No Mortals Allowed

by Honey Beezleigh

  Semele had cornered her one early morning after Ariadne had a bath. The rest of the camp still slept, thoroughly hungover from the previous nights festivities. Ariadne had realized with some bemusement she couldn’t remember the last time she had a hangover.

  “Dionysus sleeps around.” Semele noted in her usual neutral tone of voice as she settled in, sitting next to Ariadne on the log. No hello or other form of greeting, just straight to the point. Except not asking anything directly. How the other woman knew about her son’s sexual activities, Ariadne wasn’t sure, but was placing her bets on the ramped up gossip that came with a divine miracle.

  She waited for Semele to actually ask a question. She had learned by watching and falling victim to it herself that Semele would simply give no response and let the other person babble on. Ariadne’s hair slowly unknotted with her patient strokes of the brush as she waited. She had grown tempted to shear it all off, but it would be difficult to hide her growing streak of silver that way.

  Semele inclined her head, as if Ariadne had said something instead of giving the woman a blank stare. “Does it bother you?”

  Ariadne considered this. She had of course done so before, but given that this was Dionysus’s mother newly back from corpseville, it gave the question new weight. “I want him to be happy.” She said finally.

  “But does it bother you?” Semele pressed, turning to face Ariadne more directly on the wide log next to the tranquil stream.

  “Why do you care?” Ariadne returned, not quite comfortable revealing her feelings to someone not her lover.

  “Because you have no friends to ask you to have you think of yourself.” The woman responded promptly and Ariadne dropped her brush. She stared at the other woman and felt the strong urge to burst into abrupt tears. No one had ever told her to think of herself. Only of her parents, their family honor, her duties, then later on only of her lover.

  She swallowed the tight knot in her throat and picked up her hairbrush. “I love him, more than I should, I know. Gods are...” Ariadne sighed, unwilling to say fickle and violent and frequently uncaring of the mortal lives as more than amusements. “You understand.”

  “I do.” Semele agreed dryly.

  Ariadne bit her lip. “I could leave him if I truly wanted to. If I found someone who would be faithful, marry me, that sort of thing. But I like him as a person, not just a lover.” He was, to Ariadne’s surprise, her friend. It had never even crossed her mind after she had first found out he was a god. Yet, here she was.

  Semele repeated her question for a third time. “Does it bother you?”

  Ariadne was quiet for so long that her hair began to dry. “Yes. I feel replaceable.” She admitted, feeling as if she had committed blasphemy. She took a breath. “That’s good though.” She told herself. Semele’s eyebrows raised at her statement.

  “It would be stupid to forget it.” Ariadne told the older mentally but younger physically woman tiredly. It was strange to realize all over again that Semele would be immortal soon.

  Semele reached out and smoothed Ariadne’s unruly hair out of her face. “You undervalue yourself. My son cares for you deeply.”

  “No, I can do the math. How many mortals make it to Olympus and become immortal? How many have faithful partners? How many are loved and then set aside as they age?” Ariadne pulled open the thick trail of her hair to show Semele her growing streak of silver. The light caught it and it began glittering madly in the morning sunlight.

  Semele sat back, lips pressed tightly together, but did not argue.

  “My suggestion is once you reach Olympus, find yourself a woman for a lover. They have a better record for pleasing women, in every way.” Ariadne advised her wryly.

  “Dionysus told you, then.” Semele sighed, rubbing her forehead. “I do not know how he expects this to work. Back from the dead or not, Zeus does not hand out immortality like candy and most especially to his former lovers. In front of his wife, no less.”

  “Guilt trip.” Ariadne summarized instantly. “After the awful nightmare of Dionysus’s childhood, he’s got a lot of emotional blackmail credit. There is also the rumor Zeus felt bad about the whole accidentally killing you thing.” She finished awkwardly, realizing as she did Semele might be triggered by the mention of her death.

  “No amount of emotional blackmail will soothe his wife.” Semele pointed out with a shake of her head, seemingly unbothered. “He will please her in this matter first.”

