Chapter Text
“I need them out,” Circe finishes. “I need them gone. ”
Athena nods slowly. She doesn’t ask further questions about the situation, and Circe is grateful for that. Just thinking about what those men did to her nymphs, her friends, her sisters and daughters in everything but blood….
Aeaea was supposed to be a sanctuary, for girls and women like herself. For the outcasts, the orphans, the ones with nowhere to go. Those who were told you’re too curious for your own good , those trying to escape a marriage to a man they despised.
Come inside . I’ve got you. Don’t worry, Circe’s got you now.
Lies. Ever since that fleet set foot on their island that accursed day last week…
Rage flares up inside her, and she doesn’t try to extinguish it. She needs all the rage she can get if she’s going to get fifty fully armed soldiers out of her home.
It’s not often that Circe interacts with Athena, but she asked Hemes to send a message to her, and by some miracle the other goddess was there within the hour. If there’s anyone who will understand the severity of the situation and be able to give Circe a way out of this, it’s Athena—a female goddess, a virgin goddess, a goddess of war. Not to mention her reputation for what she does to mortals who annoy her…
“I’ve heard that you have the power to turn mortals into bugs, and I was wondering if you could show me how.”
“Not with that spell in particular. Casting it on fifty men all at once, or even one man fifty times, is likely beyond your capabilities.”
Half of Circe bristles at Athena’s tone, and wants to demand to be taught anyway just to prove Athena wrong. The other half knows that it isn’t worth fighting over. Not when she needs Athena’s help to survive this. And not when Athena is likely correct—if Circe had the power to cast a single spell that could take down fifty men, they would already be gone.
“I could just kill them,” Athena muses, her tone as casual as that of a mortal saying We could have olives with dinner.
Circe wishes that she herself had that power. If she did, those men would be dead without so much as a body to bury. Murder is fitting for what those men have done to her nymphs. If anything, a clean kill would be too kind.
“But that will only deal with the current problem,” Athena sighs. “It won’t help if you wind up in this situation again.” She pauses. “You specialize in potions, correct?”
“And spells. Magic of all forms. But if I went to battle with them—”
“You’d risk the lives of your nymphs,” Athena finishes. “You need some way to target all the men without putting your nymphs at risk.”
“Exactly. I considered poisoning their wine, but the chance that they would figure out what was happening before the poison took effect was a risk I couldn’t take.”
Athena nods. “I think we could transform the spell into potion form, and then you could imbue it with magic over time. If we have the potion induce confusion as well, they won’t realize what’s going on until it’s too late for them to inform the others.”
Circe grins for the first time in days. “Oh, I like where this is going.”
Athena lets slip a small smile. “You mentioned that your food stores have been depleted. How do your nymphs feel about bacon?”
They spend the rest of the afternoon working together, perfecting the recipe. It’s a common spell of Athena’s, but she’s never put it into potion form before, and they are limited to ingredients Circe can source from her island. They work until Circe has every step drilled into her memory, can recite the recipe backwards and forwards, knows exactly how much is needed to drug a vessel of wine and where in the forest to find every single ingredient.
“Use it whenever you need,” Athena tells her. “Whenever you feel is necessary. Put your emotions aside; it is the only way to ensure the safety of those you love.”
Then, in a flash of golden light, the goddess of wisdom is gone.
***
When the last man turns into a pig, all Circe can feel is relief.
When she slits the first pig’s throat, maybe she should feel guilty, but that guilt is replaced with a mix of resentment and satisfaction.
You did it to yourself. If you hadn’t hurt my nymphs…
Her nymphs are safe. The men are gone.
Bacon has never tasted so good before.
***
Slowly, they begin to recover. To replenish their stores of food and drink. To learn how to feel safe again, to fight the instincts installed by everything the men had done.
Circe cloaks her palace in layer after layer of shielding, trying to hide it from prying eyes. It isn’t enough.
The next fleet of sailors finds them. They are forced by the laws of xenia to let them in.
The men drink heavily and laugh nasty comments, and it’s only a matter of time. Circe thinks about how Gaiane crawls into bed with her on the worst nights, how Ana still has nightmares, how Isidora’s hands shake when…
Circe finds the bottle she made with Athena, drugs the amphora of wine, and gives orders to bring it to the great hall, where the men are blissfully unaware of the fate that will soon befall them.
It becomes routine, after that. She can’t keep men from stumbling upon her palace. She can keep her nymphs safe or keep her conscience clean, but she cannot do both.
So it becomes the default, what she must do to survive.
This is the price I pay , she tells herself. The blood is on my hands, but it is not on the hands of my friends. It is my burden to bear.
It is your choice , her conscience argues. It is your choice to spill this blood, even when you have no sign that it is necessary.
She shoves her conscience away.
***
Of course it was Hermes.
Few gods or mortals know what Aeaea is; even fewer know where it is. But Hermes, as the messenger god, is required to know due to the nature of his job. Even though Circe is wary about giving a man access to her domain. Wary for good reason, evidently, given this.
Of course it was Hermes who gave this mortal Moly, threatening Circe’s life and the lives of her nymphs. Once Circe defeats this mortal, Hermes is next.
“You’ve lost,” the man hisses, his blade against her throat.
