Flood (Aphrodite)
After returning from his visit with Eir, all Asklepios really wanted to do was fall back into bed. Sink into a wonderful mattress and forget he was conscious. Of course, events as they had so often done lately conspired against him. Late night rounds were not uncommon for him. Check in on the patients. See to their needs. No one ever went without in Epidaurus, and that was especially true now with the end of the conflict upon them. What Asklepios could not understand, however, was why any of his attendants had allowed Aphrodite to leave. Under her own power or not. These things did not make any difference. Her wounds were still fresh enough to require constant care, and with his ambrosia tonic in such short supply Asklepios refused to be without an emergency reserve. Life-threatening injuries only, he'd told himself, and he meant it. An hour of searching for Aphrodite somewhere in his temple, on the off chance she'd reconsidered, yielded no results that he would intentionally refer to as positive.
That meant she was gone.
Somewhere.
And as it turned out, that somewhere was back to her temple. Where she apparently had been stabbed. Asklepios had carried her back to Epidaurus on his own. One of those precious vials of ambrosia tonic forced down her throat. And overnight. Her injuries were restored in moments but the unconsciousness lingered. And while her life was no longer in danger Asklepios had absolutely no intention whatsoever of allowing her to leave. His work was not going to be wasted again until he got some answers. Therefore he retired to a cot in the hallway, not far from the room where Aphrodite was lodged, and left instructions for an all-night watch of her room. If she attempted to leave again, Asklepios was going to find out about it before she could go. Without knowing what had happened or why there were few places in which she was safer than Epidaurus - for here in these halls, no life could end. No life could be taken by violent hands. And with a sword wound to her abdomen, Asklepios had no doubt that violent hands had tried.
There were a great many questions which he pondered as he tossed and turned uselessly on that cot, waiting for her mind to recover the same ground her wound had already claimed. Why had she gone before she was done? Who had visited her - the attendants told him Ares and Prometheus had been there. Ares and Prometheus. One violent, the other almost patently nonviolent. Yet one was not prone to mind games, and one was. Then again, honesty could have had a detrimental effect on her as well. No one liked a physician, not really, because seeing a physician meant that something was wrong. And most couldn't wait to get out of Epidaurus even if it was only a stubbed toe. That could easily have been the reason. Asklepios hated himself for speculating on a matter he knew nothing about - but what else could he do? His mind wouldn't rest. Had he prescribed something to himself just then it would have been sleep. And yet he couldn't attain that sleep, or the soft sweet dreams that came with it. There was no such thing as a truly restful sleep with all of this...
Peace was on the way. His home had been abuzz with the talk of Zeus' bargain for soime time now. What if that bargain had been forfeited? What if it was war to the knife? Asklepios hated himself for thinking that way, but if it were true, Zeus needed to know. One thing he most assuredly would not do was inform Zeus or say anything at all to anyone before he was aware of what was happening. Something about this situation felt off, the utter opposite of right, and Asklepios couldn't put his finger on what it was. Until he had all of the facts there wouldn't be reprisals based on nothing. War without end once again. Epidaurus, safe and secure. Safe for her, anyway. For the rest of them he had a very nervous night in store. Who knew what powerful creatures might come back to finish the job? Who knew what they might do when they arrive, or who they might harm to get what they wanted? Asklepios wished he knew. Then again, having no answer to that question might not be much worse than having that answer - knowing who was about to kill you was not generally thought of as a method of self-defense.
And then there was Aphrodite herself.
A difficult situation.
For everyone else she was a symbol of decadence, a terrible creature in heart and soul. Asklepios couldn't help but pity her. Her children killed so many times, she herself attacked over and over again by vengeful souls. Asklepios had to wonder what his life would have been like if he'd given in to vengeance. If upon attaining his status as a god, he had sought vengeance against Zeus. There were few things in life that were as simple as anyone could wish they were. One thing that was simple was fear of death. He'd known death, true death. Had lingered for a time on the banks of the River Akheron and seen the fate of those who were made to linger there forever. Asklepios didn't know if it was only fear, but he knew that he never wanted to go back to that place again. And he knew that he had made something of a lifestyle out of not commenting on whatever decisions Zeus made, other than his old maxim against death and in full support of continued life. So when he entered Aphrodite's small room - the same room - at dawn the next day, he did it with a tray of coffee and juice, milk and fruit. He was a physician - no eggs or pancakes, at least not while she was his patient.
"Good morning," the healer said cheerfully as he placed the tray very delicately on the night stand. "How are you feeling today?"