Hera's Melancholy -2-
"Arrrgh!"
Hera's beloved son, Hephaestus, lay there with his head cracked open, blood gushing out. Meanwhile, Heracles returned silently to his wives. Among those "wives," Gaia approached Hera.
"Are you alright, Hera?"
"Lady Gaia... I can't even pretend to be fine."
"Oh dear, I see. Poor thing. So many people grinding away at your nerves. I do hope this doesn't sour things between us."
"I'm not that petty. This was Hephaestus's fault, after all."
In an important wedding attended by three gods far more powerful than himself, he'd challenged the legitimacy of the marriage and halted the ceremony—getting his head bashed in was, honestly, a clean resolution. If Hephaestus weren't an Olympian lord god, his entire family would have met a gruesome end. And Hera harbored an even more terrifying truth hidden beneath it all.
"I hope this doesn't turn your heart back toward the Gigantes, Lady Gaia."
"Clever child. But I know Heracles's fate too, so don't worry."
"In that case, I have nothing more to say. Lady Gaia."
"That's a relief."
If the goddess Gaia had truly been enraged here, it could have led to the horrific outcome of her dragging Heracles off to side with the Gigantes. But fortunately, throughout the denial of the marriage, Gaia had kept smiling. As if it were all just amusing entertainment—even though it had ruined her own ceremony.
"Hephaestus had no idea how powerful Heracles truly is."
"That surprised me too. I never imagined he'd go down that easily."
"No one could have predicted it. Not a soul."
The real shock was that even if Hephaestus wasn't a war god, he'd lost without landing a single blow. He was Olympus's finest champion, a demigod with godlike strength from the start. Yet despite his limp, as an Olympian lord god, no one—not even Hera—had foreseen him ending up weeping pitifully with blood pouring down, utterly helpless. And in another sense, this was utterly horrifying.
"When Zeus finds out, all hell will break loose."
"That's why I'm here."
"You want me to keep this from Zeus?"
"Who knows?"
Gaia's intentions were obvious enough. She wanted Hephaestus's this kind of defeat kept from Zeus. Yet her expression remained oddly smiling.
"I don't follow. Do you want me to tell Zeus?"
"Whether you do or don't, the future won't change. Not right now, anyway."
"What do you mean?"
"Just what I said. Heracles still has his destiny to lead the Gigantomachia to victory, at the very least."
"...So you think even if Zeus knows, he'll stay his hand until the Gigantomachia."
"Kings are simple creatures. Uranus was, Cronus was. What makes that boy any different?"
"..."
Hera couldn't help but smile bitterly. Gaia's words, born from suffering more than anyone at the hands of such kings, carried simple yet profound weight. And for Hera, who was enduring that king's cruelty alongside Gaia and Rhea, it rang hollow—a story that felt anything but distant.
"And Zeus is even more ruthless than Uranus. He was such a pure-hearted lad in his youth."
"I know. I'm his wife, after all."
"Good. Not many remember what he was like back then."
"..."
Zeus hadn't always been this man. He was cunning and willful, sure, but he knew how to share power with his siblings and respect their domains. Even now, he honored Hera as his wife and Olympus's co-ruler. He just forced her—guardian of marriage and family—to endure certain unforgivable acts, deeply tied to Gaia as well. Hera's heart ached.
"I get the gist. Zeus is scheming again, isn't he? Speaking of—it's Hebe, right?"
"You saw right through it."
"No surprise there. Among your daughters, the fairest and most like you is Hebe. That's how power plays go."
"And?"
"Naturally, the answer is no. Heracles has enough with three wives."
"...Understood."
Gaia's words were a smiling refusal. Her face beamed, but the air grew heavy—not lighthearted at all. It was a smile that could trigger an earthquake any moment. Proposing a new bride right after the wedding's ruin was absurd. Even Hera, goddess of marriage, found it painful to entertain such talk. And since Gaia, her grandmother, understood that, she let it pass with a mere warning instead of scolding.
Gaia owed Hera an apology too.
"I'm sorry. We sullied your authority."
"No, my son did that. Though I was surprised you stayed silent."
"I just wanted to see my husband's valiant display."
"Of course."
The wedding that could have elevated Hera's authority above all else had devolved into a total disaster, embedding a fresh trauma in her soul. Now, if word of this marriage spread among gods and men, Hera would face endless gossip. She might even become a laughingstock. With her legitimate son Hephaestus having botched it, rumors would fly that Hera hated Heracles enough to overstep. Letting her son's head get bashed was the bare minimum to silence that.
But still—
"If you or Lady Adamantia had stepped in, Hephaestus would've tucked tail and run."
"Blaming me?"
"No. You're the complete victim this time, Lady Gaia. But isn't it true?"
"Yes, it is. He's not bold enough, so if Adamantia or I had intervened, he might've just slunk away."
"I know my son. He would've left for sure."
"True enough. But Adamantia didn't move either. Do you grasp what that means, Hera?"
"...You're angry."
"Wouldn't you be?"
Gaia still smiled brightly. But the mood had thickened. Separate from their ability to send Hephaestus packing today, she and Adamantia were the new brides—the beautiful flowers meant to receive the ceremony's blessings. Yet he'd trampled them. That fact was unchangeable, giving her every right to rage at and punish Hephaestus. Hera bore the duty to punish him too. That's why they held back. And Hera had let it happen.
However.
"Heracles bashing Hephaestus's head in is separate from your duty. You know that, right?"
"Of course. I know full well."
"Good. Hephaestus must be punished. But sending him straight back to Etna or the volcano? That's no punishment—it's a reward."
"I know that too, Lady Gaia."
Heracles cracking Hephaestus's skull was righteous retribution and vengeance for the groom ruining the wedding. By mortal standards, it was a light sentence. Even for an immortal god, the ultimate responsibility fell to his mother, Hera—witness to the marriage and guardian of hearth and home. Her duty to punish him heavily remained, triple-fold. Gaia had swiftly blocked shipping him off to Mount Etna. To other gods, it might be severe, but for Hephaestus, it was a prize.
"So, any ideas?"
"Hades and Kore haven't commissioned much lately. I'll send him to the underworld for a few years."
"The underworld... A pity, but unavoidable. Add one more thing."
"What is it, Lady Gaia?"
"Keep this under wraps—no supporting Olympus in exchange. And don't seek out Asclepius. Let it heal on its own."
"Understood. I'll do that."
And so, Hephaestus's wound was left untreated—no doctor allowed—until his split skull mended naturally. Hera pitied her child inwardly but had no choice. Failing to handle this harshly would cheapen marriage itself, wrecking her authority and power. It was inevitable. Helpless, Hera could only gaze at her bloodied, sobbing offspring from afar.
In the hands of her beloved child, Hera's long-awaited day of triumph had ended just like that.