Adagio
Divine opulence. Marble, gold and sapphire, all adorning every corner of the dining hall. The depths beyond the stratosphere are adorned with twinkling stars, some dancing with one another, others flickering on their own. Each of the occupied seats houses a deity, their auras glowing faintly.
On the clothed dining table sits multiple dishes, all fit for divine indulgence. Fig leaves dredged in olive oil, olives with a side of ambrosia oil, cheese-stuffed lotus rolls, all of which come from the sacred vegetable patch. A large platter for an entire boar, grilled to perfection by the divine chefs, captured by Artemis herself. Lamb braised in Dionysus’ best wine and reduced dates. Demeter’s signature roasted barley served with edible gold flakes. Ambrosia salad served with slices of fruits harvested from the divine gardens. Fruit tarts, molten honey cakes. Aged wine rich and flavourful. Nectar from the freshest of divine blossoms.
“Welcome to the divine banquet, my esteemed guests!” a handsome man announces with grace. “I, Ares, on behalf of my wife Aphrodite, welcome you all to this feast to honour the birth of my beloved twins, Deimos and Phobos! Thanks be to everyone who participated in helping with the preparations—Dionysus, Artemis, Demeter, Athena, Hera, and so many more.”
Ares, the god of war. Donning his most beautiful silks, ingrained with rubies and rose gold, the blonde deity stands at the head of the long dining table. He has his hands out, moving with a rehearsed grace. He may not be a god of music, but his melodic voice calls everyone to attention. His crimson gaze bears a softness that wasn’t there before.
“Quite a beautiful feast you’ve prepared for us, son,” the king of the gods himself, Zeus, raises an eyebrow and praises Ares, running a hand through his bushy white beard. “I’ve never thought you were capable of organising such magnificent parties before.”
“Dionysus helped for the most part,” Ares chuckles ruefully. “He taught me everything I needed to know about event organisation and throwing parties.”
After every deity present takes their seats, the warrior deity raises a hand and sings, “Enjoy your meals, everyone! To my wife and sons!”
While the other gods immediately grab their forks and knives, ready to dig into their lavish buffet, Ares awkwardly waltzes over to his seat where a cradle of gold rests beside it. His seat glows a soft, warm vermillion, different from his usual fierce crimson. He’s a changed man. He’s a father now; no longer is he an immature brute who knows only the thrill of the kill in large-scale battles.
Ares doesn’t eat. He only tends to the pair of infants in the cradle. Deimos and Phobos, his beloved children. His baby twins. He shakily yet tenderly reaches in and strokes their heads, one at a time. Deimos is fast asleep, while Phobos is cooing and playing with his father’s hand. His playful noises and cheeky smile melt Ares’ heart.
“Ares, darling,” Hera smiles as she watches her son. “You should eat up.”
“I’ve eaten, Mother,” Ares looks up at his mother and flashes her the sweetest, brightest beam she’s ever seen him wear. “Dionysus and I have had a few tastes of the food beforehand to ensure everything is perfect for this feast. Thank you for your concern.”
Hera nods and continues chewing on the piece of boar behind her crimson lips. She always has a soft spot for her children and especially her grandchildren.
Just as everyone is enjoying their meal…
“Excuse us, Apologies for our tardiness.”
“Oh, Hades, hello! Please, take a seat. The feast has just started.”
The Underworld gods file in, Hades leading the charge. While the Olympians wear bright colours, the gods of the afterlife present themselves with gothic beauty, wearing their most formal black outfits. Black silk, black crowns, black gemstones, black flowers. The gods of death and the afterlife take their seats.
Demeter freezes at the sight of her daughter, Persephone. She has indeed changed quite a lot—grown taller, gained a perfect figure, has brighter skin. Part of Demeter wishes she could’ve been there to witness her daughter’s changes, to be by her side as she grew.
“Persephone, my dear!” the brown-haired goddess calls to her daughter, her arms open. Persephone runs to her and reciprocates the hug. “Oh, my darling, you’ve grown! How beautiful you’ve become!”
“Oh, Mother, how I’ve missed you,” Persephone responds in kind. Hades watches with a proud smile.
The Olympians are on one side, while the Hadeans are on the other, but there is a bridge between them, Persephone sitting right next to her beloved mother. Demeter offers to grab a plateful of boar meat for the harbinger of spring, but she refuses, grabbing her own portion, showing her mother her independence. She may be young, but she sure has matured quite a lot.
Ares then interrupts the reunion briefly to raise a toast. He grabs his goblet of wine and raises it, calling the gods to attention, “My fellow gods and goddesses, please raise your glasses. Tonight’s feast would not be possible without all of you. My deepest gratitude to all of you who have come here. This is for family, for all of us who have come to celebrate my marriage with Aphrodite and the birth of my twin boys. I raise a toast with you all! Cheers!”
