Interlude - Hephaestos

A/N  - in the myths there are nine Muses. When this story begins there are only six of them, the other three will be appointed later. Also, this event takes place before the myth of Apollo and Hyacintos.

The youngest son of Zeus and Hera was caught up in a creative trance when there was a knock on the door frame. First he didn't hear, but the knocker had learned to be persistent and kept on knocking until Hephaestos looked up from his drawing pulpit, pushing away a few greasy strands of hair from his pale face and faced the woman standing in the doorframe.
"Aglaia!" he nodded. "Come on in, dear!"
"What are you up to? Haven't you even begun to make yourself ready?"
"Ready? For what?" Hephaestos furrowed his brows, was it something he had forgotten and which his wife was trying to tell him, deploying her usual riddles?
"Hephaestos, we are expected at Apollo's within half an hour. He's performing his new songs together with the Muses. And you haven't even... You have to take a bath if we're going there. Wash your hair for fate's sake!"

"Darling, half an hour you say? There's no chance in the world I'll be done within half an hours, so..."
"But I want to go to that event, Hephaestos!" Aglaia grumbled and stamped her foot hard against the brick floor of the workshop. "I'm tired of sitting home and waiting for the action to come to me."
"So why don't you go ahead, and I'll catch up with you later, Ags. Perhaps afterwards we can..."
"Yeah right! You bet I will!" Aglaia glared at him a couple of heartbeats more, emerald eyes burning like rays, before she turned on her heels and marched out of the workshop, strawberry blond tresses and burgundy dress flowing behind her like warrior's banners and shoulders tense with anger. Not unexpectedly did she slam the door too.
"Now just what did I say?" Hephaestos enquired of his half-finished creation. But the little wind-up toy bird gave him no reply and the blacksmith god shrugged his shoulders and went back to work. He'd just needed a couple of minutes and then he'd go up and take that bath. The bird was supposed to sing and to chirp when you wound it up, something like a nightingale or a blackbird. It would be a magnificent little thing when it was finished...

But there was a lot more to do. Like the exo design. He really wanted to spend the evening with his bird, but he had promised Ags, he remembered that now. Hephaestos sighed deeply. Perhaps he could sneak in at Apollo's in the intermission and at least enjoy the second half of the event. Then he should come up with something fun for Aglaia and him to pick up the mood with.

Only that... When Hephaestos returned to his designs he forgot everything. The time, the concert, the promise he had tried to give his wife to make up for his inability to make it to the event in time.

At the concert, Aglaia sat alone, fuming and biting back tears. He had promised he would come, and he had let her down again. Some women, like Hera, had men who betrayed them with other women. Her man betrayed her with darn brass toys and cogwheel-propelled trinkets! That was even worse, because it made her feel that she had no right to be mad at him. Not the way her mother in law went about with Zeus when he had been involved in one of his countless amorous adventures. Hera got the sympathies on her side, but what did she, Aglaia, got to hear? 'But he makes such beautiful and miraculous things, he's a genius! How can you complain, he's wonderful! And always so kind and helpful....'

Yeah right! That ugly fart hadn't even bothered to come to her bed lately. Habitually he sneaked in when she was already asleep. And perhaps that was for the better, because he was usually smelly these days...  

***

That had been fifty years ago. Aglaia had left Hephaestos not long after. The first weeks after she packed and walked out that door, the blacksmith god thought it more or less nice to be alone. Nice to not have someone who nagged at him all the time, about his dirty and ragged clothes, about how he forgot to bath and wash his hair, about how he forgot important appointments because he spent so much time working. First it had felt great just being on his own and concentrating upon his creations and inventions, eating and sleeping when he felt like it and not having to bother with his looks all the time. He could take his food with him to the workshop, munch on a chicken drumstick with his left hand while he was sketching down any of his ideas, or take random sips of wine while welding a little something together.

Yet after a while it became lonely. Hephaestos began to feel less appreciated. Not because of his work, people from near and far were still praising him. Praising the beauty and ingenuity which came out of his mind and his hands. Praising the stamina with which he kept up his job. They commended his helpfulness and patience when they came with broken belongings in need to be mended. There were always people around him willing to learn, willing to see, to buy and to trade and kept telling how great he was at what he did. There was only one problem - it was his work they extoled, his art and his engineering skills. Not him. Nobody bothered with him. Nobody looked twice at the ugly fart who actually churned out all those little trinkets for people to marvel over. At least Aglaia had done that - in the beginning of their marriage. The first years she had told him how much she loved him, how much he meant to her. In return he had showered her in gifts. Earrings, necklaces, riding tools, musical instruments, funny little toys and other gizmos had been coming her way in an endless stream. She had loved it all. But it hadn't been enough, because she began feeling neglected. Something she was probably right about.  

