June 3, 2001

This is for JB and Sascha. Because both of them revolt violently against cliffhangers. ;) Dang, you two, you made me finish this faster than I'd intended! How dare you! ;)

Twisted Arrows: Eros and Psyche

[ Part I ] [ Part IIa , Part IIb , Part IIc ] [ Part IIIa , Part IIIb ] [ Part IVa , Part IVb ] [ Part V ]

It was finished. The portrait of Eli that Psyche had been working on for days was finally complete. She'd used yellow chalk to highlight his hair; blue for his eyes; a golden tint for his skin, which was a tone she'd never seen before, and attributed it to his being a spirit. Other than that it was a very simplistic portrait. Nothing to fawn over.

But it was done, and it was hers. She resisted an urge to hug it to her chest and smear the chalk and charcoal all over her dress.

To be more precise, it would be Eli's. Her gift to him as soon as he returned tonight.

Speaking of which, he was late. Darkness was falling, and he was usually home long before then.

Funny that she should think of this chateau as home. It wasn't as if she was used to its expansive size, its shining finery. Home should be with her family, whom she missed. Then again, home is where your heart is, she'd heard her father say more than once, and she knew where her heart belonged.

Maybe something had happened to Eli.

Psyche nibbled on her lower lip. He was a spirit. Surely bad things couldn't happen to spirits? He could protect himself.

She felt the chill only seconds before she heard the voice.

"He's not coming back."

Psyche whirled around and gaped at the being standing before her. The woman was tall and stately, with the carriage of a queen. Looking so familiar, resembling a statue Psyche had seen back in the village, only with color. She couldn't put her finger on it just yet.

Long, wavy blonde hair that looked so familiar. Cold blue eyes that showed little mercy.

Psyche knew those eyes.

"Who are you?" she asked.

The other woman's eyes narrowed, but her lips curled in a way that made Psyche step back. And Psyche usually prided herself on not backing away from just anyone.

"Come now, mortal," the other sneered. "Do not insult me with pretended ignorance. You know who I am."

And Psyche did, because she had seen the sculptured statue, seen the beauty and curves bestowed upon it by the artist. Seen the reverence paid to it by the villagers who prayed to win the hearts of others.

And then she breathed the name, sounding like a prayer but was more likely a horrified realization. "Aphrodite."

The goddess smiled, and Psyche's hand shook.

It wasn't being in a goddess's presence that had shifted Psyche's world. It was the resemblance of Aphrodite's face, hair -- even bone structure -- to someone she thought she'd known so well, that tilted the earth upon which rested everything Psyche possessed.

And before Psyche could even speak, even catch her breath or open her lips, Aphrodite repeated her words: "He's not coming back."

Psyche swallowed. "Who?"

The look Aphrodite gave was laced with pity. "My son. Eros."

"I'm afraid you're mistaken, your. . . godliness. I've not met your son."

"Yes you have." Ice was in her eyes. "Many times. At night. During the day, too, I suspect, when he returned early from his duties."

Psyche didn't realize her hand had flown up to touch her throat until Aphrodite looked at the gesture. "No," Psyche insisted. "You're wrong. I haven't been with your son. I've been with the spirit, Eli."

Aphrodite surprised her by throwing back her head and laughing. "Eli! Did he fool you by giving you a false name? It would not be the first time." The smile faded and was replaced with contempt. "My son, Eros, has hair and eyes like mine. He has three scars raking down the left side of his face. Do you know how he got them?"

Psyche didn't want to hear it, but Aphrodite strode closer, relentless. Psyche tried to back away but soon found a wall biting sharply into her shoulderblades. And still Aphrodite's mocking voice didn't stop.

"He has been free with his affections and body with many a goddess. It is in his nature; he is a generous god. But so many were foolish enough to think they could capture him, trap him, make him their own. If even a goddess suffers such delusions, how easy did you think you were for him?"

"No," Psyche whispered. She tried to draw her head away as Aphrodite's own came closer, even though the wall made it impossible for Psyche to back away. "Aello. The Harpie. She gave Eli the scars."