“Cheers!” the room erupts into cheers of supportive joy. “Cheers, Ares! Congratulations!”
The god of war has never shown his vulnerable side to anyone, but tonight, a tear rolls down his cheek as he smilingly takes a sip of his wine. Athena and Apollo notice, their eyes wide in pleasant surprise. Oh, their brother can cry! And he looks so strong while shedding tears too. Just like a true warrior.
The chatter and banter grows louder as the banquet progresses, gods and goddesses getting drunk off of wine and nectar. Only some deities are left sober, namely the younger ones. Athena sips her cup of wine slowly to avoid getting drunk. She watches as the whole room erupts into a chaotic riot of laughter, smiles and colour. She smirks knowingly as she watches her father flaunt his wife around like some kind of trophy.
Ares excuses himself as Phobos starts getting a little fussy. He takes the cradle of gold and hurries to the courtyard, a much-quieter place for his little ones to calm down again. He shushes his baby as he leaves for the courtyard, caressing his head and letting him play with his fingers. He starts softly humming the melody of a war song he wrote with Apollo. Phobos seems to calm down a lot afterward.
The blonde then re-enters the dining hall and takes his seat again, placing the cradle down. Both infants are sound asleep now, and their father made sure they wouldn’t wake up from the noise with a sensory spell.
Hades then speaks up after quite a long while of small talk with some of the other gods, calling to all gods this time.
“I don’t see your wife, Ares,” Hades inquires. “Where is she? Is she unwell?”
Silence. Until Ares breaks the tension.
“Oh, Uncle,” Ares chuckles hollowly, barely able to hide the grimace that tugs at the corners of his mouth, “she’s off tending to the mortals. A flighty lady like her has her priorities all over the place.”
“Ares, dear,” Hera puts her goblet of nectar down with the softest clink and raises her eyebrow, her deep, loving brown gaze boring holes into her son’s soul. She speaks slowly, “Did you not discuss this with her? It’s a celebration of her own flesh and blood, not just your own. How could she just abandon her children…for mortals?”
Ares feels faint. His heart stutters, feeling like it’s on the verge of giving out. Hades is right, there is an empty seat where Ares’ wife, Aphrodite, is supposed to sit, but it remains empty. The other gods assume that she’s resting, but now that Ares has answered differently to their expectations, they no longer know what to think. He needs to think up an excuse, quickly. Hurry up… he thinks. I need to answer my mother…
With a tightening jaw, and with eyes all staring at him and expecting an answer, Ares opens his mouth, his voice small and weary. “She…she sends her regards, Mother. She can’t be here, but all’s well. This celebration is for our sons…”
The hall falls silent again, and Ares can feel his cheeks burning up. The gods are clearly not satisfied with his answer. He’s starting to fidget with his wedding band, posture shrinking more and more every passing second. Tears well up in his eyes as he looks down in shame, averting his gaze from everyone else.
Hermes speaks up, his quick thinking and silver tongue saving Ares from the embarrassment that he’s drowning in.
“Tsk, you’re all so dramatic for a party,” the messenger god puts a hand to his temple and rubs it, shaking his head slowly. “Sure, it’s a shame that Aphrodite isn’t here, but my fellow gods, you all know how she is. She probably got caught up in the affairs of mortals, as Ares said. Just let it go already, it’s the two little monsters we’re here for after all. Now I personally demand cake before they wake up and turn this place into a warzone.”
Hermes looks at Ares and his expression softens. His poor half brother is just about ready to burst into tears right then and there. Nervous chuckling sounds in the hall, some gods unsure if the statement is meant to be a joke or not.
“Excuse me…” Ares softly speaks up in the lull that Hermes created to save his face, then he slips away to the balcony for some fresh air.
Hera stands and approaches the door, following her son. She spots him at the very edge, gripping the railing tightly enough that his knuckles are bleached white. His shoulders shake, and the faintest whimpers and sobs can be heard in the night air, barely masked by the winds of Mount Olympus.
“You’ve never liked being at the centre of attention,” she soothes her dear son, placing a comforting hand on his shoulder.
“…I just…hate being put on the spot…” Ares whispers, barely able to muster a voice as he continues crying.
“You don’t have to lie for her, you know?” Hera reassures Ares.
“No…Mother, no…I’m not…I’m not lying for her,” Ares whimpers as he finally faces his mother, tears and all. “I’m lying for them…for my babies…they don’t have to know…”
“Dear…they’ll notice eventually,” Hera speaks up, concern in her voice. “They’ll see through it. Children always do.”
“Eventually, right…? Not now…” Ares whimpers again, leaning into his mother’s arms, begging for her comfort. “They don’t have to know right now…they don’t have to see through me right now…they don’t have to see their Papa crying right now…”
And the two just stand there, Ares crying into his mother’s embrace as she comforts him, assuring him that he’s alright now. That he can cry now.
