Agape and Storge

It was already the pinnacle of the afternoon when the former goddess's tale was over. A strange air of thick yet cooling fog suddenly swept the whole village, bringing mystique—adding more thoughts with a thousand possibilities of life. The treats, prepared by the darling pregnant mother, were almost devoured. The sweet fruit drink, fermenting inside the jar, was gulped to the last drop, and the children could not stop begging Athena to tell them more about the Titanomachy. Not to mention how they were both fascinated and horrified with the tale of her birth. 

"How strange yet fascinating it was for you to burst out from your father's head!" Phoebus exclaimed as his hazel orbs sparkled and grew like a saucer. 

"And you do not call you father, 'father'? But why?" Tilting her head, matched with a downturned curve on her mouth, Helena felt confused and in awe about the deities' way of life, 

"It is what it is, my dear," Athena answered, knowing fully that she—bestowed with the great wisdom—did not even know the answer to such construct of the laws Olympus imposed. 

Such uncanny rule was the first dilemma when she came out as she learned more about her duties and dwelling. After Zeus recovered from the outrageous birth, he went to Athena and told her never to address him as 'father' since it was already what it was, even during Chronos's era. Perplexed, the goddess of wisdom complied without asking more—though her mind was weaving a thousand webs of questions as the door to her room was closed. 

"Athena," Her deep thoughts were shattered—shortened when little Helena shook her hand. "Lady Athena," Helena joyfully called once again. "Can I ask something?"

The dainty blush on her cheeks made Athena giddy, tempted to squeeze those apples as they always reminded her of the sacredness of children's innocence. "What is it, sweet Helena?" She asked back with charm and peace. 

A toothy grin brightened the little girl's face. Drawing closer, she asked, "Do you have a husband?" 

Her mother, while entering from the kitchen, was appalled. 

Athena's silver eyes grew like a full moon when her question finally reached the soles of her brain. However, instead of what was anticipated—being an angry lady who would box a naughty child's ears—Athena laughed. 

The lady's cheeks were as red as the colors on Helena's chubby face, giving ease to the mother's weary heart, scared of what might happen to her daughter, all because she could not control her inquisitiveness. 

"Oh, dear." Athena could not halt her cheeky laugh. "No, sweetie. I do not have a husband. Why do you ask?"

"You mean you've never been in love?" 

"Ha! Love." Phoebus spat. Babyishly irritated with the concept of romance, as if somehow, in his developing years, he had already experienced the whirlwind of virtue. 

"Helena!" The mother lightly scolded. "Forgive my daughter, my lady." Her voice became shaky—a flower slowly losing her petals, blown from what seemed to be a painful breeze from a brewing storm. 

But there was no storm.

Athena was truly a ray of sunshine, a rainbow of hope, with a gentle pat on the worried mother's shoulder—the anxiousness just drifted like smoke kissing Gaia's stratosphere. "Never fret," She said, "Curiosity is a growing child's instinct. My son was like that when he was still a child. I am not angry at your question, Helena. Do not be afraid." She told the child, who was left petrified when she saw her mother's tense expression. "I do not have a husband. I have never been in love."

The little girl's brow lifted. "But I thought you have a son? Mama and papa always told us that children are blessings. That is why when the parents are deeply in love, the goddess of love will send her swans to bring the baby."

The little girl's parallelism was a feather to tickle away the forlorn memories still creeping like a shadow. From the moment she uttered the first chapters of her life to the sweet family, soaring thorns that pierced down to her veins were one by one plucked out—gifting her serenity and space away from the memories of violence. She was beginning to adore being a storyteller. Athena thought her tales could help her reach out to people as she navigated the ways of being a mortal, much like what was happening now with the family. 

"Now, I also wonder—how did you come to have a son if you do not have a husband? You mean to say the god Hephaestus is not your husband?" Phoebus asked as he walked back towards Athena and his sister. 

"Goodness me, no, my darling. Hephaestus is not my husband." Athena immediately answered. 

"But why?" 

"Well, Phoebus—" Bolted from the blue, it was the first time Athena found it hard to explain to the children the situation between her and the god of a blacksmith. Intentionally, she decided to scrap out what truly happened with her son, Erichthonius's birth—knowing fully well that that happening was never to be told to children. With such a predicament, the fair lady brushed Phoebus's wavy brown hair and said, "All I can tell you is that there are stories meant to be known at the right time."

"But have you been in love?" Helena pushed, grinning like a kitten who wanted something from its mother. 

"Oh, you sweet and determined little girl." Athena giggled. "I have never been in love—romantically speaking. But I do love my people, my son—"

"Even your enemies?" 

The last question caught her off guard. "Enemies?" Her mind repeated. 

Did she ever love her enemies? 

A montage of scenes with her foes who prayed for her harm flashed before her eyes. Athena was frozen, forced by the circumstance to recall how her emotions responded to those fingers pointing at her. She recollected Medusa, Arachne, the battle in Troy, her and Hephaestus, what happened between her, Eris, and Enyo—especially last night's unbecoming of her. 

