Athena smiled lightly. It was not quite a commitment – and gods knew she'd had countless men and women acknowledge her wisdom to her face only to ignore her advice utterly. Nevertheless, it was a start.
She was not expecting him to invite her to dance. Few were so bold, and the stiffness in his leg bespoke physical pain... the old war wound, she'd wager. That he was prepared to chance aggravating it, that he would willingly offer War his hand, was perhaps a more promising sign than any words of flattery.
So after a moment's contemplation, Athena placed her hand over his. "The music is not suited to a pyrrhichios," she said, dry humour tinging her voice. Nor were their outfits, nor the venue. Tonight was not a night for sword-clashing war dances. "But perhaps a waltz will suffice."