"She gave Eros the scars. Because he played with her sister's feelings. Could he help it if both of them believed his affections meant more than they really did? Aello has paid for his pain, I assure you, and you shall as well." They were nose-to-nose now, or rather, as nose-to-nose as possible considering Aphrodite was much taller than Psyche. "Did you think you could seduce him and flaunt it? Tell everybody that you'd manipulated a god? Foolish girl! He manipulated you."

"Stop it." Psyche's voice shook, as did her entire body. "That's not true. I love him and he loves --"

"He lusts after you, no more. If not even a goddess can hold on to him, what makes you think you -- a mere mortal, whom he must surely scorn as he scorns all of your kind -- has even the slightest chance with him?"

"You're wrong!"

"Am I?" Aphrodite snarled. "Think on my words, mortal, and think of a time when my son, the god of love, has ever professed that particular emotion to you while he was rutting between your thighs."

Psyche flinched at the crude words and, to her shame, couldn't stop the tears.

Aphrodite stepped away, her frame tall and regal. "He will not return, Psyche," she said coldly, and Psyche realized it was the first time the goddess had ever said her name. She didn't like it. "He will never return. He has used you like he has used all who were not smart enough to accept what they've been given. Remember that."

Later Psyche wouldn't remember how Aphrodite had left -- stepped through the door, vanished, floated out the window? She didn't know. All that consumed her in that moment were tears of devastation, sorrow, and denial. She sank to the floor and curled up in a ball and tried to suppress the sobs.

Aphrodite was wrong. Eli -- Eros -- would return. And then she'd find out the truth.

But he didn't come back. She waited for days, then weeks, aching to hear his steps fall on the ground, to hear his soft, gruff voice, to see him and hold him. She missed him so much. She was willing to forgive him anything as long as he came back.

But he never showed up.

She wept one last time before she packed her drawing materials, a bit of food, and stepped out of the chateau. She left his portrait inside. She didn't want the memories to haunt her, but she knew her determination would be in vain.

He would always be a part of her. She knew this because, as she left the chateau, she carried Eros's child within her womb.

So this is she. The latest victim. Aello watched the human walking down the dirt path. The one known as Psyche looked smudged and exhausted, and parts of her dress were torn due to her journey. She looked lost.

Another notch in his record, Aello thought bitterly before making herself visible and flying down in front of the human.

Psyche was so tired that it took a few moments before she realized Aello's presence. Her eyes widened and her hand went protectively to cover her throat. The other hand, oddly, snaked around her belly. Aello pondered how many days it'd been since the human had eaten.

Aello, as usual, wasted no time with civilities. "You are his latest?" she queried brusquely.

Psyche flushed red and looked away. Even Aello could sense her humiliation.

She made no effort to be friendly, but could acknowledge her pity. "He does not deserve his title. As god of love."

The human drew in a deep, shaky breath before meeting Aello's eyes. Aello knew how difficult it was for most people to do that, to look at her hag's face, bird's body, claws.

"Who are you?" Psyche asked.

"Aello."

Psyche clearly recognized the name, but said nothing. Aello blatantly surveyed the human up and down, disregarding the red flags arising on Psyche's cheeks. Pretty, she thought, although Athena was vastly better-looking, in her opinion. Strange that Eros had never made a play for that goddess. Maybe it was because he knew she was too wise for his ways.

Aello raised her wings, preparing to go now that her curiosity had been indulged. "You have my sympathies."

"Wait," said Psyche, and Aello paused. "Could you. . . show me the way to my village?"

Aello eyed Psyche's ragged state. "How many days have you travelled?"

"Five."

"You're a long way off."

"I know. I don't know how to get to Monterau."

Aello nodded and jerked her head to gesture at her back. "Hop on. I'll take you there."

She dropped Psyche a little way off Monterau, so that Psyche could walk the rest of the way without stunning the villagers by showing up with Aello. Then she flew back home. Ocypete was on her knees, digging the ground for their next meal.

"Where's Celaeno?" Aello asked, referring to their other sister.

Ocypete shrugged. "Supposed to be dragging off the next soul to Hades. Last I heard, though, she and Hermes were fighting for the job."

Aello snorted. "Those two should just do it a couple of times up against a wall and get it out of their system."

Ocypete's jaw dropped as she stared at her sister. "Aello!"

"What? Like you haven't thought of it too."

She sighed. "So where have you been? I expected you back hours ago."

