Athena (athena_polias) wrote in forgotten_gods, @ 2009-03-31 15:02:00 |
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Entry tags: | athena |
Who: Athena, closed narrative
What: Making a difficult choice
When: Tuesday, mid-morning
Where: The Hamptons
She remembered the sword of Damocles.
Athena would risk everything for this. All that she valued in herself was caught up in her own unique sense of honor. Outside of war, she took no joy in giving commands, except to see how efficiently they were carried out.
But Kratos’ words had called to her blood. She saw the truth of them as Adonis flailed about, batting at threats which he brought upon on his own head with his rash insults, hubris, and paranoia. She saw the other pantheons laughing at them; saw that their names had become a byword, a joke. She was torn – on the one hand, they were no longer the gods they once were, and they had always been a pack of squabblers, fighting over anything. On the other, their ways had been the foundation of Western Civilization. Working in conjunction with the morals of the prominent pantheon, republics and democracies had formed across the Western World, nations rose and fell, justice was valued, citizens were given the rights to be heard. They deserved more respect than this.
She was not Zeus. She was not a leader. She did not want to become one. Everything within her recoiled at the thought, at skating so close to the line of treachery. She did not want to become responsible for this coiling mass of energy and frustration, for these scattered gods who so frequently acted like children. But it felt as if she had already stepped up to that place, these past months, and all she lacked was the authority to make her actions legitimate. That was one of the many, many reasons she so longed for this to be over, for her father and king to return.
And she could feel the release in the air; gathered power from Hades’ abdication, waiting for someone to claim it. Would she dare make herself king of the gods? Would she go against Zeus, against her ancient oath?
No, she could not bear it. What must come must come, but to betray her first and most ancient promise, to the mother who had kept her sane in that horrible state of awareness? Never.
She saw Eris’ ridiculous claims, Poseidon’s silence. She saw the hope and trust placed in her by her ancient allies, by her friends and siblings, by those who she had only truly ‘met’ through this crisis – and knew that she would never be able to act truly on their behalf unless she had the authority to do so.
Her pantheon had gathered in force, and could conceivably continue to exist in uncertainty, without any form of government. ‘Punishment’ would be given out when someone weaker offended someone stronger, and there would no longer be any form of justice. She could not sit still for this, could not watch as her pantheon continued in act after act of needless drama. If Zeus returned, this would be over in an instant, and she would be free – but as far as she was concerned, he had never returned. If she would see the end of this drama, she must end it herself.
She kissed Plague’s cheek and thanked him for the respite, squared her shoulders, and packed her bags. Pallas Athena returned to New York City as quietly as she left it, with a set purpose in her heart and dread resting on her shoulders.