The Last Ballad of Olympus: The Waltz of the Vulture and Owl

Dancing With an Adversary

The bang on his chest grew louder. Something was happening. A magic? A curse? Or perhaps both. Ares had been questioning this since that very first night. Since the first two days and nights of the grandiose feast, the god of war could feel his soul left from his body and turned into something or someone of its own mind.

With little steps towards her, the music grew louder. A few little more, maybe an arm's reach, everyone around slowed as if time permitted it to happen. "Athena... Athena..." A phantom whispered in his ear. He wanted to break the unseen's head, but that idea would be foolish.

The god slowly went closer, almost closing an inch from the tips of his fingers to her skin—but when the moment he thought he finally touched her, Ares realized that he was still standing in the same spot. There was no closed distance—but only a hallucination that almost broke his disposition in half.

"Ah! Slow and steady." Zeus said as he stood beside Hera. "Unlike the first two nights, this one is more tranquil. A soft folk rhythm in the middle of the week." He smiled down at her while his hand snaked on her waist.

Hera chuckled at him. "It was a miracle indeed you had not lusted over these nymphs. A miracle you had bedded with me."

The king of all gods was humbled, cheekily smiling as he brushed his bronze hair. "Well, there's something in the air that I could not easily separate myself from you. Besides, our lovemaking was the best thing that had happened to me in this celebration."

Hera kissed him. He responded, pulling her into him as her arms affectionately wrapped around his neck. It was love—he loved her before, but he love her more now. It was strange. Usually, he had his thoughts set out lusting over lovely women, especially during the feast when it would be a perfect escape for him to do so. But at that moment, he no longer felt it. The mighty Zeus was no longer weakened by the opposite sex's beauty, except for Hera, his wife and only faithful spouse. She was his little jealous queen, but in truth, it was her right to feel so.

The temptation mysteriously left Zeus's soul. And unknowingly, he just smiled and did not complain about the phenomenon. He held Hera tightly—caressingly laced his fingers with hers as they proudly stood from their throne and stared down at everyone.

***

His eyes never left her. The amber orbs finally found their new obsession as if he was a sculpture studying his subject—a stalking heart seeking the sweetest kiss. Ares was alarmed by his intrusive thoughts. Never in a thousand years could he have imagined the ideas he was having now. He was fighting, frowning away in deep melancholy about what he was currently sensing.

But his mind betrayed him.

The god of war became a puppet to his selfish brain, permitting his eyes to sneak a little glance toward Athena again. The goddess was laughing at Hermes's jest. The curve on her lips was both painful and gratifying to look at. It was a drug. Athena was a drug, a spell he wanted to cast out.

With his juvenile prying on the goddess, little did he know that his former fling noticed his action. Aphrodite—the embodiment of love herself, saw this struggle in Ares. She knew all too well what was happening and was knowledgeable of all signs of someone being under the influence of romance.

Like a champion, Aphrodite gloried what was happening. Could it be? A strange, perhaps, forbidden love was about to happen at the very heart of Olympus. She did not conclude yet knew what that look portrayed on Ares's face.

Aphrodite giggled at her thoughts. "Maybe I can help him. A favor he might not regret." She told herself.

"Did you say something, Aphrodite?" Athena asked, thinking it was her she was talking to.

"Oh, nothing, dear." Aphrodite smiled. "I just love unexpected things."

"Like, what?" Athena wondered as one brow raised and mouth awkwardly grinning.

"Just—nothing. It is about a couple. Nothing much."

"Alright." The goddess of wisdom concluded, letting Aphrodite be with her imagination—heedless of the tale between her and Ares that began to weave in her companion's head.

The dinner continued, and so did the laughter and conversation. However, by the time it was about to culminate, Ares saw how Athena held onto Hermes's hands while she laughed at some thrown pun. The scene caused an instantaneous inner outburst in him. The god threw his cutlery onto the plate and withdrew himself from the crowd. There were a few who had noticed his frenzy, but none of them were surprised.

He had no idea what was happening to him. Ares was disturbed and perplexed, struggling to balance his feet as he walked on the hallway that connected the dining room to the ballroom. He was like a bird with a broken wing, a vulture that lost its appetite. He was on the verge of rock bottom with no answer at the end of the tunnel.

He stopped midway and sat down to clear his head. He breathed deeply. Feet had failed him—at least some of his senses were still functioning at some degree. Oh, how he hated the realization of a flaw. He cursed that day for making him discover a weak spot he had never known for so many years.

"Curse this soul!" He grumbled, aggressively massaging his temple with a raised hand. Ares remained in his position for quite a minute until he heard the commotion from the dining area, sensing that everyone was about to return to the ballroom.

Briskly walking ahead of the group, Ares collected his thoughts and tried to pretend he was fine. Very all right, and nothing bothers him—even though the lie was about to seep through his skin and out to the majority.

The noise came—jolly, bright, and organized for the first time. The deities and other guests were bursting with vigor as they re-entered the space.

Once everyone was there and the music turned lively, Zeus and Hera toasted. The high lord and lady of Olympus cheered and commenced a dance made for two. Everyone else then followed.

All were like swans, gracefully moving along the lovely melody. As percussions bopped, flutes blown, and lutes strummed, everyone gathered and dragged their desired partners to share the auspicious moment.

This merriment was something Athena would ignore: choosing solitude with one's self, sitting in a corner, and being a spectator. She would rather be the night's shadow.

But as she walked away, trying to escape the crowd, the goddess suddenly felt a tap on her shoulder. As she turned around to acknowledge, her silver eyes widened to see Ares offering a hand to her.

"Would you rather spoil the evening without dancing?" He asked, gawkily grinning at her.

Athena was in disbelief—dropping her jaw at his demeanor. He was smiling—smiling at her! She raised a brow at him, searching for evidence of a hidden agenda that made him step out from his usual disposition. "Are you offering me to dance with you?"

"Why not?"

"Well, the only dance that best fits us is on the battlefield. Not a single bone and vein in me liked you, Ares. I think you forgot that information."

There was a halt between them. Amber and silver met again—but this time, unlike their encounters in the early morn, it was more in good faith. There was no hidden agenda. Not a single brutality behind his eyes. Athena could not understand his unexpected friendliness.

Eyeing from his face to his hand, which was still waiting for a response, the goddess was still doubting his intention. But after some consideration, Athena reluctantly complied and gave her hand to him.

Warm and cold—how can a firm hand be both? His hold on her was unlike the typical raucous of an angry god but more benign and forgiving. She had to discover what was happening to him. Maybe, this was his tactic to chaff at her.

"I must be on my highest guard." Athena thought as Ares led the dance.