Yesterday's Glory (Fiona x Gavin)

I Can't Be Contented With Yesterday's Glory

"It's not going to be easy," he told Her the day She was born. He told Her such things on a hill over the checkered cross-sections of farms that had been that way for a thousand years and would be for a thousand more. "Terrible time to be a God." He then paused, considering Her for a moment. "Good time to be a God of War though, I suppose."

She stuck Her tongue out at Him.

She didn't know who He was then, and definitely didn't know who She was, so She spent Her brief existence by following Him around the world. Over the millennia, He would eventually change names, from culture to culture, Liber to Fufluns, White Hawk, He Who Calls Back the World, and other such derisions as the human tongue failed to encapsulate all that He was. At that point He had given Her a name to call Him, of course, but for our purposes it would mean very little.

"So what exactly am I doing? You guys didn't tell me," the young War God complained. Her head was upsettingly blank, and She had only vague instinct in Her mind rather than any purpose. She had found those She was meant to flock to, at the very least, sorting Herself into the hierarchy to which She had no idea the scope. So far, there was only the Home God She was meant to report to, his cheerful consort, and Him. This one, who took Her on walks and explained what it meant to Be. "I just fight things?"

(Even as she said it, the idea strummed some chord inside her.)

"Guess so?" He shrugged. "It's up to you. Nobody can really tell you what exactly you mean. We've been around for ages and it still doesn't make sense." He referred to Himself, and to His loose collection of others, ones that were not there. He dropped His arm and looked at the setting sun along Her cheekbones. "Going be a lot harder for you, though. Age of Gods is going right out the window."

"But wait...aren't you like the God of Time?" Her brow wrinked in His direction. "Can't you just make the time...a good time for us?"

"I said I'm a God of Time, not the God of Time," He pointed out. "It's all subdivided out you know? Like sure there's a God of Light, but there's also a God of Rainbows. And it just gets more specific the further down the line you go."

"Then what do you do?" She asked of a being more ancient than She could ever dream. So old that He'd been there the first time a human had ever heard a tiger's growl in the dark of the woods and felt as though his arms had become lead and the air molassass.

He thought for a moment. And thought. And thought. Then He shrugged. "I can slow things down a bit."

She shoved Him. He smiled.

She decided She liked Him. He decided He liked Her.

Later, when the two Gods had finished their walk of the world, their governor He of Tended Souls, or perhaps He of Family Found, leaned over to his second and said, "we need to keep an eye on those two."

Existing was a pain, She determined. She did not join in the war cry of the humans around Her, their swords battered and bronze, untrained bellows of necessity rather than nature. Hers was the most well kept of armor, Her spear the only one that had ever pierced a man's heart. But, they had prayed to Her, poured wine and oil over a new calf in Her honor, and when it is a surprise that anyone remembers you at all, you come when you are called. They had spoken whatever name described Her at the moment, so She had pulled up her braids into a horse's tail, tightened the straps of her cuirass, and donned the shield with the exploding star.

The stink of battle was wild and chaotic, and She looked across the field to see another War God wiping blood off his cheek. She would not meet him today, not directly. They were minor gods, ones who walked on sandals and lived long, creatures barely above dryads when compared to true Olympians. The villagers did not know it, but in all their prayers, Her help barely counted for more than a single well-equipped misthios.

As the other God's eyes passed across Hers, a single white egret flew overhead. It watched the star-shield Goddess as She bloodied Her spare blade, Her muscles moving like liquid fire underneath Her skin. She felt the bloodlust creep up Her, and the enemy seemed so slow in comparison. They fell before Her, swords arching downwards only to be severed at the wrist, Her feet taking Her out and behind, inside guards and beyond all reach.

When the battle was done, the attackers left their dead where they fell, and retreated into the hills. The village rose with cries of victory, ones that would end when the enemy returned tomorrow. She raised Her head and watched the egret sail over the remains.

They sat on a hill with their backs in the grass, Her leaning over to pick a few grapes off a nearby vine.

"Catch," She said as She threw it at His mouth at several dozen miles per hour.

He, unsurprisingly, did not. Although it was a valiant effort, He let out a small gah as the grape hit him between the eyes, landing in the dirt with a small puff.

"Wasn't ready," He demanded of Her.

After that, every one met its mark, even when She would aim it at His half-covered chest. A butterfly came by them, and He slowed it so She could see its individual wing beats. They curled next to each other as the sky beat down, and He thought He'd never been warmer.

"If I were to do it all over," He told her, head resting against Her shoulder, "I'd want to be a God of Sun."

She ran Her fingers through His hair.

"Glad you're making the most of it," a cat told Her as it walked along the stone fence.

Its green eyes watched her out of a greyed face, so sleek and dark it could be mistaken for black when the Moon Gods retreated on rest. The whiskers twitched.

To Her, the Mischief God was a mystery—better known to Her was its consort, the ever-speaking War God with the curly hair who sometime was beside Her on the battlefield, sometime against. It would be wise not to engage with the cat, lest she opened herself to what its portfolio entailed—but then again, it was of Her ilk. They had no connection but the tenuous acquaintance of a feline's paramour, but they were still followed the same rules, returned to the same house. Not for the first, and not for the last, She wondered how their loose connection of deities were meant to function.

She rolled the butt of her spear in the dirt road. "Is there anything else to do?"

She of Best Laid Plans stopped walking, flicking its tail to curl around its paws. "Hm. Probably not. Seems like a real downer to me. You've barely got to exist and existence itself is already heading to Hell. "

"Yeah yeah I know," She said, blowing a raspberry. "Age of Gods is coming to an end. Does anyone ever want to talk about anything else?"

"You're taking it well. Thought you hadn't found your meaning yet." The cat tilted its head. Then, with grace, it jumped onto Her shoulders and padded across both, hitting Her in the ear as it went. "Ever worry it's ending before it's beginning?"

She thought of the smell of sandalwood and light brown hair. She thought of blood and sweat-soaked skin. "I've found some of it. My meaning. It doesn't have to all be in once place, does it?"

She couldn't see the cat anymore from it was on her shoulders, but she heard a pause, followed by the softest rumble of a purr. "No. I guess not."

They sat on a hill with their backs in the grass, Her leaning over to pick a few grapes off a nearby vine. She put them all in Her mouth.

"Soon?" She asked the Time God.

"Yeah," He of Extended Deadlines replied. "Any time now."

"And there's nothing we can do about it?" She asked again, as She had in different ways so many times before.

"Not unless you can change the whole of humanity."

She tucked Her arms under Her head and thought. She said, "I don't think that's my purpose."

He snorted. "Worth a try."

They stayed in silence, one that was warm and infinite and felt like it had been going on for as long as She could remember. She lifted Her eyebrows at that, and glanced over at Him. "And you're making it last?"

For a moment, He didn't look at Her. But then He turned, the sunlight glinting off His cheekbones, and smiled. "So are you."

So She of Empty Glory and He of Days Gone By sat in the morning and held on to the day.