He knew it; he spent too many hours working. But how could he not, they were there all the time, the ideas, the inventions, the art designs. Not to mention people who wanted him to make things for them. Or mend things for them. Or simply discuss if it was possible to construct this or that. On top of that there were his co-workers, his students and apprentices. People who wanted to learn his work and help with his creations. These people were usually very skilled on their own to begin with – otherwise he wouldn't have taken them in - and as such they were fun and challenging to work with. But it was always 'business as usual'. Somewhere among all the gadgets there had to be room for him as well. Room for Hephaestos, the man, not only the inventor.

"Face it man, you're lonely, and it has begun to eat at you," he told his mirror image where he stood in the bathroom, still wet from a rare bath. Holding a shaving knife in his hand, he wondered if he should bother today or if he should just let the stubble be. Who was he going to see today and about what? He pulled the knife to his cheek, feeling the cold steel against the skin and closing his eyes the sensation became if possible even more prominent. As if the steel was radiating ice which sent its tendrils through his skin and right into his cheek, inside the nerves and up in his mind, chilling it. Chilling it, shaking it and waking it. Turning on ice blue light in his brain, lighting up neglected paths connected to his social life.  

"Always so indecisive, are you?" he said while opening his eyes again and facing himself, staring right into those dark brown orbs. "Always when it's not about the job. Okay, you can go out there and look like an ugly hobo, an indoors geek - or you can do something about it! And perhaps - just perhaps - some nymph will turn her head after you, and not because you can make her a pair of lapis ear rings for the next party she'll attend."

The god of the blacksmiths put down the knife on the commode again and using soap, water and oil he whipped up some shaving crème and then he used it and the knife to get rid of the stubble which had clung to his chin and cheeks for five days now. He felt oddly fresh and pleased when that was done. He pulled his fingers through his dark-brown, curly hair; it sure felt different when it was clean. Softer and smoother, not so scraggly and relentless. While doing so he smiled and tied it up in a knot in the back of his head. That bath - now he could go out there and meet just anybody.

But the 'anybody' was just Apollo, who needed help with a broken lyre.
"I don't know what I'm doing wrong," his older brother lamented. "But every time I play it these days at least one string snaps. And it's becoming embarrassing. Can you have a look at it, please?"
"I probably shouldn't ask it, because it would be a dumb question directed at you, but - you don't string it too hard, right?"
"No, of course not. I've stringed it like this for two and thirty years already. And I don't have similar problems with any of my other lyres. I know, 'I should just use another lyre', then again I kinda like this piece, the sound is especially crisp. And the mystery is eating at me."
"Okay I'll have a look at it, you've got it here?"
"No, it's over at my place. I didn't want to carry it around and then finding that you didn't have the time to fix it. Besides, you look like you could need coming out and about a while, little bro'."

Hephaestos simpered at that – old news!
"Perhaps. I've become quite a recluse after the divorce. It's so easy to just hang inside, letting the days go when working on something. Forgetting all about the passing of hours."
"Tell me about it! When I compose I tend to forget it all too. Especially if I go away somewhere, just with the idea to be left alone, so that nobody might interrupt my creative process. Then again I have the Muses, they are always there niggling at me if I don't 'come out and play' with them."
"Perhaps I should get me some Muses too. Only problem, there are no goddesses who want to work in a dark and dirty forge. Well, very few I take it. And I have yet to meet them."

Apollo laughed and slapped Hephaestos hard on his back:
"Hey bro', cheer up! I know you're going to meet someone someday. And she's going to be the most gorgeous thing that has treaded the ground of Olympos!"
"Hope that's not a prophecy, Pol!" Hephaestos returned.
"Why not?"
"Because if you say so, nobody's going to believe you!"
"Ah, come on! Why not?"
"But it's obvious, why would 'the most gorgeous thing that has treaded the ground of Olympos' want an ugly workaholic like me?"
"Oh, Hephaestos," Apollo shook his blond head, "There's nothing wrong with your confidence when you mend one of my instruments or fix some horrendous weapon for Ares or make a pair of earrings for your mother, but why are you so humble when it comes to your character and appearance?"

