Greek Myths: Hephaestus & Aphrodite

The table was quiet now. Even the music had stopped. "I cannot choose one. They are all as brilliant as he is."

Hephaestus stood, tripping over himself as he moved away from the bench. "Excuse me," he said, flushing as he limped past Ares and his wife. "I have to tend to something." He could hear Aglaia calling him, but he didn't turn to her. He was afraid if he did, there would be no turning back.

*****

"Hephaestus!" He saw a startled Aglaia come around the garden wall, her hand going to her throat when she noticed him standing there.

"Pardon me." He ducked his head, his face beginning to burn. He had been standing in front of the rose trellis, he didn't know how long, trying to decide. "I will go."

"No!" she cried, seeking his eyes out with a smile. "Please don't. You just startled me."

He cleared his throat. "I apologize," he said again. He jumped when she laid a hand on his arm. Her skin was almost as soft as Aphrodite's.

"What are you doing out in the sunshine?" She poked him in the ribs, and he looked down to where her finger pressed, surprised. "It might burn you right up—you're so used to that dark forge of yours."

"I—" It took him a moment to realize that she was teasing him. "Maybe you can help me? I was choosing a rose for your mistress."

"Oh, roses, too!" Aglaia nodded, pursing her lips. "Jewelry and flowers—she is a lucky woman, your wife."

"I like this one," Hephaestus said, touching the soft petals of a dark crimson rose, such a deep red it almost looked black.

"Crimson is a funeral flower—it is for mourning," Aglaia said, shaking her head.

Hephaestus' face blushed a deeper shade. "I am no good at this," he mumbled.

Aglaia touched a dark pink rose. "They all have different meanings. Dark pink is thankfulness, and this light pink one means joy and admiration. It all depends on what you want to say to her."

"What of the yellow? I like those. Bright, a little shiny, aren't they?" Hephaestus tilted his head to look at her. The sun against her black curls made them appear almost blue, but her eyes were as dark as night, even out here, a stunning contrast to her pale complexion.

"Yellow is friendship," she said. "Sometimes slighted love... or freedom." She leaned in to smell the flower, her eyes closing, and he noticed her sooty lashes against her rosy cheeks.

"Not yellow then." He sighed. "This orange one?"

Aglaia opened her eyes to him. "Desire." The way she said it sent a jolt through him.

Hephaestus took a step back, clearing his throat. "What just says love?"

"This red," she said, her finger tracing the petal of a deep red rose, nowhere near as dark at the crimson. "This is the red of love, and passion, and beauty."

Hephaestus nodded. "That's the one, then."

"Is it?" she asked, searching his face with those dark eyes. She looked at him as if she could see something there. "Are you sure?"

He didn't know why he felt like explaining anything to her, but he did. Maybe it was what she had said at Aphrodite's little dinner party. He knew that Arges and the rest of the Cyclops disapproved of his pursuit of his wife—that all of the gods and goddesses looked askance at his behavior.

"I've loved Aphrodite since the moment I first saw her," Hephaestus told her. "I had never seen such beauty before."

"She is a beautiful woman," Aglaia admitted, looking up at him. He found his eyes lingering on her mouth, a soft, red rosebud.

"When Zeus gave her to me," he went on. "I thought it was the best thing that had ever happened to me."

"She doesn't love you," Aglaia whispered.

"I know," he replied, nodding in agreement. He knew it, but he couldn't help how he felt. Something compelled him to pursue her in spite of her rejection. He knew he made himself the fool for her—but he couldn't seem to stop.

"Hephaestus," she said, his name in her mouth a whispered plea. He peered down at her, this gentle Grace, seeing something there that moved him.

He did it without thinking, tilting her chin up and putting his mouth against hers. She responded, wrapping her arms around him, her little body pressing into him, a soft, sudden reminder of his manhood. He felt a spark, not unlike his hammer hitting hot metal on his anvil—it was something fierce and undeniable.

He broke the kiss, staring down at her closed eyes, her rosy mouth still turned up to him, an offering. He let her go and she stumbled, gasping. Hephaestus turned away from her, swallowing hard.

He was quiet for a moment, and then he said, "I have tried for years to please her, to find the thing that will turn her toward me instead of away from me. I am growing very tired."

"Then, stop," Aglaia whispered. She came up behind him, pressing her breasts into him and resting her cheek against his back.

"I can't," he choked.

"Why?"

He realized it, in that moment. "Because if she can love me... then maybe... maybe I'm not the boy who was thrown from Olympus because he was disfigured. Maybe I'm not the man who has been spurned by every goddess, laughed at by every god. Maybe there is some part of me that is... tolerable."

