Dolce sits in the center. Unmoving, unchanging in softness, fine wool squishing beautifully under pressure, and not once disturbing his steady heartbeat. His arms don’t reach far, his hands have no hope of meeting, but he clings tightly to the stone face of her chest as best as he is able to. Accepting the flood, and not budging an inch. When the waters recede, he will be there, precisely where he was left, no worse for wear. Fine Manor wool is renowned for drying swiftly. Then, does he speak. A steady, flowing stream speaking to the absence of flood. Here his hands will leave, to pass tissues and treats, to stroke enormous stone fingers and hold them tight. Listen, Alexa. A Captain and a chef may not hold much wisdom, but the words themselves mean less than the value of a warm, steady voice. But because he loves you, they are the best words he can think of. May they give you some comfort too. “I think…I know a little about Aphrodite’s game. Just the one. I think even if the circumstances change, and the people, and the consequences, it’s always been the same game.” “He brings the right people people together. Sometimes gods, when he can manage it. And it’s not to build a great romance, like the stories all say. Not for meetings, or quality time, or secret kisses. No. Nothing so peaceful as that. When you meet, all the world will be wrong, and all of the choices bad ones. You will meet in a place without hope of relief or rescue. Any wisdom of merit would tell you that you shouldn’t be meeting here. Not now. Not like this. But you’re here. And you won’t run. You’ll go to them, willingly. Because…” “She’s your best friend.” “They’re your wife.” “…he was your father.” “So, you’ll go on to the trouble. And Aphrodite will give you no help. He’ll tell you everything you already know; that you can’t turn back. That you can’t possibly win. If he even says anything at all. Why should he? He’s already getting what he wants: You. Throwing yourself against the impossible. For love. Your strength. Your skill. Your wisdom. They don’t [i]not[/i] matter. But, to him, they’re just there to serve whatever’s in your heart. To let it express itself, to the full, and grasp at what it really wants.” “And if you fail…” “Your blood will spill, for love.” “You’ll spend all that you are, for love.” “If you manage to survive it, then, there may not be much left of you. Just the broken bits of your heart, lurching forward, pulling the rest of you along. All you’ve got left. If you couldn’t stop yourself before, what hope do you have after?” “But maybe you don’t break. Or, you live, and live long enough to get another chance. And the love in your heart is…I don’t know, pure, strong, enough? Enough. It’s enough to defeat the impossible, survive the certain doom, perform a miracle. Not without cost. Not without scars to show for it. Maybe you do break, just a little. But you’re not consumed by love. You’re empowered by it.” “That kind of love…it doesn’t have to be perfect, I don’t think. Can love ever be perfect? Hrmm. I don’t know about that. But I think, to survive, it’s got to be a love that’s [i]alive[/i]. Growing. Or, if not growing, hanging on tight enough to endure the storm, but when the skies clear again, it’ll blossom once more. With you, and whoever’s a part of it all doing their part to tend to it, because you love each other too much to stop. Because you love each other, and you want what’s best for each other, even if it costs you.” “So. Either way, he’s got you. Love broke you, or it made you into something that could defeat the impossible. Love was the greatest force after all.” “And the Rift. His greatest challenge yet, I suppose. We’ll be opening ourselves up to him and his game more than we ever have before. Maybe, I don’t think he’d go so far as to make it truly impossible for us to survive. I don’t think he’d be pleased just to declare a god was mightier than some mortals. But the odds will be stacked as high as he can get them. No guarantees for any of us. We might. We might lose quite a bit, no matter if we succeed or fail.” “But which way we go - and the way you [i]did[/i] go; that was you, Alexa. It’s got to be you. It’s one of the things he [i]can’t[/i] do; make the choice for you. He wanted a spear. He wanted to use you to hurt us and Zeus and everyone else he could. What he got was [i]Alexa.[/i] Strong, brave, beautiful, brighter and more alive than I’ve ever seen you before.” “Whatever designs he had for you, you chose well, and, I don’t think you’ll go wrong if you keep that love alive.”