The Atrides

“In the shadow of this corpse's queen the old stark avenger of Atreus for his revel of hate struck down this man, last blood for the slaughtered children.”

Clytemnestra. The Oresteia



         In the shades of Olympus, Zeus watched the events of Mycenae unfold. A brotherly quarrel was usually nothing too interesting for the King of Gods yet Thyestes had slighted the virtues of his wife, Hera, in a bid for the throne as well as Atreus offending Artemis. Now he had no rest as the two goddesses shouted their indignation over the top of each other, willing to be heard.

         “Confounded, blasted humans!” Artemis, of the gold distaff, shrieked, throwing her bow to the floor. “Did they not think to be more pious considering what happened to Tantalus?”

         “Be quiet, daughter!” Hera, of the white arms, snapped, idly playing with her peacock’s feathers. “They have slighted my values more. A silly ram is nothing compared to the betrayal of marriage by your own kin. It is an outrage! I want something done about it!”

         Both women stared expectedly at the Father of Gods and men, daring him to choose a side. He sighed greatly and lent his heavy arms upon his knees, staring at his feet and deciding how best to please the desires of his flesh and blood. No matter how he ruled, one would find it unfavourable and he secretly did not wish to kill Atreus, breaker of horses. He chanced a fleeting look at his wife who glared unrelentingly at him with her arms folded. It was better to side with Hera, he thought, lest she stop his little excursions to his human mistresses. He had only managed to father three children with Hera but had built the army of Olympus up from illegitimate offspring, including Artemis.

         “I send for Hermes,” he proclaimed. “Once my judgement is passed, he will intervene appropriately in the Mycenaean affairs.”

         An uncomfortable silence followed. Again, the Cloud Gatherer found himself the victim of hateful stares until the sound of beating wings approached. The caduceus wielder, Hermes of the golden skin, stopped and sat cross-legged in the air, twirling the wings on his helmet idly.

         “Yes, Son of Kronos? You wish me to visit the mortal plain?”

         “Indeed, Hermes. Let it be known that Atreus is the rightful ruler of Mycenae.”

         To this, Artemis spat on the floor and marched off, struggling not to act upon the smug features of Hera who stood as proud as her peacocks.

“To make this come to pass, Hermes,” Zeus continued. “I want you to tell Atreus this.”

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