Aglaia let go of him, and he turned to see her standing there with tears on her cheeks. "Your problem isn't that you are lame... your problem is that you are blind."

"I don't—"

Aglaia turned from him and fled. He stood, stunned, watching her go.

A sudden heat against his neck made him turn, and he forgot about Aglaia as he saw Helios, the sun god, coming toward him in his flaming chariot.

"How's she holding up?" Hephaestus shaded his eyes, admiring the golden chariot and smiling as Helios stopped quite a distance away. The chariot was scorching the garden where it stood, and he knew Aphrodite was going to have a fit about it.

"As beautiful as the day you made her for me," Helios replied with a grin. "How are you holding up, old man?"

Hephaestus shrugged. "Same as ever."

"So I can see," Helios replied, jerking his head in the direction that Aglaia had run off. "Still ignoring the flower right in front of you and pursuing the unattainable garden?"

"Did you come all the way down here to taunt me, Helios?"

"No." The blazing god sighed, shaking his flaming head. "I came down here to give you some information."

"Oh?" Hephaestus crossed his arms, not sure he wanted to hear this. Helios had long been a good friend, perhaps because Hephaestus was one of the only gods who could withstand his heat. Helios was one god he could trust to watch his back.

"It's about your wife," Helios said, frowning. His eyes said it all. "And Ares."

"I don't want to know." Hephaestus turned to walk away.

Helios called out: "You are a fool!"

"I know." Hephaestus felt something congealed in his chest, continuing to walk away.

"That little Grace loves you," Helios told him. Hephaestus stopped, turning to look back at him. "I have seen her watching you from afar. She is yours for the asking."

"What have you seen?" Hephaestus asked, walking a few paces toward him, the intensity of the heat making him stop. It was too much, even for a man who worked in the temperatures he did all day.

"It's so clear!" Helios rolled his orange eyes, waving his hand and singeing one of the rosebushes.

"Maybe with a light as bright as yours," Hephaestus replied with a little laugh. "I spend most of my time in darkness."

"You should make her yours," Helios implored. "Don't you want to be happy?"

"I cannot." Hephaestus raised an eyebrow at him. "You forget—Aphrodite is my wife."

"You can set her aside." Helios smiled.

Hephaestus scowled at him. "Not without a reason."

"And if you had one?" Helios tilted his head at him, the light in his eyes growing ever brighter.

"But I don't."

"Yes, actually, you do." Helios delivered his news quietly, his voice thick with empathy. "I saw Aphrodite and Ares together. In the meadow. She has been unfaithful to you."

Hephaestus felt a lead weight in his chest. He had his suspicions, of course, but he had never had any proof. "Are you sure? You know, you see from a great distance."

Helios slapped his own forehead. "Will you ever think of excuses for her? I have eyes like a hawk—and she's hard to miss."

Hephaestus closed his eyes against it for a moment, a sick, gnawing feeling in his belly. "Thank you, Helios. You are a good friend."

*****

Arges put his hand on Hephaestus' shoulder and he startled, putting down his hammer and turning to the Cyclops.

"What is it, Arges?"

Arges peered at the strange metal work. Hephaestus had done nothing but this for months. "What is this thing?"

"What does it look like?" Hephaestus asked, his face darkening as he turned back to his work.

"A net," Arges said, stating the obvious. "Who is for?"

Hephaestus looked up at him, holding it up and admiring his work. "My wife."

*****

"Oh, Hephaestus!" Aglaia rose as he approached Aphrodite's door. She had been sitting outside on a bench, idly strumming a lyre. "She isn't... well."

"A goddess, not well?" He smirked, shaking his head. "You must all think me a fool."

"No," Aglaia said, putting her small hand on his arm. "It is true... today. She is heart sick over something. She will not say what."

Hephaestus closed his eyes for a moment. "I know how she feels."

"Did you want something?" Aglaia asked him. He looked down at her face, so open and kind and willing to please. He reached down and fingered the necklace at her throat. She flushed, her hand moving to cover it.

"I—"

"No," he said, rubbing his finger over the delicate chain. "I know."

When he lifted his eyes to hers, he saw they were wet with sadness. She whispered, "I'm sorry."

Hephaestus used his thumb to wipe away her tears. "Will you give her a message for me, then, sweet Aglaia?"

She nodded. "Yes."

"Tell her I am going hunting. I won't be back for a fortnight."

Her face fell. "So long?"

