one hand to count the division of allies on his fingers.
"Artemis and Apollo are with Poseidon, as is Aphrodite and her husband, Hephaestus," he said, frowning at the mention of his rival's name. How the foul-faced god had won Zeus' permission to wed the fair goddess of romantic love, he didn't know, but he didn't like it. "And as much as Demeter now detests her lover, she chooses to stand by him as well, if only for her child. Hera is on the fence about the matter, whereas Hades has simply decided not to join into such a 'childish fray'."
"And what of you?" Hestia asked him with a mix of curiosity and quiet foreboding. "With whom do you stand?"
Again the hideous image of the god of blacksmiths flashed through Hermes' mind, and again he became incredulous. He had a bone to pick with his father about that one. He'd met Aphrodite first! Aphrodite was mother to his son, for titan's sake! It wasn't like the goddess' beauty would stop fueling duels in her name and honor once she was wed to the ugliest creature in Olympus.
"Though I deeply respect my father, I think he can stand to be brought down a peg or two," he admitted honestly. "It isn't everyday that I get the chance to vex him."
The hearth goddess nodded, respecting his decision even though the smile on her face disappeared. Her intertwined fingers tightened for a fraction of time, but finally untangled after she unclasped her hands to smooth down her clothes.
"No. I will not accept Poseidon's offer," she stated at last, looking as calm as could be. Hermes knew that it was far from the truth, but if she could respect his decision, then he could do the same with hers. She took a fortifying breath and further elaborated on her stand. "I cannot in good conscience choose one brother over the other. I will go the path of Hades and remain silent."
"I see," he responded, bowing once again and taking one last look at that lovely little trinket on top of the treasure pile. Perhaps if the fires of the hearth stirred to a frenzy some time tonight, needing the goddess' full attention, he could sneak in and 'borrow' the pretty prize. "Suit yourself, then. I guess I'll just bring back the news to Uncle."
Hermes twirled his staff and turned, preparing to dash out of her doors within the blink of an eye. A little showing off was good for the soul, and he wanted to make as huge an impression on Hestia as she had on him. However, she spoke up before he could bid a final farewell.
"Would you like it?"
"Pardon?" he asked, turning to the goddess.
Hestia was now standing, and she had an amused smile on her face. It was far more radiant than the one he'd managed to extract from her a while ago. She turned her head towards her bountiful offerings, and all at once Hermes realized that she knew.
"The purse," she stated matter-of-factly, at the same time moving towards the object he coveted. "You've been eyeing it for a while now."
Hermes could barely speak; he could neither deny nor defend himself. Nobody had been astute enough to see through his illusory gestures before, not even his father. Truly it must have been a skill developed after taking care of other gods and goddesses over thousands of years, such as she had done with her siblings.
"I assure you, there's no need to steal anything," she continued, taking the embroidered pouch and holding it out to him. Her smile remained in place, completely free of guile or mischief, unlike his usual encounters with the other immortals. For the first time, somebody had managed to make him feel a measure of guilt for his wicked ways. "If you wish to own it, I will give it to you."
The messenger sputtered. "But—but I—"
"A gift for the first nephew I have met," she said, cutting him off before he could embarrass himself. Hestia moved forward, not minding that her veil dragged on the floor, and reached around Hermes' shoulders to place the purse upon his person. Up close, the little pouch was even more beautiful, but not as beautiful as the solemn face of the goddess that now stood barely two feet in front of him. "I cannot tell you to abandon your role as messenger when war breaks out, for it is an important one, but I pray that you keep yourself safe."
It was Hermes who gulped this time, in awe of her quiet nature when all others in Olympus seemed ready to damn their existence to the river Styx. He finally gave his aunt a nod—the genuine kind for once—and leapt away before she could bat her lashes. And as he did so, running through fields and dunes to get back to Poseidon, he couldn't help but think that he was wrong. Perhaps he wasn't the cleverest god after all. Perhaps there was someone far sharper than he.
♥
Author's Note
Hello, guys! I hope you liked this installment of Fireside. No artist's rendition of Hermes today, I'm afraid. I'll be sure to add in another art collection after a few more chapters though, so please be patient.
Like before, this is another flashback episode to the time of the Philial Revolt. The next few shorts will be in this period as well. Thank you so much for supporting this anthology, and for leaving little comments and reactions. They really make my day. Warm regards to Aaisha Patel (@__aena13), who has a story set in my darling but sometimes despicable country of the Philippines, lol. As always, I hope everybody has a fantastic day, and 'til the next upload!