The Last Ballad of Olympus: The Waltz of the Vulture and Owl

Numb Melody

Like a drunk hooligan, Ares remained on the bed as he continued to ease the throbbing pain from Athena's slap. He had his eyes closed, and his psyche went numb as if paralysed.

But her sobs disturbed his turmoil, prompting him to sit back, compose himself, and stare at her for seconds—absorbing the pain in her cries, the loneliness of how she coiled like a small child, and understanding now that she already knew what he meant.

Red pomegranates bound them.

If Hades tricked Persephone, Ares manipulated the law-bending it against its will like the cunning he was.

No tears for Athena, but a symphony of growing sympathy and a little guilt crawled into his heart like a thorny vine.

His eyes grew more in weight as he slowly drew closer to her. She heeded not to his presence as she continued to appease her broken spirit, only staring at the mosaics on the floor as its colours morphed into a nauseating kaleidoscope.

His warm hand was on her shoulder, but Athena remained lost in her wonderment.

"The reality hit me with a rock, with all my thoughts turned blank. I can only see darkness. My tongue lingered on the bitter aftertaste of truth. Ares, why must you remind me of such a predicament?"

"I meant no malice. It is only the truth that I say. I—I, too, am lost for words. I am happy for your offer of friendship, but then it came to me of who we are now and what our roles are." He told her, blindly caressing her numb shoulder.

"You begrudged me of my freedom, of my tamed friendship towards you."

"And I accepted it—fully. No—no one has ever offered me a genuine alliance."

The two had gone quiet, listening only to the murmurs of the outside wall and the afternoon that suddenly turned grey and rainy.

Athena never moved a bit, yet her head was restless while sensing a growing pain that threatened to blanket her brain with its prowess. It relentlessly banged and taunted her with Ares's notion that war and wisdom had unknowingly become one on the night they had shared a bed—drunk by the liquors of the sacred pomegranate.

"It has truly slipped out of my knowledge." She thought. "I had forgotten the laws that fed Olympus's heart. I was gradually becoming a simpleton and already lost the rules that bind you to someone in a union. I always believed in the sacredness of marriage and family. However, our situation was forceful. It was a betrayal that I had not foreseen. But I guess—" Athena then faced Ares—turning her whole body towards him, with silver eyes glinting a little spark and a smile that signified her white flag. "I cannot offer any romance in this matrimony. I cannot offer you pleasure—will never give you such! But as I said before, I will be your friend. I will offer you advice; I will certainly be your hetaerea, but I cannot be your lover. I will write poems and tell you forgotten tales—but I can only be your friend. Perhaps someone you can lean on, no more, no less."

The god sighed, reluctantly accepting her offer. He shook her hand and added, "But promise me you will never leave my side."

Without any hesitation, Athena answered in quite a collected manner. "Yes. I honour the sacredness of the bond between two souls. It is part of my principle, Ares."

"I am glad you do." He then warmly smiled at her.

The two started to be benign with each other, though there was no speaking again for a minute, but the aura inside the room somehow felt lighter—airier and calmer. There was a degree of acceptance of their circumstance despite a short moment of half-heartedness. War and wisdom had now become one on a certain point, witnessed by the detailed frescos of Ares's suite and the coloured floors that seemed to glimmer the whole space.