I hesitate briefly, this had once been my home, my safety in a dangerous world.
I take a breath and remind myself, as I had many times on the journey here, that Grandmother would welcome me. She always has.
"Gaia," I call out into the depths of the cave that I was raised in.
I do not have to wait long for her to materialize.
I wish that I could say I do not recognize her, but I had watched her slow deterioration throughout the long ten year war. This version of her is painfully familiar to me now. Her shoulders were ever slumped, as if permanently carrying a burden too heavy for her slight frame. Her eyes are glassy, almost lifeless. It is her hair that disturbs me the most, though.
When I was young, she had long twisting locks that held such a luster that even in their dark hue, one could only be reminded of the curving rivers that she loved so dearly.
Now, however, it was chopped to near its roots. Yet, somehow, the little length that survived hung limply around her skull.
"King Zeus," she greeted, voice flat, as she held a perfect courtesy.
I felt this chasm between us, the one that I did not know how to bridge, grown.
"Grandmother," I force all of the worry from my tone and instead infuse all of the warmth and affection that my voice can hold before grasping her arms and gently guiding her from her stance. "You shall bow to no man, least of all me."
I yearn for her embrace, one that was so familiar all of my youth, but has become foreign to me these last few years. I start to reach for her, but she once again withholds it as she steps away.
"What brings you back to this humble abode, my liege?"
"I have good news. I wanted to share it with you before all else. You see, Metis-"
"She is doing well, then?"
"Yes, you were right to bring us together. She handles the court well," I chuckle awkwardly, running a hand through my hair before admitting, "She handles me well."
"That is good news, indeed. Often there is little that can compare to the love between husband and wife. Surely, you do not wish to leave your new bride alone for long. Perhaps it is time for you to return to her side."
"Yes, of course," I can hear myself say, but it sounds hollow to even my ears.
I do not move, trapped in trying to find a way to bring us closer. This woman who raised me cannot now feel like a stranger.
After several minutes, it is her that breaks the silence, "Yet, you are still here."
It is not a question, but I feel it is all she will give me. "Yes." I try to respond, but it comes out raspy, weak, pathetic.
I clear my throat. "There is more to share, Grandmother."
"Oh?"
"Yes. Metis and I are expecting our first child. We want to show our respect and love for you by asking that you be the one to bless our young."
She is quiet, picking at the corners of her nails. I give her time to process. These last few years of change have been hard on her.
Metis had warned me that I cannot expect immediate delight from her. Even now, we are all still learning how to heal. Yet, in this instance I believe that I am right. Grandmother will warm to the idea, her love of children all encompassing. This is what we need to pull us back together. It is still hard to watch her take in this news with anything but glee.
Finally, she stills before smiling up at me. "Yes, Zeus, I am honored that you would ask."
The tension rolls off of my shoulders. That smile, one I haven't seen in far too long, reminds me of times when I was young and proud to master even the simplest of things. She had always had that smile ready, prepared to encourage and praise me for every little feat.
"There could be no one but you, Grandmother."
"Certainly, dear, now leave me to think. This blessing must not only honor this precious child, but also its parents and their journey to get to this point."
The corners of my mouth start to ache from the beaming smile I give her. Reassured ever the more by the life shining in her eyes.
I walk to the smoothed out slab that had once been my bed, lounging in the comforts of my childhood home until a peaceful slumber encompasses me.
