"I like to think it's improving, perhaps in a few generations' time it will be gone entirely," Hera remarked with a shrug. While Artemis and Athena may have chosen the life of eternal virginity, it was clear both had neglected to consider the possibility that love could exist in the absence of sex and sexuality. For as much as Hera did not get along with either of Zeus' illegitimate daughters, she sympathized for how conflicted they became when feelings of love did strike them. Artemis had cursed Orion's name for weeks before relenting and allowing the man to hunt at her side. As for Athena, for as clever and reserved as she was, her wistful eyes and pensive mouth at the mention of Prometheus' name had never escaped Hera's notice. She hoped that with time and acceptance they had grown more comfortable in their affections. Prometheus had been released from his bonds centuries ago, but he had not returned to Olympus, for fear of incurring Zeus' ire again. Perhaps one day he and Athena would reconnect. Maybe they already had. Athena had always been the private sort.<br/><br/>Hera felt his fingers tracing across her belly and fought back a giggle at how they tickled against her delicate flesh. Whatever he was tracing, it certainly wasn't Greek or Latin letters, she would have known what those were. Her hand quietly snaked behind his head to gently comb her fingers through his hair. To hear him say he would attempt to speak to the children in her place made her heart swell with a strange joy, perhaps because he had so rarely ever taken it upon himself to explain something to their children. It had always been her job to explain matters to them, to quiet their fears or tell them things would be changing. Yet concern could not help but creep its way into her heart. He convinced her, but could he persuade their children to give him another chance? Optimism begged her to think it was possible, yet at the same time, she knew her children, knew how despite whatever quiet or timid traits they might have had, they had all inherited her stubbornness, her unwillingness to budge. She had praised it in them, told Hephaestus it was why he was called the renowned craftsman, why Ares never let defeat keep him from getting up. Now she feared it might make it impossible for them to reconcile with their father.<br/><br/>"Yes, you have," Hera agreed without pretense. She would not lie to him and say Zeus had not wronged their children. To do so would be denying reality and invalidating their feelings. And Hephaestus above all had been most wronged by his father. She had watched her son smile in public while the other gods mocked him for his lame limb, a note of ugliness among the otherwise beautiful gods, and then consoled him in his workshop as he dared not look at her for fear of weeping before his mother. He had ever been a sensitive soul, strong but easily pricked.<br/><br/>"I think it might be best if you started with the girls, perhaps with Hebe and Eilethyia," Hera suggested as she rested her head on one of her pillows. "They will be more inclined to listen. Eris can be difficult to find and difficult to persuade. You would be better off waiting for her to return home and planning what you will say to her, lest she find a way to twist your words. I'm certain you remember how much she liked to make you squirm."<br/><br/>Eris had always enjoyed picking apart her father's arguments, finding the loopholes and interpreting it to her will. Their daughter had always loved to have the upper hand, and she had the cleverness to make it so, even against her own father. Hera supposed it was only natural that they had ever been in opposition with each other. Zeus was a god of order and kingship, his word meant to be law, while his own daughter was the embodiment of chaos and disorder. Their very natures were a paradox, and Eris had played with it like a toy.