  Ariadne paused. She thought about the way Dionysus clung to her in his sleep. “I wouldn’t put any bets on that. By the way, I’m coming with you to Olympus. But not in the way you’re used to seeing me...”

  Chapter 7

  ARIADNE AS AMPELOS had to pick her jaw off the ground. Semele was not only made immortal, but Zeus also made her a goddess. Looking around, she realized the only other person as surprised at this was Semele herself. Or, as she was known as now, Thyone. A minor goddess of the frenzies that were characteristic of the festivals of Dionysus’s followers.

  Ariadne cornered the new goddess alone as soon as she could the next day. There had been no chance the night before during the party that was thrown in Thyone and Dionysus’s honor.

  “If you find out what you being made into a goddess was about, please pass it on.” She requested of the new goddess, passing her a glass of water.

  Thyone only shook her head silently. Probably from the hangover, come to think of it. Oddly, she didn’t seem immune to hangovers like Dionysus was and Ariadne had become.

  Ariadne didn’t get any answers in that direction. Thyone was as quietly regal and close lipped as her mortal self was. She did, on rare occasion, send Ariadne pitying looks.

  Which, Ariadne understood the new goddess felt bad for her. Ariadne would likely soon be passed over in favor of someone else, and Thyone had received her happy ending past all reasonable expectation. Ariadne knew that there would be no happy ending for her, not even a belated one like Thyone had received. Despite that, the pitying looks still pissed her off and she took to avoiding the new goddess.

  It was depressingly easy. Thyone consorted almost exclusively with women and her son was the only exception allowed in the gatherings. Satyrs were not allowed, being known as always horny and with poor impulse control. Or so Ariadne as Ampelos was told by a nervous nymph blocking the door to yet another gathering.

  Since Dionysus spent at least half his time with his mother, this left Ariadne with a surprising amount of free time that had been previously occupied. She used it to brood and strike up a friendship with Silenus. He was a frequently drunk old satyr that had something to do with raising Dionysus, although no one spoke of how in detail. His childhood continued to be referred to in winces and insider references.

  Silenus was kind, and patient with her as he showed her how the wine on Olympus was made. “The gods can whip up their own any time of course, but the rest of us get to make do with the old fashioned way.” He told her with a whiskery smile.

  Then came the day the old satyr made her blood run cold. “I don’t say this to be cruel my child, but how long are you planning on disguising yourself? Such things cannot last forever.”

  Ariadne is wrist deep in the dirt planting grape cuttings and sprayed dirt over them both when she recoiled. “W-what?” She stuttered before his words even registered with her higher brain functions.

  He sighed and squatted next to her in the vineyard row to pat the upturned plant back down into the warm earth. “It’s obvious to this old satyr that you're not a satyr at all. There’s signs. But I don’t know why you are risking Tartarus tricking the gods. They don’t take kindly to this kind of thing.” Silenus gave the ground one last pat and looked her in the eye, his tone grave. “And they will find out eventually.”

  “Dionysus is the one who disguised me.” She confessed, feeling her anxiety spike with the admission. “I don’t have any talent with magic at all.” Which galled her the longer she thought about it. Her mother and aunt
were mighty users of magic. Her cousin Medea was rumored to be pants shitting powerful. Even Phaedra could work up a glow like a dim moon when she was upset.

  The Minotaur really had sucked up all the power in their shared womb. Or maybe she gave it to him so he could survive with his mutated body. Either way, there was no going back. Ariadne had no magic that she knew of.

  Silenus looked sad. “Dionysus being the one to disguise you won’t help you, lad. When things go bad, it’s always the mortals that pay the price. I would have said something earlier, but with the hubbub of everything that was Thyone’s arrival it got away from me.”

  Ariadne thought of her ever widening silver streak. “I don’t know what to do.” She admitted with a sigh, running a dirty hand through her messy hair.

  “Stay in the mortal realm.” Silenus advised. “I’ve taught you enough you can find a place in any of my boy’s traveling bands or if some royal catches your eye, you’d be a fine vintner.”