Hephaestos didn't reply immediately, he just gazed out over the lovely and lush Olympian park landscape they were walking through, his eyes lingering with some statues of naked, dancing women in a fountain. Apollo took the silence as a chance for some contemplation as well. A prophecy - nobody's going to believe you... He didn't know why but it sounded like some kind of idea which might prove useful one day...

***

No, he was not going to yell 'where's the lyre' first thing when he came through Apollo's door, that Hephaestos promised himself. Instead he would stay and chit-chat for a while, especially if some of the Muses were around. Those ladies who usually hung with Apollo, they sure were something. The daughters of Mnemosyne were intelligent and creative and always full of ideas, feeding others inspiration in an endless stream, just by being in the vicinity. Mostly they spent time with Apollo when he was composing and performing, but they could also run away on pure whims and spread their miracle gifts randomly among gods and mortals alike. Hephaestos himself had been lucky sometimes, his self-playing little gadgets were an inspiration from Terpsichore. He had been making toy birds which you could wind up for animation when Terp came around and suggested that they should sing as well. That took a lot more work to realize, but it sure paid off, his birds became the talk of the town a few decades back, and turned into gifts and trade items to other pantheons around the world, marketed as 'another invention of the genius Olympian'.

Hephaestos made sure Terpsichore got her fair share of the credit too, which made her forever grateful, since the Muses didn't always get that lucky. Greedy people often took all the cred for themselves, and mostly the Muses were too 'kind' to protest! Ever since had Terpsichore been a special friend to Hephaestos so he hoped she'd be around. However he liked the other five as well - Clio, Calliope, Thalia, Erato and Ourania. All of them were always so much fun!

As soon as the entrance doors fanned open the brothers could hear the joyous voices of some of the Muses. The girls were singing in the music room at the other end of the house, a happy, vibrant tune about going on a journey and meeting new friends. But they stopped when Apollo called out to them.
"No, I had wanted to hear the whole thing!" Hephaestos protested.
"Just you wait; you'll do that soon enough. From the beginning as well," his older brother promised before he led the way across the entrance hall and out in a courtyard garden with trees, white roses and marble fountains. Apollo had a statue of himself cast in gold in the garden, something Hephaestos found a bit tacky. Then again, it did look fine among the roses, and who was he to talk, he who wrote his signature somewhere on everything he made. An H with a flame.

The doors to the music room across the garden were open and inviting, and all of the muses were there save for Ourania. They became delighted to see Hephaestos, bombarding him with questions about his works and what he was manufacturing at the moment.
"Hey, hey, hey!" Apollo had to cut in. "Give the man a break, you're asking like a zillion of questions at a time and he hasn't even begun answering the first one."
"I don't even remember the first one to be true," Hephaestos smirked and pushed a hand across his eyes. So Thalia asked:
"It's about that wind machine."
"Wind machine?" The inventor echoed. "Don't you think it'd be better to talk to Zephyros or somebody about that?"

"No, no, no, no!" laughed Thalia, blue eyes glittering. "It's a mechanical thingie. For simulating storms and gales. For theatre. Remember I asked you about it a few weeks back? You thought it was possible to develop such a thing."
"Oh yeah, now I do remember. Unfortunately I haven't even had the time to begin sketching upon it. It's a bit much right now..."
"Isn't it always 'a bit much' with Hephaestos?" Clio grinned. She was as blue-eyed and ginger haired as Thalia, however slightly smaller and curvaceous.
"Oh, please! Be nice!" the brunette Erato giggled and gave her sister a friendly show. Clio showed back, giggling even more and showing the cutest little dimples.
"What's next, huh?" Hephaestos made a face. "A lightning machine?"
"Oh yeah, that'd be awesome!" blonde Calliope exclaimed. "Hephaestos makes his own thunderbolts."
"I bet papa wouldn't agree on the awesomeness of that idea," Apollo rolled his eyes.
"Oh, but it would be a wonderful story!" Thalia exclaimed. "Hephaestos makes thunderbolts for Zeus!"

"Oh, come on!" Apollo began but Thalia had obviously got another brilliant stroke of inspiration and couldn't stop going about those thunderbolts Hephaestos would be manufacturing in his forge.
"Yeah, I'm going to need some kind of generator and some conductors - not to mention a mother of an energy source," the blacksmith smiled. "Nothing you conjure up in a sec."
"But it's a fantasy!" Thalia grinned. "In a fantasy everything can happen like this!" she snapped her fingers for emphasis.
"Yes, Thal!" Terpsichore smiled, twirling a jet-black curl around a slender, ringed finger. "Do write it down! I want the full reason why Heph is creating thunderbolts for his dad."
"Terp, Zeus is going to be pissed," Clio shook her head.
"No, he's got humor," Thalia answered back. "He can tell a good satire for what it is."

