So. It wasn’t a prank of Zeus’. Wonderful.

“I can’t just step down, and, vanish away. No, no, it’s simply out of the question.”

And yet. When she turned her mind to the problem at hand, where was the road that carried her to victory over her foe, when she no longer had divine aid on her side? Hadn’t she said this quest was important? Hadn’t [i]he[/i] said so?

“But if it’s for the sake of the voyage, then. Perhaps.” Give her a moment. This was a set of words in a novel order. “Perhaps I can find a way to step. Back. Temporarily.”

It was, all things considered, remarkable progress under dire circumstances, and if she felt a little less like death then she might’ve demanded a medal for her efforts. But step back to what? She couldn’t leave the voyage. The auguries predicted smoother sailing for some time, yes, but not nearly enough to set down anywhere for, what, a vacation? 

...when was the last time she’d had a vacation? Question for later.

“Hestia, I wish we could have met earlier, but perhaps I can make up for that some by asking more of your wisdom: What do you suggest I do? Pasts, futures, these are tricky things to take hold of. I may have forgotten how, along the way.”

*****************************

The ship bore him on. Hera held him up, and in her presence no care could intrude. The physical awareness of form, the mental balance of attentions, the emotional weight of anticipation, all that usually composed a Dolce scattered to the void. What was left was free to drift and rest and simply [i]be[/i].

Now, much of him shied away, naturally repelled from the thought of marital debts owed. He much more preferred the reverse, to give, than to risk greed, and overstepping of bounds. But, amidst himself sat a shining core of a thought, a vision of two resting their full weight on the other, and neither falling or slipping. And if that couldn't be marriage, than what could?

And yet...

"I don't know what I ought to say." He heard himself wonder. "I could sit in front of her for hours, and I wouldn't know. I can't, Hera. I'm not ready. I need...I need..." And the strain of searching for the unknown threatened to pull him back together, until a gentle brush of Hera's hand scattered him back into restful quiet, and tipped the words right out of him. "I don't know what I need. And I don't know how to know what I need."