I Am Zeus-Chapter 57: Talking To Hera

Hera stood on the balcony, her eyes locked on the distant blue horizon. The dawn breeze brushed against her face, cooling the quiet fury burning beneath her skin. She gripped the carved wolf-head railing tighter, her nails digging into the cold stone.

She felt it – the moment her plans died. One of her shadows in Olympus, a silent crow-pet perched atop the eastern towers, whispered it into her mind. Metis still lived. Her cohort had failed. Rhea had intervened.

Her vision blurred faintly with silent rage. She could hear the feast hall behind her, Skald songs rising with flickering torchlight as gods laughed, cups clinking against bronze plates piled with roasted meat. And amidst it all, she felt his eyes on her.

"Why..." she whispered under her breath, her voice trembling with quiet disbelief. "Why does he always stand in my way...?"

"Hera."

His voice cut through her thoughts like thunder rolling across a still sea. She turned, her crimson robes swirling around her ankles. Zeus stood at the edge of the balcony, his broad shoulders framed by the flickering torchlight behind him. His golden hair fell loose down his back, faint lightning dancing across his bare chest where his robe had loosened in the feast’s warmth.

His electric blue eyes met hers, unblinking, calm.

"You knew," she said softly, her voice low and edged with bitterness. "You always knew."

Zeus didn’t answer at first. He stepped forward, each stride silent despite his size, until he stood before her. The cold breeze whipped strands of her dark hair across her cheeks, but she didn’t move to brush them away.

"I did," he said quietly, his deep voice rumbling like distant stormclouds. "I always know."

Hera’s lips trembled faintly, her chest tightening as she tried to speak. "Then why... why let me plan it? Why let me hope... if you were only going to crush me again?"

Zeus reached out, brushing his knuckles softly against her cheek. The warmth of his skin cut through the chill wind, seeping into her bones. She flinched at first, then went still beneath his touch.

"Because Olympus is not ruled by hope or fear," he said quietly. "It is ruled by strength... and mercy."

Her eyes narrowed, cold and sharp as obsidian knives. "Mercy? Is that what this is? Mercy?"

Zeus’s gaze flickered faintly with sadness. He lowered his hand from her cheek, resting it lightly against the railing beside her. His golden eyes watched the pale sky above Asgard’s towers, quiet and unblinking.

"You think power means having no rivals. Crushing every threat. That is not power, Hera. That is fear wearing a crown."

She stared at him, silent, her breath coming in short trembling pulls as the dawn winds tugged at her braids.

"Then what is power?" she whispered.

Zeus turned his gaze back to her, and for a moment, lightning flickered quietly behind his golden eyes.

"Power is knowing when to hold the sword... and when to sheath it."

She looked away sharply, tears blurring her vision as silent rage twisted into quiet despair.

"You say that because you have it all," she spat softly. "You have Olympus. You have Asgard’s respect. You have Metis... you have everything I wanted."

He was silent for a long moment. Then he sighed softly, resting his massive hand lightly over hers where it gripped the railing. His warmth seeped through her cold knuckles, easing the trembling of her fingers.

"Hera," he said quietly, "Olympus does not need one queen... it needs you. Just as you are. As you have always been."

She blinked, turning back to him with wide dark eyes. Her lips parted faintly, but no words came out.

Zeus smiled softly, the corners of his eyes crinkling with quiet sadness.

"I once heard a mortal say, ’In the end, we only regret the chances we didn’t take, the love we didn’t give, and the decisions we waited too long to make.’"

His thumb brushed over her knuckles, calloused and warm.

"Don’t regret this chance, Hera. Don’t waste your love. Don’t wait too long to decide what you truly want."

She closed her eyes, a single tear sliding down her cheek. For a moment, silence wrapped around them like a warm dark cloak, hiding them from the laughing gods and the distant flicker of dawn beyond the balcony.

When she opened her eyes again, the rage was gone. Only quiet exhaustion remained, edged with faint, trembling hope.

"Can I still be queen...?" she whispered, her voice cracking with quiet vulnerability. "Even after... everything?"

Zeus smiled faintly, leaning down until their foreheads pressed together. His warm breath brushed across her lips as he whispered:

"You were always a queen."

Her breath hitched. And then, slowly, her shaking fingers uncurled from the railing to grip his robe instead. He tilted his head slightly, pressing his lips softly against hers.

The kiss was deep and silent, tasting of honeyed mead and quiet grief, of lightning storms and red poppy oil. His massive arms wrapped around her, pulling her against his chest as the dawn wind rushed past them, lifting the edges of her crimson robes like dying embers rising to the pale sky.

When he pulled back, his blue eyes burned softly with promise.

"Come," he murmured, his voice low and rough with quiet hunger. "The All-Father has given us a room. Let me remind you... why Olympus bows to us both."

She said nothing. Only nodded faintly, her lips trembling with unspoken grief and hope.

Together they turned, walking back into the warmth of Asgard’s feast hall. Servants bowed low as Zeus led Hera through the torchlit corridors towards their private chamber. His massive hand remained at her back, his touch firm and silent – the quiet promise of storms yet to come, and the endless dawns that would follow them.

A/N

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