Aello made a face. "I helped a mortal get back to her village. Though only Zeus knows why. I feel nothing but pity for the poor fool for falling under the golden boy's graces."

Aello stopped, aware that she'd said too much. Ocypete straightened immediately and turned.

"'Golden boy'?" she asked. "Eros? What has this to do with him?"

Poor Ocypete. Aello didn't know whether to embrace her sister or shake the immortality out of her. After all this time, she was still so pathetically eager for any drops of information about Eros. When would she learn?

"Nothing," Aello said curtly. "Not anymore. He wanted to break somebody's heart. I broke his. Turnabout's fair play, even if that somebody is a human."

"Wait, wait." Ocypete scrambled to her feet. "What are you talking about? Human? You broke his heart? How?"

It enraged Aello to see Ocypete like this, so much so that she launched into her tirade without hesitation. "I took the human's guise and kissed somebody else in front of him! I kissed one of the souls I was dragging to Hades, and he had no choice but to reciprocate if he knew what was good for him. Eros saw us and thought me to be her, his latest conquest." She laughed harshly. "Turned the tables on him, I did. I wonder how he liked being on the receiving end this time?"

"Aello!" Ocypete gasped, one claw flying up to her mouth.

"Don't chastise me! He deserved it and you know it! How long are you going to continue mooning over him? I did the mortal a favor by showing her the truth before he did. Given, I didn't show her -- his mother did that -- but --"

The color drained from Ocypete's face. "Oh sister, how could you?"

"You dare defend him? He who used you and used you again?"

"You weren't the one who saw him two days ago!"

Aello stopped and drew back. "You still watch him? Ocypete!"

"Do not chastise me, Aello. Right now I feel more shame for you than I do for myself. Have you seen the look on his face these days? He cares for that mortal!"

"More likely his pride is hurt, that's all," Aello sneered.

"No, sister," Ocypete said quietly. "He cares."

"And how would you know?"

"Because I recognized the look on his face. It is the same that I bear on my own each and every day."

Aello stared at her sister; upset, angry, ashamed, pitying. She didn't want to see Eros through her sister's eyes. She didn't want to feel sympathy for the cruel god.

Ocypete wiped the dirt from her claws. "Some things are not meant to be, Aello. I know that, even if my heart doesn't. But maybe this. . . whatever it is that Eros has with the mortal. . . maybe that one means more than even he knows." She raised her gaze to meet Aello's. "It is not our place to punish, Aello, nor is it our place to be spiteful. You've changed him enough by giving him those scars; when will you be satisfied?"

Aello turned away. She would not apologize for what she'd done.

She heard Ocypete walk away, but gritted her teeth and remained silent. She didn't regret a thing.

Apollo found Eros at his own thinking spot, underneath the laurel tree. He arched an eyebrow, watching the god with his chin on his fist, his elbow on his knee, brooding. The posture reminded him of a man-made statue he'd seen once.

"This is my spot, you know," said Apollo.

Eros hardly twitched an eyebrow.

Apollo stood in front of him. "It's been a while since we last met. How is Psyche?"

"Do not speak her name in my presence," Eros snarled.

Apollo raised an eyebrow, kept it raised. "I sensed something was the matter when you began avoiding me. I went to my chateau just to check. She wasn't there."

"Good. I wanted her gone."

Apollo didn't believe him in the least. "Why so bitter, Eros? I thought she'd breathed new life into you."

Eros was off the tree stump he'd been sitting on and in Apollo's face, rage roaring through his veins. "It was a lie, Apollo! Everything! I trusted her and she broke that trust! She was with another! I gave her something I'd never given anyone before and all along she was throwing it away, laughing behind my back!"

Apollo, to his credit, didn't look intimidated at all. "And what exactly did you give her, Eros?"

"My trust! My lo --" He broke off and turned away. His voice shook. "My heart. I gave her my heart."

"Did you?"

"Did I what?"

"Give her your trust."

Eros stared at Apollo. His hands clenched like he was ready to lunge at the god.

"You didn't tell her your name, who you were, what you did," the god of light went on. "Is that trust?"

"That's different --"

"Is it? You say you gave her your heart. Did you tell her that?"

"She knew, blast it! She knew!"