  She wrinkled her nose. “I’ve only been learning this a little more than a year. I know that I have a lot more to learn.”

  Silenus gave her a sly smile. “The mortal realm has much lower standards, you’ll find.”

  She snorted, but smiled reluctantly. “Point.” Ariadne inhaled the smell of fresh green leaves and wet turned earth, sun warming her face.

  Maybe it was time.

  ARIADNE tried to talk to Dionysus before she left. She really did. But after the fourth time she entered a room and he left it as soon as catching sight of her, she realized he was avoiding her. That was new. She had no idea why, nor had the patience for such games.

  She waited one last night in the room she shared with him. He didn’t come back that night either.

  So Ariadne wrote a note, awkward and frustrated that their true last words together would be him saying, “I’m going to go see my mother,” and her distracted response of, “Tell her hello from me, will you?”

  She wrote carefully, breathing slowly as to not let her jitteriness show in her handwriting. She wrote out how she tried to seek him out and failed, how she was worried she would be found out and punished and how she was going back to the mortal realm.

  Ariadne looked at what she wrote.

  She scribbled over the note and ate it. Ashes could be reconstructed in Olympus, where everyone but her held magic like children’s toys. The residents there had nothing but time to be breathtakingly nosy with anyone or anything remotely interesting. She wrote another note.

  Had a lot of fun together! Going back to the mortal world.

  Ariadne stared at it for long minutes before sighing and adding an achingly careful,

  Goodbye.

  ARIADNE walked down the mountain, warm summer morning fading into the cool of predawn autumn morning within the space of minutes. The realm of the gods vanished behind her, and she couldn’t help but feel the air was fresher.

  It was also cold. But keeping track of the seasons on Olympus was tricky, since it changed only at the whim of the king. Time flowed slower there as well, which was part of why they had trouble connecting to mortals. Or so she suspicioned.

  Ariadne made it to the base of the mountain by midday, sweaty with her exertions. She sat at the base of an olive tree and took a nap, not really thinking of anything but the warmth of the afternoon and the burning in her legs. She was definitely not acknowledging the suppressed tears that kept trying to press their way out.

  She woke up to Dionysus standing in front of her, face creased with fury, note crumpled in his clenched fist. His power flared around him, rippling the air like a heatwave.

  “What. Is. This?” He hissed, hair radiating around him like a corona. He stepped forward to drop the crunched ball of paper into her lap like a dead mouse.

  Ariadne wasn’t quite sure why Dionysus was upset. It made a small part of her, hidden in the hurt from what she’d had to do, happy. But even it didn’t dare whisper it’s quiet hope of love into words. She knew better, after all.

  “I did try and talk to you.” She said, squinting up at him. The sun was behind his head, crowning Dionysus with blinding light and shadowing his face all at once. “You kept leaving the room as soon as you saw me. I took the hint. You didn’t want to talk to me.”

  Ariadne picked up the crumpled ball of paper, and was suddenly at at a loss for words and out of her depth. It was wet in spots. As if someone had cried on it. Gods didn’t cry. They didn’t. Not over easily replaceable mortals.

  “I thought we were friends.” Dionysus said coldly.

  I thought you loved me back. The unspoken thought came at the same time he spoke. She wished that was what he had said, instead of her mind tricking her.

  Chapter 8

  ARIADNE CUT HIM OFF before he could continue, not wanting to know more, her heart already experiencing pangs of burgeoning hope. “Of course we are! But if Silenus can see through my disguise, I didn’t have much time before someone else much less friendly found out.”

  Something passed across his face, impossible to make out in shadow. “Silenus?”

  “He told me I would live longer if I got out while the charade held up, basically.” Ariadne sighed, smoothing out the wrinkled paper, fingers brushing the wet spots. There was no mistaking the golden tint for anything besides divine tears. “It was never my intention to hurt you.” More to avoid further pain, really.

