Born From The Hearth Chapter 2

'''Born From The Hearth Chapter 2 '''

Hestia regularly visited Pierre after that first meeting. It was not a set schedule, indeed there were some days where she was unable to meet with him due to his work, but she met with him at least thrice a week.

They did not do much, idle chatter or perhaps a grilled meal much like the one she had enjoyed when they first met. Still, this was enough for Hestia to get to know Pierre more, and the more she knew about him, the more she enjoyed being around him.

He was every bit the kind soul she had thought he was and more. Even suffering as he was, he restrained himself from lashing out at others, and did his best to not destroy himself with guilt, a trait that indicated a strong will, one comparable or even greater to the heroes of the past, for while it took patience and control not to hurt others, it took great bravery and heart to be able to let go of regret and forgive oneself.

Though a trace of bitterness remained, which was only natural, he had indeed come to terms with the loss of his family very quickly– this very trait allowed him to reach out to her, for he had accepted that he lost his home and now searched for a new one. Had he still lingered on his tragedy, his heart would have been confused, and would have never reached her.

Pierre was also rather fond of donkeys, a fact that she had discovered after he had invited her to tea inside his house one morning. He had one as pet when he was younger, and apparently has loved the simple creatures ever since then.

Hestia found his love for her own sacred creature to be a sign that she was destined to meet him. The alternative was of course, that it was simple coincidence, but she had been a goddess long enough to know that there was no such thing as coincidence.

Still, even as she got to know him better, she pondered over how to go about restoring his ‘home’ to him. A ‘home’ was more than a structure; it was a place of feeling and refuge, a sanctuary where one could be free to smile as much as they liked. An empty home with nothing to come back to was meaningless.

<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:12.0pt;line-height:115%;font-family: "TimesNewRoman","serif"">In the short, beautiful words of some mortal philosopher, ‘home is where the heart is’.

<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:12.0pt;line-height:115%;font-family: "TimesNewRoman","serif"">So how could the Goddess of Home restore Pierre’s heart? She had been seeing him regularly for three months now, and she was still nowhere near finding a way around this problem.

<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:12.0pt;line-height:115%;font-family: "TimesNewRoman","serif"">The answer to her question came from the man himself, or more specifically, the picture he enshrined above the hearth of his home.

<p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align:center"><span style="font-size:12.0pt;line-height:115%;font-family:"TimesNewRoman","serif"">* * *

<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:12.0pt;line-height:115%;font-family: "TimesNewRoman","serif"">Hestia knocked on the door of Pierre’s home. A moment later, the man opened the door with a smile.

<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:12.0pt;line-height:115%;font-family: "TimesNewRoman","serif"">“Well Hearth, you’re here rather early today. Are you done with your chores at the orphanage?”

<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:12.0pt;line-height:115%;font-family: "TimesNewRoman","serif"">Hestia nodded. As far as he knew, Hearth was an orphan girl from some obscure institution nearby. Pierre’s nature of not prying had ensured that he wouldn’t notice something was amiss with her any time soon. As of now, her guise was perfect.

<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:12.0pt;line-height:115%;font-family: "TimesNewRoman","serif"">“Come on in then. I’m sure you’re getting bored just standing there,” he said. Hestia nodded and entered his home, rubbing her sandals on the mat just at the entrance before doing so. It was actually just for show. Her sandals may look dirty, but they’d never leave filth on the floor even if she had just walked over muddied ground.

<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:12.0pt;line-height:115%;font-family: "TimesNewRoman","serif"">Pierre looked at her with teasing eyes while saying, “So, what will it be this time? Chess, Checkers, Game of the Generals, Snakes and Ladders or maybe Mythomagic?”

<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:12.0pt;line-height:115%;font-family: "TimesNewRoman","serif"">“How about snacks instead?” she answered succinctly. Those were board games they had played recently to pass the time. When she was first introduced to them, she had indulged him out of simple curiosity, but as time flew by and more games were played, Hestia found herself growing slightly competitive; it turned out that Pierre was insanely good at board games. Eventually, the goddess simply found that she had grown tired of playing with him. The games served no purpose in the grand scheme of things, and were an unnecessary activity.

<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:12.0pt;line-height:115%;font-family: "TimesNewRoman","serif"">Truthfully, though? Hestia was just wanted a break from losing all the time.

<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:12.0pt;line-height:115%;font-family: "TimesNewRoman","serif"">“Of course,” said Pierre, eyes twinkling with amusement, “we’ll save the fun for later.”

<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:12.0pt;line-height:115%;font-family: "TimesNewRoman","serif"">The goddess huffed petulantly and followed Pierre into the living room. The television was on and Hestia could smell the tea on the table, next to a couple dozen of cookies. Pierre was something of a tea addict, drinking it at least seven times a day.

<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:12.0pt;line-height:115%;font-family: "TimesNewRoman","serif"">“Would you like some?” said Pierre, who was looking at Hestia looking at the drink.

<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:12.0pt;line-height:115%;font-family: "TimesNewRoman","serif"">She nodded her head. “Yes please.”

<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:12.0pt;line-height:115%;font-family: "TimesNewRoman","serif"">The man procured a teabag and a mug of hot water and handed it to her. Hestia nodded gratefully and thanked him, before taking some of the cookies for herself. She spotted a small magazine about home decoration on top of a wooden chair. The front cover had a marble fireplace with intricate figures carved into it. Hestia recognized the carvings at the front to be a Greek tableau.

<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:12.0pt;line-height:115%;font-family: "TimesNewRoman","serif"">Hestia grabbed it eagerly and began reading.

<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:12.0pt;line-height:115%;font-family: "TimesNewRoman","serif"">Pierre slumped into a brown Laz-e-boy, and took a look at the TV. The news was on and the reporter was talking about the rising tension between the US and some middle-eastern country. Pierre scowled at the news.