Brushing off the wonderment, Athena hastily crafted her reason—balancing hatred with positive aspects regardless of what her heart whispered. 

Brain and heart should always be in an unbreakable matrimony.

"You know what, I forgave my enemies." She smiled at everyone. "They have my heart. My forgiveness is abundant—as what it should be."

Sighing along with the tranquility, the mother gently took the toddler and told her other children, "All right, darlings, that is enough with the questions."

"Aw!" Phoebus and Helena protested. 

"But I want to know more about love!" Helena added. 

"That is alright, dear mother." Athena gladly gave an assurance when a stroke of memory illuminated in her core. "Yes—yes, let us talk about love! Oh, do please sit down, good mother. I remember this tale: a young woman's prayer whether to follow her heart or your brain."

The children sat back on the ground as their mother sat on her chair. When everyone settled, Athena proceeded, "It was on a clear day that I learned of this dilemma. I was by the sacred well when I heard a poor girl's cries, beseeching my name—asking whether she would marry the one who made her heart leap or the one favored by many. 

To everyone else, it was an obvious choice of whom to pick. But I chose the latter with a keen sense and understanding.

Indeed, she was a bright young girl who was always on cloud nine when her handsome young lover boy would come by. She loved his smile, brown eyes, and his laughs whenever they teased each other. He gave her gifts; she then gave him kisses on the cheeks—never on the lips. A kiss on the lips is reserved after they have said their vows before the gods and the majority.

Somehow, a secret trickster that I am, I gave her the sign to choose the man favored by her father. He was a young man from Delphos, born from a middle-class family, and blessed by Hermes because this young man had the ability of a veteran merchant. And one thing, the moment you study him, you can tell the sincerity in his being. 

Nonetheless, young love prevailed over the young woman's soul.

She did her best to disobey her parents—meeting her lover in a secret place as she planned to run away with him. But then, something happened that shattered her previous perception of him.

Whom she believed was the gentleman of all gentlemen, the person this young lady adored, then coerced her to destroy her family so that no one now could ever stop them when they eloped. His proposal horrified her. She might have disagreed with her father's wishes, but never in her heart's desire she thought of murder. 

It was then the young woman knew that simply relying on one's emotion was not the route to take—especially when your future is at stake."

"Did the lady marry the merchant then?" It was like the wheels had turned—Phoebus became eager to hear the love story.

"Yes—yes, she did." The mother intervened with a hand clasping her toddler's little hand. "After the revelation, she snuck back into her home, sneakily tried to go to her room to reflect on her bad decisions but suddenly halted when, in hindsight, she caught the young merchant, learning with her father the task of pottery making that had their family tradition. 

The young woman finally understood why her parents adored the gentleman they wanted her to marry. 

Sincerity—

She found sincerity in those hazel eyes of his. 

When she arrived in her room, the pearl necklace given to her former lover was strangely broken into small pieces—revealing an acorn inside now eaten by the birds that flew in from the window. 

Clear as the calm ocean, her prayers to the great Minerva were answered."

"And how do you know of the story, mama?" Helena asked with a stupefaction on her face.

The mother paused, looking intently into her children's eyes. 

"Because that is the tale of Vivinna. That is the prayer of your mother." Athena disclosed as she reached out and patted the mother's shoulder. 

Tears formed in Vivinna's green eyes. She could not fathom that her story would be remembered by the fair lady, who—moments ago—openly told them that she was no longer the same deified being. "Oh, dear Minerva. Oh, goddess of wisdom! Never in all of my wildest dreams that such a ridiculous prayer will still be there with you. I know that I should have approached the goddess of love, but there was comfort when I prayed on your feet. It is true that with love, the mind and the heart should work hand in hand."

Glittering eyes marveled even more. Little mouths gaped with the knowledge fed onto them. Their parents' tale, the youthful struggles of their mother, and the new side of the coin drew the children a little closer to their mother without understanding why. 

Perhaps it was the beauty of humanity. Flawed may our loved ones be, but the same blood and the deep shared bonds linked them like an unbroken chain. 

"I am glad you chose father, mama." Phoebus endearingly said as he enveloped her in a warm embrace. 

"Me too!" Helena followed, with Titan tailing behind her. 

"Mi—mi doo!" Wrapped between embraces, the toddler repeated his sister's squeal through his infantile capability. 

Observing the bundle of happiness before her, Athena silently blessed the family—cherishing from a little distance the brief moment of familial love shared between the mother and her children. Now, she patted herself on the back, praising herself for deciding to raise Erichthonius under the mortals' care, for he grew to become a logical and charming king. 

"What do we have here?" She thought. "Olympus is the dwelling of the said perfect beings. But why does it that this little home had a more perfect dynamic between children and parents?" 

As Athena's silver eyes grew dull along with the sinking of her senses, little Helena went to her. When her little hands touched hers, her looming thoughts ceased—diverting her attention to the smiling little girl as she whispered, "I will pray tonight, lady Athena, that you will soon find a husband and have a family as big as ours."

Wet behind the ears with logic now buried in the shadows, Athena positively answered and gave her a tender peck on her forehead. "Thank you, sweetie. Your heart is gracious."