No weapon in her hand. No potion she can shove down his throat. And of the spells she has the strength to cast right now…
There’s only one option left, one way to keep her nymphs safe. If she can’t overpower him by force, she’ll seduce him.
He resists, struggling, and she presses harder, strengthening the spell, she almost has him—
“I can’t!” he shouts, and Circe takes a step back in shock.
“My wife is waiting for me. My Penelope.” His voice is as tender as the one Circe uses to comfort her nymphs. “She’s my everything, all my power, my entire world, and we have a son who I don’t even know yet, because I haven’t seen them for twelve years. Ten years at war, and now Posideon’s out to get me. Please , Circe, let us go, that’s all I ask. I just want to go home.”
It flips a switch in Circe’s brain, cracking a door, showing her a glimpse of who she was, what she was, before that fleet of men ravaged her island. A person who would be outraged by who her current self has become.
Her care for her nymphs. Odysseus’s care for his fleet and his family. He hasn’t so much as looked at one of her nymphs wrong, wouldn’t have attacked her if she hadn’t dealt the first blow. Maybe, they’re more alike than she thought.
She’ll let them go. They won’t be staying on her island; they pose no threat to herself and her nymphs. She’ll let them go, and in addition to that…
“Poseidon?” She thinks for a moment.
Circe doesn’t know how to evade the god of the sea, but a prophet might. She remembers Tiresias, blinded by Athena but given the gift of prophecy in exchange.
“There might be a way for your fleet to evade him and return home,” she begins.
***
Just as the ship sets sail, Hermes swoops down from the sky, landing directly on the pathway in front of Circe.
“How’d it go, darling?” He grins.
“You gave him that Moly.” It’s a statement, not a question. “You know how I feel about strange men in my domain, you know what happened the last time I tried to embrace xenia, and you gave him the power to overcome me.”
“And? How’d it go?”
She sighs, crossing her arms. “He….he was very devoted to his wife. I’ve never met a mortal man like him before.” She hasn’t met a god like him before, either; most of the gods, especially the male ones, could learn from Odysseus about not cheating on your spouse.
Maybe showing one act of kindness leads to kinder souls down the road.
“It went better than I expected,” she admits.
How was trying to coerce him into sleeping with me any better than the men I tried to protect my nymphs against?
Would things have gone differently if I had given his men a chance from the start?
Hermes winks at her, and Circe realizes: that bastard . By giving Odysseus the Moly, by making sure Circe no longer held all the power—Hermes wanted her to grant mercy, and she had .
And yet….
It had been a wake-up call, one that she didn’t know she needed. Those soldiers…they had parents, siblings, spouses or children in many cases. Families. A fleet of tired sailors, just wanting to return to the home they’d not seen for twelve years.
“Perhaps there are a few things I need to rethink.” It’s the most she’ll give him.
“Excellent, darling,” he says, confirming her suspicions. “Care for some tea?”
“What?”
“Care for some tea?” Hermes repeats, and suddenly two cups of a fragrant brew are hovering in the air in front of him.
Circe takes her mug, casting the briefest of spells over it as she does so. No obvious drugs or poisons, but Hermes is an Olympian, more powerful than Circe; he could have contaminated in a way she won’t find out about until it’s too late…
“Trust has to start somewhere,” he says, as if he’s reading her thoughts.
She takes the smallest of sips.
It’s not drugged. It’s just tea. It’s odd, buzzing with far too many flavors for her to name, several of which she’s never tasted before…but it isn’t unpleasant.
“Thank you. For the tea.” Given everything that could have gone wrong, that ‘thank you’ does not apply to giving Odysseus the Moly. But she will reserve judgment on whether or not Hermes’s choice was to her benefit or not.
Over the course of their conversation, they work out a deal: Hermes will spread rumors of her powers far and wide, ensuring that all sailors know about Circe’s ability to turn men into pigs. In exchange, she will not immediately turn men into pigs the moment they set foot on her island.
“You have to understand,” she tells him. “If it’s a choice between my nymphs and xenia, I’ll choose my nymphs every time.”
“Darling, by all means, defend them when you see fit.” Hermes grins. “Watching that potion take action is always fun. But don’t do it on sight, that’s all I ask.”
***
Two months later, when Hermes drops by with a message for Circe, he conjures a teapot and two cups from thin air, and pulls her into an easy conversation about a comical feud he’s been having with a water nymph. She can’t remember the last time she laughed this hard, and in exchange tells him about how Chloe climbed onto the roof during a game of hide-and-seek.
It becomes their routine. Every time Hermes delivers a message to Aeaea, he and Circe catch up over tea.
He gathers new herbal blends from across the world on his travels, and when she comes up with a new drink she likes, she’ll give it to him to try. Their conversation is always light and flowing; he spills all of the gossip from Olympus, and she tells him about the latest antics of her nymphs.
It only happens a few times a year, but it’s one of Circe’s favorite occasions.
She still keeps a vial of the potion in her pocket at all times, but the rumors of her powers are on her side, and when worst comes to worst, the threat of being turned into swine is enough to send any man fleeing from her island. There are even occasional mortals who she has interesting conversations with, learning about trade and politics and new inventions from far-off lands.
“Glad you didn’t turn these ones into pigs?” Hermes asks, years later, when Circe pours him a cup of the tea blend she received as a gift from the most recent mortal fleet.
“Oh, that was ages ago. Stop rubbing it in.”