<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:12.0pt;line-height:115%;font-family: "TimesNewRoman","serif"">“War’s gonna break out,” he muttered under his breath. “Those morons. . .”

<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:12.0pt;line-height:115%;font-family: "TimesNewRoman","serif"">Hestia looked up at him. “What do you mean?”

<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:12.0pt;line-height:115%;font-family: "TimesNewRoman","serif"">The man blinked before laughing embarrassedly. “Oh, don’t mind me Hearth; I’m just talking to myself. It’s nothing.”

<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:12.0pt;line-height:115%;font-family: "TimesNewRoman","serif"">The goddess doubted that, but did not pry further. She focused again on the magazine, wondering if she could get Chiron interested in some remodeling. ..

<p align="center" class="MsoListParagraph" style="text-align:center"><span style="font-size:12.0pt;line-height:115%;font-family:"TimesNewRoman","serif"">* * *

<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:12.0pt;line-height:115%;font-family: "TimesNewRoman","serif"">It was afternoon when Hestia and Pierre began their game of chess. Hestia was white while Pierre was black. Games like these were more Athena’s forte, but even Hestia had some pride as a goddess. She would not lose this time!

<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:12.0pt;line-height:115%;font-family: "TimesNewRoman","serif"">“Check,” said Pierre with a grin. It was the seventh turn.

<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:12.0pt;line-height:115%;font-family: "TimesNewRoman","serif"">Hestia restrained herself from flipping the table.

<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:12.0pt;line-height:115%;font-family: "TimesNewRoman","serif"">“Rematch,” she muttered quietly.

<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:12.0pt;line-height:115%;font-family: "TimesNewRoman","serif"">Pierre laughed, “Whatever you say, Hearth.”

<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:12.0pt;line-height:115%;font-family: "TimesNewRoman","serif"">The two set the board again. After her third turn, the game paused for a long stretch of time as Hestia pondered her next move. Her queen was exposed and the only way she could save it was by devouring the piece by threatening it, or blocking the way with her pawn. However, if she followed the former, then her queen would subsequently be eaten by Pierre’s own pawn, and if she followed the latter, then she would leave her bishop open to its black counterpart.

<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:12.0pt;line-height:115%;font-family: "TimesNewRoman","serif"">Pierre’s chuckle broke her out of her thoughts.

<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:12.0pt;line-height:115%;font-family: "TimesNewRoman","serif"">“What is it?” she questioned, slightly irritated. Not so much because she thought he was laughing at her, but because his laughter was awfully nice to listen to, and therefore made it very hard to think.

<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:12.0pt;line-height:115%;font-family: "TimesNewRoman","serif"">“Oh it’s nothing; it’s just that you make the same face my son did whenever he played chess. He’d scrunch up his face whenever he was cornered and deciding on a move.”

<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:12.0pt;line-height:115%;font-family: "TimesNewRoman","serif"">Hestia stared at him, “I didn’t realize I was making a face.”

<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:12.0pt;line-height:115%;font-family: "TimesNewRoman","serif"">Pierre laughed again, and Hestia completely forgot about making her next move.

<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:12.0pt;line-height:115%;font-family: "TimesNewRoman","serif"">“Most people rarely do!”

<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:12.0pt;line-height:115%;font-family: "TimesNewRoman","serif"">Hestia shook her head and began rethinking her next move, but the more she thought, the more she’d think about what he’d just said.

<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:12.0pt;line-height:115%;font-family: "TimesNewRoman","serif"">‘My son’ he’d said. The more she thought about it, the more ideas began to form in her head. She took a look at his fireplace, which seemed to have warmed suddenly, as if it were a beacon calling out to her. On top of it was a single picture, framed in carved wood.

<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:12.0pt;line-height:115%;font-family: "TimesNewRoman","serif"">The picture was that of Pierre and his diseased family. She’d long since seen pictures of the wife, somewhere here and there, but this was the first time she’d seen a picture of his children.

<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:12.0pt;line-height:115%;font-family: "TimesNewRoman","serif"">The man caught her looking, and smiled wistfully. “That was the only picture I ever took with them,” he said. “It was when I just left for the war. It was supposed to be something for them to remember me by while I was away. Funny how it’s the opposite now, isn’t it?”

<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:12.0pt;line-height:115%;font-family: "TimesNewRoman","serif"">Hestia nodded absentmindedly. In her mind, a plan was beginning to form.

<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:12.0pt;line-height:115%;font-family: "TimesNewRoman","serif"">“Um, Mr. Pierre,” she began, “if. . . if you could have kids again, but kid’s that weren’t your own. . . would you accept them, and. . . perhaps take care of them?”

<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:12.0pt;line-height:115%;font-family: "TimesNewRoman","serif"">Pierre stared at her for a minute, before smiling warmly.

<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:12.0pt;line-height:115%;font-family: "TimesNewRoman","serif"">“I’m doing so now, aren’t I?”

<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:12.0pt;line-height:115%;font-family: "TimesNewRoman","serif"">With those words, the final gear of her plan clicked into place, and Hestia gave a glowing smile of her own to Pierre. She knew what she had to do.

<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:12.0pt;line-height:115%;font-family: "TimesNewRoman","serif"">An hour and one chess match later, and Hestia had to greet Pierre good-bye. She’d never been this excited before, not even since Priapus had snuck up on her that one time in her bedroom. The goddess was sure that this plan could not fail to bring life back to Pierre’s home, but there was one person she needed to talk to before she could be sure she could pull it off.

<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:12.0pt;line-height:115%;font-family: "TimesNewRoman","serif"">Hestia travelled to Olympus as fast as she could. She needed to talk with Athena.