"She gave you her trust, did she not, when she accepted you for who you told her you were? She doubted you not a whit. She made you the happiest god I'd seen for a long time, changed you --"

"I needed no changing! I was better off without her!"

"She loved you!" Apollo exploded, and the sheer volume rocked Eros into silence. It was the first time Apollo had even lost his temper so violently in his presence. "She believed more of you than you did of her, and you rejected her faster than the leaves fall in autumn."

Eros made as if to retort, but Apollo whipped out a piece of paper and held it in front of him.

"I found this at the chateau," he said. "Tell me that this is the work of a woman who cheated you from the start."

Eros glared, jaw clenched, veins distended, and snatched the paper away. He stretched it open and looked at it.

And froze, staring.

It was his own portrait, drawn with loving care and accuracy. The charcoal strokes were firm yet soft, the colored highlights simple yet elegant. But it wasn't just the work of art that stunned Eros -- he'd always known Psyche was good.

It was the expression that she'd drawn on his face. The eyes, solemn and intense. The lips half-pressed, half-curved, as if unsure whether to snarl or smile. The scars melding into his face not as a sign of ugliness, but as a part of him, part of who he was.

He looked. . . satisfied. At peace with the demons within.

Eros's fingers began to tremble, scarcely able to hold on to the paper.

"You see?" Apollo asked quietly.

Eros couldn't answer.

Apollo glanced behind his shoulder. "There's someone who needs to talk to you."

Eros looked up and saw Ocypete standing not too far away. "No. . . not now, Apollo. I can't --"

"It's about Psyche."

Eros stilled. Then, slowly, jerkily, he glanced into Ocypete's eyes and nodded. She came forward to tell him all.

Psyche wasn't sure she liked mornings anymore.

Never mind that she felt listless in general and couldn't summon the usual enthusiasm to start a new day. Not because she missed Eros, she told herself. Not because she cared. It was the cursed sickness that she suffered each dawn thanks to her pregnancy that had become the bane of her existence.

She'd just finished heaving into the drain outside her home when she felt something wrap around her, a warm and scratchy material. At first her heart leapt and she looked up, but then she saw it was Leto. Her smile faded.

"Are you all right?" he asked as he helped her to her feet. "Do you need anything?"

She managed to retrieve the smile once more as they both headed to the well. "I'm fine. Menena tells me the nausea will not last long. Though I'm not sure how she knows, since she has yet to be with child."

Leto's eyes were sympathetic, and he brushed aside Psyche's attempt to dredge up water from the well. Psyche was surprised that she'd let him. She gratefully accepted the water he gave her and used it to clean her mouth and quench her thirst.

"Old Man Oglen has been pacing about town," Leto informed her.

Psyche shrugged. She supposed she should feel lucky that due to her expectant state, Old Man Oglen no longer felt the desire to marry her. He resented her refusal, of course, and was surely insulted that she'd let another man touch her outside the boundaries of marriage. But his obsession for her was gone now, and he left her alone.

Which was a good thing. Her family wouldn't be driven from their home now.

As for the temple priests. . . well, they made her nervous. She hadn't told anyone about their attempt on her life just yet, so long as they stayed away from her. Judging from the distrust in their eyes, however, it was only a matter of time before something would happen.

Leto hesitated, crouched on his haunches as he watched Psyche sitting on the ground. The concern on his face was adorable. She couldn't help wishing that he was her little brother, because she so wanted a little brother.

"I could marry you, you know," he blurted out.

Psyche blinked, and mentally patted herself on the back for not dropping her mug of water. "What?"

"Marry you. For the child. So that it would not be born out of wedlock." He grasped her hand and ran his thumb across her knuckles. He looked torn. "You deserve better, Psyche."

A long time ago, Psyche would've rolled her eyes in exasperation. Now she just smiled and patted his arm. She couldn't blame him. He just cared. It wasn't wrong to care.

"Thank you for the offer, Leto," she said sincerely. "But I cannot accept your offer. I don't love you, and you. . . are infatuated with me. That's not a good basis for marriage."

He looked forlorn. "But your baby. . ."

"Will not need of anything," she finished. She paused. "I would be greatly honored, however, if you would consent to be its godfather."

Now it was Leto's turn to blink. "Me? But I. . . I never. . ."

"Please, Leto?"

