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Hades lifts her gaze from the fresh crack in the marble floor, and she holds Zeus' storm-filled stare. Often, her brother is expressive, loud, and wordy. Today he resembles her; pensive, quiet, and brief.
One question echoes through the room when Zeus opens his mouth.
“What do we do now?”
43
Zeus
Zeus wasn’t elected leader because of his intelligence, leadership skills, or prowess. He was elected because Poseidon is useless and Hades is a woman. Of the three, Hades should’ve held dominion over the gods. She’s fair, she’s empathetic, and she possesses a rational mind that Zeus and Poseidon lack.
Her sin lay in her birth. Female. The most odious of sins to the gods—gods who often forget they all were born from divine feminine powers. Chaos. Gaia. Rhea.
All were goddesses who rebelled against their male counterparts, when their worlds were in danger of unraveling beneath the rule of tyrants.
Hades' battle here will join her predecessors. She will line the halls of Olympus' schools as a goddess who fought against her brother’s tyranny.
Zeus rubs his tired eyes, recalling Hera’s parting words to him before this battle began.
Your choices brought your sister to our door.
Releasing a sigh, Zeus settles back in his seat. The gold— a jarring, icy touch against his battered shoulder—reminds him that his choice here will determine Hades' fate.
“You broke half of Olympus with that stunt.” Zeus begins, unsure of where else to start.
Hades, effecting carelessness, shrugs her pale shoulders. “You’re always searching for an excuse to redecorate.”
Despite himself, Zeus smiles. “I thought it would be centuries before we could laugh about this.”
“I never wanted to make you an enemy, Zeus.” Hades releases a heavy breath. “You are my favorite brother.” He snorts in disbelief, and Hades continues. “You are. Flawed and annoying as you can be…you’re my favorite.” She starts up the steps, and Zeus doesn’t remind Hades of her place. He can’t. Her place was never beneath him. “If you weren’t my favorite, Zeus, I’d have brought war to Olympus sooner.”
He laughs as she crouches before his chair, Hades' gaze even with his. Though he looks to his lap, too ashamed to meet her eye.
“What wars did you avoid out of love, Hades?”
Her response is a full-bodied laugh, and Zeus remembers the early years after Kronos when they spent time as scared children in fields, mapping stars to avoid speaking words of consequence. He missed that sound. He didn’t realize how much he missed Hades' laughter until this moment.
“I didn’t fight you when you banished me to the Underworld, to be our father’s keeper. I didn’t fight you when you betrayed Metis.”
Zeus winces, recalling his first wife.
“I didn’t fight you for allowing Poseidon to breathe after all of his atrocities.”
Zeus chews the inside of his cheek, his mind turning to Athena—who earned her own lash against Zeus for some of Poseidon’s worst actions. He doesn’t linger on the thought as Hades continues.
“I didn’t bring you war when you forced a consort upon me.”
A sad smile blooms across Zeus' mouth, and he turns his gaze from his lap to Hades. “But you brought me war when I took him back.”
Hades stands, casting a shadow across Zeus as her expression turns cold. “Lie to me, Zeus,” she commands. “Lie to me and tell me you’d sit still if I took Hera.”
Just the suggestion grips his soul in the crushing palm of a Titan, as if the thought is enough to ruin his world.
“No.” Zeus whispers, before he can call the word back.
Hades gifts him the benevolent smile she wears for the souls who march into her throne room—seeking judgment.
“Punish me, Zeus, if you must. But don’t pretend you wouldn’t have done the same. Don’t pretend your story wouldn’t be justified in the eyes of all because you are a man. A god. A being forgiven for rash decisions and passionate love.”