He nodded, his eyes searching hers before turning and limping back down the hallway.

*****

Hephaestus sat at her vanity, waiting. He heard them before he saw them, the bump and rattle of the door, as if something were being pressed against it, and Aphrodite's voice, her soft moaning. He looked back into the mirror, seeing only the wall behind him reflected. Hades' invisibility helmet worked as well as the day he had finished it.

"How long will he be gone?" Ares asked, kissing her back into the room.

She wrapped her arms around his neck, purring, "A fortnight. A whole, glorious fortnight!" She twirled out of his arms, laughing and collapsing onto the bed. She reached her hand out for him. "Come. We have so much to catch up on."

"Zeus gave you to the wrong brother," Ares growled, diving onto the bed and rolling with her on it.

She laughed, kicking and squealing beneath him. "You have no arguments from me. You should tell him that!"

You'll get your chance, thought Hephaestus as he watched, his chest seething with rage, while Ares covered Aphrodite's swelling cleavage with kisses. Aphrodite pushed at him, slipping out from underneath and standing, letting her garments fall to the floor. Ares gave a low groan. She was wearing the corset. Hephaestus remembered that day, seeing her standing just there, as he laced her up into it. He imagined Aglaia had done it today.

"Your turn," Aphrodite said, stretching out on the bed beside him. "I want to see you disrobe."

Ares stood, tossing his shirt aside. Aphrodite watched, smiling, her eyes gleaming as he pulled off his robe and tunic. He knelt over her in just a loincloth, and she ran her hands up over his stomach and chest.

"You are stunning," she murmured, wrapping her legs around his thighs.

"I could say the same," he replied, leaning in to kiss her. They tumbled around the bed, thrashing and moaning. Hephaestus waited, still. He didn't know just what he was waiting for. Did he really think they were going to stop, now? That she was going to sit up and say, "Oh, wait, I have a husband, we shouldn't be doing this!" He knew she wasn't. And yet, he waited.

"I want you inside of me," Aphrodite moaned. Hephaestus could see her hand moving between her legs from this angle, Ares pressed between them. "Make me yours, Ares. I am yours."

That was it. That was what he had been waiting for. Ares thrust into her with a grunt and Aphrodite cried out. Hephaestus pulled the strong, gossamer strands that had been sitting loosely in his hands, the same strands he had used to make the laces for her corset. He pulled and pulled, hearing Aphrodite scream, seeing Ares thrashing with her, trapped together in the golden net. He pulled it tight, until they were suspended near the ceiling, and wrapped and tied the cording around the hook he had installed earlier on the wall.

"What is this?" Ares cried, sounding panicked. Hephaestus watched him pushing and prodding at the net, struggling to get free.

He left them, opening the door and closing it behind him, knowing they would see it, and not understand when no one walked through it. Aglaia was sitting on the bench, as he knew she would be, keeping watch. He removed his helmet.

"Hephaestus!" she gasped, nearly falling off the bench in surprise. "I... you... what—?"

He reached down and touched her cheek. "Will you do one more small thing for me, Aglaia?"

She nodded, her face a mask of surprise.

"Put a call out from me to my father and all his brothers—I want every god to witness this."

"Witness?" she asked, breathless. "Of course, I will do what you ask." She hurried off to find the messenger.

Hephaestus sat on the bench and waited, hearing Ares and Aphrodite calling for help. He smiled, picking up the lyre that Aglaia had been holding, beginning to strum.

*****

"What is the meaning of this?" Zeus and Poseidon were storming down the hall, with Hermes bringing up the rear. "I was right in the middle of a game of, uh... chance, with a fine young swan."

Hephaestus stood, opening the door and allowing them all to see as they crowded into the doorway.

Aglaia was hurrying toward them. "Hephaestus! I got them as quickly as I could!"

He smiled down at her, touching her cheek. "You did wonderfully. Thank you."

"Hephaestus!" It was Aphrodite's voice. "This is your doing! Get me down from here!"

Aglaia's eyes widened and she moved to look into the room.

"You may not want to do that." Hephaestus grabbed her shoulder.

She looked up at him, understanding in her eyes. "Yes, I do."

She joined the gods standing in the doorway. All three of them were laughing at the sight of Aphrodite and Ares tangled up together in the net.

"Ho! What were you two doing, I wonder?" Poseidon roared, his laugh like crashing waves.

"Never mind that," Ares hissed. "Get us down, would you?"

"That's my boy," Zeus laughed, shaking his head.