Leto fumbled a little before a smile burst upon his face. "I would love to, Psyche."

She kissed his cheek, grateful. "Thank you." She placed a hand on her lower belly, where it was barely showing. She wouldn't bother hiding it, though. The whole village knew she was expecting. The whispers followed her wherever she went. Ironic that the woman once lauded for her virtue now was rumored to be an utter harlot.

Leto was silent for a moment, then said, "He's a bastard for deserting you."

Psyche was surprised by his words. Leto usually didn't use such language. "Leto!"

"He is! Tell me who he is and I'll choke him to death."

She laughed. This was the brother she'd wanted, all right. "I'm not sure you can, Leto, but I'll let you know if the time comes." The laughter faded as memories threatened to invade. "Is it possible to love a god, Leto?"

"A god?" He looked confused at the apparent change in subject. "I don't think so. You pray to them. Worship them. Idolize them. You're not supposed to love them."

She gazed at where her hand rested. "Well, I do."

Leto had no chance to ask what she meant, because at that moment a yell broke out. Both of them whirled to see a gang of villagers, led by the temple priests, storming in their direction.

"Harlot!" they chanted. "Witch!"

Psyche's arms wrapped protectively around her stomach now. Leto stood in front of her grimly, in a defensive stance. "What's going on?" she asked.

"You mated with the unholy!" a priest accused. "That is why you will not tell the father's name. You have sinned before the gods and your family!"

"No!" She scrambled to her feet. She knew the practice; unwed mothers were scorned by society. Revealing the name of the father meant a forced marriage. Not only did Psyche not want a forced marriage, but she knew that nobody would believe her claims of who the father was.

Not that she would ever tell. Despite the pleadings of her father and sisters, or the slighted looks cast upon her in public, it would be her secret for good.

"Who did you lay with?" one of them shouted. "Tell us now or suffer the punishment!"

"I laid with no one unholy!" she shouted back. "You just want to silence me because you're afraid I'll tell them --"

"She whored herself for a demon!" a priest drowned out her voice. "Seize her! She spouts lies with those condemning lips!"

Psyche's screams did no good in the overriding roar of the crowd. They yanked her hard, bruising her, binding her wrists with rope as they thrust Leto away. He yelled and tried to fight toward her, but was met with unkind fists.

Psyche screamed again when she saw him fall and not get up. She was pulled -- dragged -- away, and stumbled twice. Then she stopped resisting because she didn't want to hurt her baby.

The insults didn't stop as they paraded her through the village, heading for the temple.

"Slut!"

"Know you no shame?"

"Tell us the truth, woman!"

She saw her family rush up but were stopped by the rioters. "Let her go!" her father cried hoarsely.

"Your daughter has been shamed," one man said coldly. "Her child is unholy."

"Liar!" Therenas yelled. "You lie!"

"She refuses to reveal the name of the father. She disappeared and reappeared without warning, without explanations afterwards. She will not clear her name. Now she must be sacrificed to appease the gods. She will repent her sin!"

Oh, by the light. They were sentencing her to death.

"Psyche!" Menena called as her fiance, Gerome, tried to break through the ranks. "Are you all right?"

The question was so absurd that Psyche nearly laughed.

Amelia was crying. "Please, Psyche," she begged. "Tell them what they want to know. Please."

But Psyche knew no matter what she said, the priests were determined to get their way. She could only bow her head and struggled against the tears. No more, she told herself. You shed your last drop at the chateau.

"Hah!" she heard someone say. "See how she bows her head in shame?"

Psyche raised her head and met her accuser's eyes. Her eyes were wet but refused to let anything fall. Her expression was solemn, distant, a beauty so majestic that the voices faded so that they could hear her speak.

"I did nothing to be ashamed of." She regarded them without flinching, her head held high, her shoulders straight and proud. "But it doesn't matter what I say, does it? You will not believe me. You --" she directed at the villagers, "want your superiority established. You --" she aimed at the priests, "want my silence."

The chief priest glared and pointed at the temple steps, now just in front of them. "Move."

Apollo's temple, she thought as she treaded up with bound wrists. I was in your chateau, O god. I broke your plates. Do you blame me for that?