  “I- I thought you wanted nothing to do with me.” Dionysus suddenly sounded like an unsure man, and not an infuriated scorned god. The wrathful aura was gone like it had never even existed. It had probably been the pain of rejection, wrapped up in the thin comfort of anger.

  Ariadne set the paper aside and stood up, pulling him into a tight, slightly sweaty hug. “You are my friend. Always.” She held him for long minutes before pulling back to look at him. His body was finally out of that awful dark shadow of power and the untouchable divine perfection was gone. His face was still wet, expression heartbreakingly hopeful under his smeared makeup.

  “It would just be rather hard to be your friend as a smear on the floor of Olympus.” She told him wryly with a smile.

  He didn’t smile back. “I would never let that happen to you.”

  She let her smile fade. “You can’t control everything.” She told him solemnly.

  Dionysus stared at her, wordless and eyelashes still wet with tears. Ariadne pulled him back into her arms for another hug. He slowly relaxed into it until he was limp in her arms. The sun beat down, and she pulled him under the tree to join her afternoon nap, head pillowed in her lap and hands laced with hers.

  Ariadne didn’t sleep, chewing her lip as she ran her thumb over their joined hands. She had a problem. She had a big problem. Thyone as Semele was wrong. Ariadne did have a friend and she had stupidly forgotten that. Gods may treat their lovers with varying levels of care and then move on. But friends and favored ones were almost universally treasured while they lived.

  Dionysus was her friend, first and foremost. They may not have started that way, but it was what they had wound up as. Ariadne had forgotten that, buried under her loneliness as Dionysus got to know his mother for the first time. That combined with her terrible, secret desire to have him to herself, to be the center of his world as he was hers had overwhelmed her senses. She forgot what she already had.

  Ariadne was going to die. There was no way around that. She would have an eternity in the Underworld, probably wandering around without memory. Or maybe she would be used as eternal prey to her brother, the Minotaur. It would suit as punishment for leading innocents to their deaths and never trying to help until it was her neck on the line. She had dreamed about it often enough lately.

  In comparison, her time alive was going to be short. Ariadne glanced down at the dozing god in her lap. Dionysus was going to live a long, long time. He had already been alone too long. His mother would be there for him, as she couldn’t be during his childhood. Ariadne could only hope after she died the memory of their relationship wouldn’t make
him feel worse than before.

  But she couldn’t control that. What she could control was what she did with her time while she was alive. No matter how the thought of her wandering around and picking flowers while someone she cared about suffered alone pissed her off. Most of all because she wouldn’t even be able to remember him.

  “I can feel you thinking.” Dionysus muttered into her thigh, breath hot on her skin where her dress had ridden up, a green eye peered up at her through the hair spilled across his face.

  “I am thinking, imagine that.” Ariadne squeezed his hands with hers before pulling one free to run it through his hair. They stayed like this for long enough she almost dozed off herself. All she could smell was the roses in his now crooked flower crown and the sun baked rock surrounding them.

  “Why did you stop meeting my eyes when I took lovers at my revels?”

  Ariadne’s eyes popped open. He blinked sleepily up at her, patiently waiting.

  “Why did you avoid me on Olympus?” She countered, embarrassed about her reasoning.

  “I asked first.” Dionysus pointed out reasonably enough, and had the gall to be smug about it. She recognized his expression from his terrible attempts at poker face when he tried to practice against her before entering the divine tournament. When he thought he was getting away with something the skin around his eyes curved, matching the movement of his mouth.

  Ariadne started slow, picking her words carefully as she thought them out.“It felt like a game when it first started. You would wander far and wide, but always come back and spend time with me. We would sit up the whole night talking and laughing. But then you quit talking to me as much, or touching me as your lover.”

  “When I brought mother back.” Dionysus agreed.

  “I felt, I don’t know how it made me feel. You didn’t want me as a lover. I had been replaced as your friend too. Hurt.” She realized. “I felt hurt. It wasn’t fun to play the game anymore. It felt like I was watching from the outside of something I wanted but wasn’t needed or wanted at. ”