Hephaestus moved past them into the room, standing and looking up at the two of them, admiring his handiwork. The net was a very fine, thin mesh, similar to what he had made Aphrodite's corset of—in fact, if he hadn't made the garment for her, he wouldn't have known he could make the net at all.

"Forget your boy!" Hermes cried, peering around Zeus' shoulder and giving a long, low whistle. "Look at the goddess!"

Aglaia came to stand next to Hephaestus, putting her hand on his arm. He was getting used to feeling it resting there.

"Hey, Ares," Hermes called. "Wanna trade places?"

"Very funny, pipsqueak," Ares growled, punching uselessly at the net. "You taunt the god of war when he's tied up in some magical net. Such a hero."

"Let them down, Hephaestus," Zeus said, still chuckling.

"She is my wife," Hephaestus reminded him. "They are adulterers."

Poseidon put his hand on Hephaestus' shoulder. "Ares will have to pay you the adulterer's fee, then."

Hermes snorted. "He still owes four gods that I know of, just off the top of my head."

"See?" Hephaestus said with a sigh. "Can't ever trust the god of war, can you?"

Poseidon squeezed his shoulder. "I'll pay it, then."

"Let him down, Hephaestus," Zeus said. "Enough is enough."

"I don't want the adulterer's fee," Hephaestus said, looking down at the tiny hand resting against his forearm. "I want to set her aside."

"What?!" Aphrodite cried, kicking at the net, her bare foot just making it bow out.

Zeus looked at Hephaestus, and then back to the couple suspended above the bed. He nodded. "Very well. It's done."

Hephaestus smiled down at Aglaia, whose eyes were still wide in shock, her face bemused. He moved toward the wall, unsheathing his knife.

"Goodbye, Aphrodite," he said, slashing the golden cord and watching the couple thump to the bed.

He didn't pay attention to her screams or his curses as they struggled to untangle themselves. Hephaestus only had eyes for Aglaia.

"Can I speak to you outside?" he asked her, putting his hand at her elbow.

She nodded, finally closing her mouth and following him.

"Can we go to your room?" Hephaestus asked her as they moved into the hallway. Aglaia stopped for a moment, her head cocked. He didn't know if she was listening to Aphrodite calling her, or if she were simply considering.

"Yes," she said, reaching for his hand. She slowed her pace to his as they made their way down the hall. All three Graces had separate chambers near Aphrodite's, so the walk wasn't long. "Excuse the disarray, I haven't had a chance—"

She stood in the doorway, her eyes wide above the hand pressed to her mouth. Hephaestus grinned, waiting for her reaction. She turned to him with tears in her eyes.

"You?" she whispered. He nodded, reaching down and lifting her against him without a word, kissing her full mouth as he pressed her into the room, and kicking the door shut behind them with his good leg. Aglaia's mouth was the softest, sweetest thing he had ever tasted, and he couldn't get enough of it. Her tongue touched his, licking over his lips, his teeth, the tiny hands tangled in his hair making him moan.

Aglaia broke the kiss, breathing hard, her eyes shining up at him. No one had ever looked at him that way. Then her eyes turned to the room, taking it all in. There were ten dozen red roses, all fresh from the garden, interspersed with the ten dozen golden roses he had made for her, all positioned around the room. He had made golden curtains for her bed of a similar fine mesh that he had used for the corset and the net.

Aglaia laughed, delighted, walking over to inspect one of the golden roses, turning it over in her hands. "How did you do this? When?"

"The Cyclops did it for me, while you were running for the messenger," Hephaestus explained. "I had hoped—"

"Yes," Aglaia said, looking over her shoulder at him. "The answer has always been yes."

Hephaestus moved toward her, slipping his arms around her waist from behind. "I am sorry it took me so long to ask."

"You make me feel dizzy and weak," Aglaia whispered, leaning back against him. Hephaestus stared down at her curly dark head, her face tilted up to him, her eyes closed. He had never had such an effect on a woman, and he wasn't sure what to do or say.

She opened her eyes to him, and smiled. "Red roses?" she asked.

"Red, means love, yes?" he asked. She nodded. "And gold—that means forever."

"Forever," she murmured. She turned in his arms, slipping her hands behind his neck and kissing him. She pulled his shirt up, finding the bare skin of his back, pressing herself into him and whispering, "Make me yours."

He didn't need another invitation. He may have been lame, but his arms were incredibly strong from years of swinging a hammer. He picked her up, a little bit of fluff, and carried her to the bed. She made him stop so she could look at the golden curtains.

"They are so beautiful," she said, fingering the fine mesh.