The villagers stood at the entrance, some to watch, some to block her escape. She wanted to tell them not to bother. She wasn't going to run. She'd spoken the truth; she did nothing wrong. If they wanted to punish her for that, it would be on their conscience.

Then her hands went to her belly, and she started to tremble. Oh, heavens. It was all very well to act the martyr if it was just her, but what of her child? She could not let it die.

The priests were already in front of her, preparing the sacrificial altar, chanting for the salvation of her soul.

"Hypocrites," she shouted, struggling against the bindings now.

"She will pay for her sin," the chief priest cried, raising his voice and hands. One fist held the dagger to be used, and Psyche's breath caught in her throat. "She will pay, but grant her mercy, O great Apollo, grant her mercy!"

A flash of light, one that Psyche would've recognized had she not frozen in place, crossed their vision as a voice resonated within the temple walls.

"Apollo may be merciful," came the familiar, dangerous tone, "but I am not.""

She was dreaming. Hallucinating in the face of death. It couldn't be him.

But it was. He emerged from the light, and she drank in the sight of him, his golden skin, his face, his eyes. His gaze went immediately to her, as if to make sure she was all right, before he turned to face the shouting priests. His grip on a strangely shaped arrow was so fierce, so ready to hurt, that his knuckles were white.

Many of the priests quaked and raced for cover on seeing his vicious expression. Three tried to fight their way through the panicking crowd at the temple entrance.

Psyche couldn't move. All she could do was stare at Eros. His eyes met hers once more and held.

There was so much she wanted to say.

Then her attention was caught by someone moving behind him. She opened her mouth to cry out a warning, but saw that person was moving out of the same light Eros had come out from. That person wore a crown of laurels and a toga.

Apollo?

The people might not have recognized Eros, but they recognized Apollo well enough. They looked torn between running and prostrating on the ground.

Apollo put a hand on Eros's shoulder. "Easy," he said amiably, his tone contrasting with the seriousness of the situation. "You know I want no bloodshed in my temple."

"Then I'll do it outside on the steps," Eros snarled.

The look Apollo gave was reproachful.

Psyche stepped back, and Eros whipped his gaze to her again. Then she felt people touching her from behind and realized that Leto and her family had come to her. The support was so intense, so needed, that she sank into their protective embrace. They shielded her from the gods as if afraid that Apollo and Eros would do her harm. She couldn't even smile at the thought.

Apollo glanced at her. "What say you, Psyche?" he inquired. "Do you want vengeance against your accusers?"

Her lips were dry; she couldn't speak. She managed to shake her head, and her hands went instinctively to her belly. Eros's eyes followed them. She instantly stopped and searched for someone else's hand to grip. She didn't know whose it was, but Eros's eyes flew to it immediately as well. His entire body tensed.

Apollo patted Eros lightly. "You have your answer."

"Psyche," Leto whispered with a wince to her ear, "you're hurting me."

Psyche released his fingers immediately. Eros's eyes were intense, unflinching. Why didn't he say something?

He can't hurt you now. You won't let him. You're strong. He means nothing to you.

But it didn't work. She wanted to run. She was already backing away, and her family, confused, were backing along with her. It was only when Eros began to step forward that she turned around and raced out.

She would not cry. She would not cry. He'd had the power to hurt her before. She did not need his pity now.

He caught up with her behind her home. He clutched her arm, but she flinched and stumbled back, and he didn't dare reach for her again for fear she'd hurt herself. Or the baby.

A baby. Our baby. She's having. . . oh Zeus. . .

His throat ached and he wanted to say so much, but he'd never been good with words. No, that was wrong. He'd been good with words before his scars; used his tongue and words to please women in more ways than one. But this was different. She was different.

He didn't want to lose her. Couldn't lose her. Nothing would seem right anymore and he missed her so much.

His hands shook, his voice hoarse, and it was all he could do to whisper her name.

She flinched again, and looked at him with accusing eyes, hurt eyes, eyes that he wanted to kiss closed and give the world to if only she'd smile at him again.

Why couldn't he say anything?

She, apparently, had no such compunctions. "What are you doing here?"

"Psyche, I. . ."

"Wasn't it enough that you lied? That you never came back?" She was furious now, and it was a bad time to think it, but Eros was again reminded of how beautiful she was when she was angry. "Why did you come back now?"

