Fireside

Hebe

She wasn't one to become envious of other goddesses, but right now she couldn't help but be so.

And she hated it.

What was worse, the being she was jealous of had no fault other than happening to catch the fancy of the person she herself liked. Not that Hebe could blame the demigod. Hestia was beautiful both inside and out after all, so it was understandable that a virile man like Heracles would be so drawn to her.

Still, defeat was a bitter fruit to swallow. Hebe knew that she had more lessons to learn and wisdom to gain before she could catch up to her aunt. For now, she could only pour nectar or ambrosia and watch forlornly as the two people whom she loved—one filially and the other romantically—became more and more involved with each other.

The goddess of youth held her amphora to her breast.

Her throat tightened. Just thinking about the opportunity missed was painful, but she couldn't demand that her aunt sever ties to the once mortal hero. She couldn't ask Heracles to not see the hearth goddess anymore either, not when she could barely utter two words in his presence.

How she could be so tongue-tied in front of the man even though they'd met before, she didn't know, but she hated it too.

"Hebe?"

The younger goddess startled. She nearly dropped the amphora when her aunt called to her from beside the low table. Color bloomed on her cheeks when she realized that she had spaced out.  If it were her mother, she would have been scolded by now, and even her father would have jokingly threatened to replace her with Ganymede. They certainly wouldn't don the mildly curious expression currently on Hestia's face.

Instead, the goddess of the hearth simply retired on the singular kline and waited for Hebe to collect herself. "What are you doing all the way over there?"

Hebe regained her composure by clearing her throat and stepping forward. Whatever resentment she felt for her aunt was uncalled for, and should be kept secret at all costs. Hestia did not warrant such an emotion, especially for being someone so magnanimous to all gods and goddesses. "I have brought you your ambrosia, Aunt Hessy. Will it please you if I pour as well?"

"Most certainly." Hestia beamed at her, and Hebe felt silly for even thinking to blame her aunt for Heracles' indifference.

She removed the jar's lid and poured a healthy amount of ambrosia into the chalice that the older goddess held out. "Here you are, Aunt."

"Such a considerate niece I have," Hestia said after partaking her first sip. "And apparently secretive too. There is an angle to your smile that tells me you have something on your mind." Her somewhat all-knowing eyes locked with Hebe's, and the latter felt the weight of the goddess' unspoken question land upon her shoulders. There really was no exception when it came to her aunt's perceptiveness.

However, she would not give up her secrets so easily. Hebe stood her ground even though her aunt continued to stare at her with concern. They both knew that something was amiss, but only one was willing to talk about it. "'Tis nothing."

When the goddess of youth could stand the silent inquisition no longer, she lightly tilted her head.

That's when she spotted the luxurious lion's fur folded neatly on her aunt's table.

A myriad of emotions assaulted her then. The presence of the lion's mane here, the prize for having been victorious in his first labor at Nemea, meant that Heracles had taken it off. It's tidy condition implied that he'd done it willingly. It also made room for the speculation that he could have relieved himself of his other garments. For what reason, Hebe couldn't really say.