Hera: Queen & goddess of the sky, women & marriage (hera_teleia) wrote in history_dot_com, @ 2013-01-09 16:01:00 |
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Entry tags: | ~hephaestus, ~hera |
In The Hot Seat [ancient times] (tag: Hephaestus)
When the gift had first arrived, Hera had been secretly thrilled. Oh she hadn’t let her true feelings show, that would never do. Strong emotions could be too easily manipulated by those seeking to undermine or overthrow. Hera knew that too well, because she used that tool herself with others, so she would never allow her own feelings to be used in such a way. So she tamped down her honest reaction and allowed others to believe that she was haughty enough to feel the golden throne was her due as queen.
The truth was far more complicated. Yes, she was the queen, and yes, she was due such gifts. But she was also the mother of the craftsman and the pride she felt when she saw what her son could create was immense and joyful. Hephaestus had such talent and vision. He was not just a blacksmith, he was an artist, and Hera was pleased with his abilities beyond measure. But she could not let that show, not only to those watching, but even to the son that had given the gift.
Because Hera had made a decision, one that she’d regretted immediately, but one that she could never take back. Her own anger and fear and disappointment had been misdirected at the child she’d borne, rather than at herself where it belonged. She could recognize that now, but at the time, it was too much to bear. And she’d done something truly horrible. She had thrown away her son.
In the end, though, it was probably for the best. On the shining mountain of Olympus, all was beautiful, all was perfect, and if it was not, it was quickly hidden. Her other children, perfect in her eyes, were not so in their father’s and they were forced into a mold that did not really fit them. How much harder would it have been for Hephaestus who was not lovely to look upon? What would he have suffered had he remained on Olympus? Would he have become what he had if he’d not been nurtured by Eurynome? Those were the thoughts that gave Hera solace, and kept the guilt from eating at her.
She tried, in her own way, to show her favor to the son she’d abandoned. But she could not be overt. That would be tantamount to admitting that she’d been wrong, and she was not in a position to be seen as fallible, not if she was going to be able to protect her other children. The comfort of one had to be sacrificed for the comfort of the rest, and all she could do was offer small signs of her regret and hidden affection. Hera had no idea of Hephaestus saw them that way, if he even recognized them as such at all.
Until the throne had arrived. That day, joy bloomed in her heart because it was affirmation to her that he did understand. And that he was forgiving. It was a symbol of hope to Hera, the possibility of a new beginning with the son she’d nearly lost, and she was so happy and so proud. All of which needed to be kept behind the icy mask she wore, but she could not hide all of it. She’d let others interpret her pleasure as they would, certain they would not know the truth of it. Hera had a second chance with her son, and she could not be happier.
Then she sat upon the golden throne. And become stuck. It had been a trap. In a heartbeat, her pride and joy had crumbled to ash and been replaced with disappointment, anger, and hurt. So much hurt. At first, she’d screamed for release, demanded it with a voice full of retribution and rage. But it didn’t get her free, and she had turned to bargaining. An offer was made, Aphrodite would be the bride of whomever could free her, and certainly her other son, her bright, beautiful, strong son, would be the one to claim the prize. But Ares had thus far failed.
And Hera was still stuck. The longer she sat, the more jumbled her emotions became. The resentment grew stronger with each passing day. But so did the comprehension. Hephaestus had done this because of what she had done to him. Had he done it to someone else, she would have been proud of his initiative and creativity. It wasn’t someone else, though, it was her. She was his mother. And if that did not receive some measure of respect from him, she was his queen. That demanded respect, and this was an intolerable act.
So she sat. And she waited. And she fumed.