"I had to." He wanted to touch her, but knew his heart would break if she pushed him away. He had a heart. Who would've believed it?

"Were you trying to teach me a lesson? 'Foolish mortal, she dares doubt the existence of gods. She will pay.' Is that it?"

"By Olympus, no." He stepped forward, and could see her tensing to escape. "I'm sorry, Psyche. I'm so sorry. I never meant to --"

"It was just a game to you, wasn't it? Wasn't it?"

Her tears fell then, and he couldn't stop himself. He had her in his arms and she struggled, but he couldn't let her go.

"You didn't come back!" she shouted, pounding at his chest. Her fists soon slowed as she slumped against him, weeping. Her voice faded, barely discernible. "You didn't come back."

His forehead rested on hers, and he felt his insides shred. "I'm sorry," he whispered, struggling to keep his voice. "I thought you'd. . . I was deceived. . ." No, liar, he just hadn't had enough faith in her. Shame burned; he'd doubted her. She'd been nothing but honest and yet. . . Why couldn't he say the right things? "You gave me gifts that I should've treasured, that I should've returned in kind, and I. . ."

The words faded and they stood there, the two of them, alone in his arms. The sound of their uneven breathing burned in his ears. Her eyes closed; his nearly, but he couldn't bring himself to do it completely. It'd been too long since he'd last seen her, touched her. He was afraid that if he looked away for an instant she'd vanish.

When she spoke, he breathed in her breath, her air. "What gifts?" she asked softly.

"Your trust. Your love." His hands shook again, and he clutched her tight against him, unable to let her go. "Please say it's not gone. Say you still care. I swear I'll never hurt you again, I'll give you anything, just say it's not too late --"

She silenced him with a finger to his lips. He kissed that finger.

"I never stopped loving you, you know," she said. "Even when I was hating you."

Eros couldn't even summon the strength to smile. His eyes closed.

She was silent for a moment. Then, "You're a god."

"Yes."

"And I'm not. It cannot be, Eros --"

"It can. I'll appeal to Zeus. I'll give it up, or you can join me. Become immortal. Anything. I want a life for us. . ." his hand went to her stomach, "for our child."

She hesitated. "If you're here because you feel a sense of duty --"

He raised her chin with a finger so that their eyes met. Her gaze widened, as if startled by what she saw in his. His voice, when he spoke, was low.

"I'm here because I love you. Because I have never known love before you. I am a god who wants to worship you, be with you, share my days and nights with you. Anything we share, our words, our thoughts, our child, I will treasure more than anything Olympus has to offer."

He buried his face in her hair. "Don't ask me to leave. We'll make this work, we will. I know I've done nothing to earn your trust, but I'll do it even if it takes me an eternity."

Her arms snaked around his waist and she rested her cheek on his chest. "I cannot ask you to give up your immortality --"

"It's nothing."

"No, it isn't. You're a god. You must do what you must to do." She drew in a deep breath. "You have to understand. It's difficult for me to become an immortal. It means. . . means living a different life from my family."

"You can visit them whenever you want to. Or we'll live here. I'll build you a castle right here in the village."

She nearly smiled. "Old Man Oglen would be jealous." She shook her head. "If I agree to spend my life with you, become an immortal. . . my family would die before me. Everyone will."

This was it. He'd fought and he'd lost. He bowed his head, wanting to rage at the injustice of it all.

Her hand moved up and down his back. "I'll miss them," she said softly.

"Yes," he said. Then it sunk in, and he jerked back so suddenly he nearly threw both of them off-balance. "What did you say?"

"I'll miss them." Her hands went to cup his face as she pulled him near. "But I love you."

He didn't believe it. He couldn't. But then their lips met, and he wasn't fool enough to refuse a miracle. She accepted him. She was giving everything up and accepting him.

Bless you, Apollo. Ocypete. The Fates. Even his mother, Aphrodite, since she'd been the one to first send him to Psyche. Although he still had more than a few issues to hash out with her.

He tried to be gentle but Psyche wouldn't let him. It'd been too long.

There would be time for questions and answers later; time for assurances, revelations, news. Later, they would tell their families and friends.

For now, it was just them.

=End=

[ I'd pondered doing an epilogue, but I think I'll leave this as it is. Better enough than too much. :) ]

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