***

"It's metal tiredness," Hephaestos said after having given the lyre a thorough examination. "I can probably replace those screws and then give the frame a bit of melding. Then I suggest you use some other strings for this babe which aren't as unrelenting."
"But it's the strings," Apollo lamented, "which give this lyre its distinctive sound."    
"I'll see what I can do about it," Hephaestos nodded. "But I can't promise a thing."
"I know you can fix it," Apollo did his best to sound convincing and Hephaestos turned the instrument over, as if he was trying to figure it out.

"You know," he said, "I wish I could fix other parts in my life as easily as such a thing."
"Like what?" Apollo asked and leaned back on the coach, putting his hands behind the back of his head, blond hair flushing out over the red satin as he kept his sapphire eyes upon his younger brother. In the other room the muses had begun singing again, concert song this time, one phrasing more divine than the next.

"My life. My personal life which is nothing but a wreckage. Metal tiredness is just the middle name for it. Since Aglaia split... I mean it'd probably be easier to make said thunderbolt machine than to find another wife - one willing to stay."
"Heph! Listen! What would you need a wife for?"
"Someone to hold in the night..."
"That you can find anyhow. Look at me," Apollo pointed a thumb to his tanned chest for emphasis. "I've stayed bachelor and there's no shortage of women in my life. Then I don't mean the dear Muses, who are more like sisters to me. In fact some of them are. But I'm just keeping my eyes open. Which is something you also can do. Work less and hang out with people more, that's the clue!"

Hephaestos didn't bother mentioning girls like Daphne; they were just temporary set-backs for Apollo, who did indeed have an endless stream of paramours coming his way.

"But there's something else I'd like to figure out one day," Apollo went on before he stopped abruptly as if he had said too much already.
"What?" Hephaestos asked, feeling curiosity awaken.
"Ow, I probably shouldn't tell anybody... can you promise to keep a secret, Heph?"
"Cross my hearth," the blacksmith assured.
"Yeah... it's mostly because of a curiosity - and perhaps boredom. Not really desire mind you, but..."
"Oh, come on! Spit it out!"

"I've kinda wondered how it might be... to be with a... with another lad..." Apollo blushed at that and hid his face in his hands, but there was also a kind of relief in his gasp, as if he was letting something off his mind.
"Apollo!" Hephaestos exclaimed and turned pale in his face. "I didn't know... you were..."
"Well I'm not!" Apollo almost snapped at his younger brother as he sat up erect and turned rigid all of a sudden. "I am after all a son of Zeus, the biggest women's man west of sunrise. But I am - like - curious!"
"I..."
"And you promised to not tell!"
"You do have my word, bro! Although this is a bit hard to digest. I remember Poseidon calling that behaviour sick."
"What does he know?" Apollo clicked his tongue. "Down beneath the waves. He can look at them sharks making it out..."

"Apollo, honestly, I might sound like I fell on my back in mud but when push comes to show, it's just an act. Entertainment for some. And you're still the same Pol. But for me these things can never be a game. I want realness in my life. I want someone who wishes to stay with me for real, and not just for two or three nights. Thing is I hold high doubts that I'm ever going to find that one."
"Heph," his brother sighed, his own confession suddenly all forgotten.
"Yeah?"
"Let me be totally honest with you in the matter!"
"Go ahead, I can hear the truth, than I'm an ugly fart and..."
"Stuff it, you're not ugly. That's just another act too. Something you're hiding behind. Which is so not true! You ain't worse off or better off than anyone else on this rock. But you do need to get out more. Meet more people. You can't expect love to come falling down your chimney! It would probably burn its ass on your fires if it did anyway. Now, go get a haircut and some new designer togas and you'll find life is a ball after work hours."

Hephaestos didn't reply to that. Not immediately at least. Instead he picked up Apollo's lyre and stood up, leaving his half-filled cup of nectar.
"I'll check this thing out and return it fixed."
"Yes - and fix your life as well when you're at it!" Apollo replied.

"Love falling down the chimney," Hephaestos mumbled to himself as he left Apollo's. Wonder what the Muses might make out of that...