The wedding of Peleus and Thetis should have been a joyous occasion. Should have been. Instead, it turned into a farce—a showcase of divine vanity and mortal folly that threatened to spiral into outright chaos. And, naturally, it fell to me to clean up the mess.
I arrived late to the festivities. Not because I didn't care—Peleus and Thetis were decent enough—but because I despised these grand assemblies of gods and mortals. Too much pomp, too many egos, and far too many opportunities for things to go disastrously wrong. I was proven right not long after I made my entrance.
The hall was resplendent, draped in silks and garlands, glowing with the light of countless torches and divine auras. The mortals mingled nervously at the edges, while the gods occupied the center, basking in their own radiance. I kept to the shadows, observing quietly, sipping a goblet of ambrosia and hoping the evening would pass without incident.
Foolish hope.
The trouble began with the arrival of the golden apple.
One moment, the hall was filled with laughter and music; the next, a shimmering apple rolled across the floor, coming to rest at the feet of Hera, Athena, and Aphrodite. Inscribed upon it, in bold, taunting letters, were the words: "For the Fairest."
Oh great, it is about to begin...
Time seemed to freeze as the three goddesses stared at the apple, their expressions shifting from curiosity to outrage. Then the shouting began.
"It's obviously mine," Hera declared, her voice ringing with the authority of a queen.
Athena scoffed. "Yours? Hardly. Everyone knows wisdom and beauty are intertwined, and none embody that more than I."
Aphrodite's laugh was sweet but cutting. "Wisdom is irrelevant here. This is about beauty, and I am the very essence of it. The apple is mine."
The tension thickened, the air crackling with divine power as their voices rose. Others tried to intervene. Apolla attempted diplomacy, only to be silenced by a glare from Hera. Poseidon laughed, clearly enjoying the spectacle. Even Demeter's calm presence did nothing to soothe the brewing storm.
I pinched the bridge of my nose and sighed. This was going to escalate, and fast.
Sure enough, Athena summoned her spear, the sharp edge glinting menacingly. Hera's eyes burned with a fiery light, while Aphrodite's beauty twisted into something dangerous. The mortals cowered, some fleeing the hall entirely. The gods, ever the audience, began to form factions, choosing sides and fueling the flames.
I had seen enough.
"ENOUGH!"
My voice boomed through the hall, a thunderclap that silenced all other sounds. The walls shook, the torches flickered, and every eye turned to me. For a moment, the world seemed to hold its breath.
"What," I said, stepping forward, "is the meaning of this madness?"
The goddesses froze, their divine pride warring with the instinct to heed my authority. No one else dared to speak. I let the silence stretch, my gaze sweeping the hall, daring anyone to defy me.
"Who threw the apple?" I demanded, my tone icy. "Come forward now, or face consequences far graver than your petty squabble."
No one moved. The guilty party was either very brave or very foolish.
I narrowed my eyes. "I already know who did it," I said, my voice low and dangerous. "Spare yourself my wrath and confess."
Finally, a figure stepped hesitantly into the light. Eris, the goddess of discord, her expression a mix of defiance and guilt.
"It was me," she admitted, folding her arms. "I wasn't invited, so I thought I'd liven things up."
Liven things up. Of course. Eris lived for chaos, but this time, she had gone too far. I turned to Peleus and Thetis, who stood at the edge of the room, their faces pale.
"What say you?" I asked.
Peleus scowled. "She's a bitch. We didn't invite her for a reason."
Thetis nodded. "And she still ruined our wedding."
I sighed, rubbing my temples. "Very well." Turning to Eris, I fixed her with a stern glare. "For disrupting this union, you will serve Peleus and Thetis as their attendant for the next millennium."
Eris's jaw dropped. "You can't be serious!"
"I am," I said firmly. "And if you refuse, I will ensure your existence is far more unpleasant than you can imagine."
The newlyweds looked elated, while Eris looked utterly distraught. But she nodded, knowing better than to argue.
With that settled, I turned my attention back to the golden apple. "Bring it to me," I commanded.
A minor god scurried forward, holding the apple in trembling hands. I took it, its golden surface warm to the touch, and examined it closely. Such a small thing to cause such chaos.
"Enough of this foolishness," I said, addressing the goddesses. "You are all divine. You are all beautiful. To fight over a mortal trinket is beneath you."
They bristled but said nothing, clearly still fuming.
Sighing, I channeled my power. Creation and destruction intertwined as I willed the apple to divide. It split into several perfect pieces, each one radiating the same golden glow as the original.
I handed a piece to each goddess: Hera, Athena, Aphrodite, Hestia, Demeter, Hecate, Melinoë, Artemis, and Apolla.
"You are goddesses," I said. "You are all the fairest in your own right. Stop this petty squabbling and remember who you are."
They accepted their pieces reluctantly, but the tension began to dissipate. The weapons vanished, the air grew lighter, and the mortals slowly returned to the hall.
I turned on my heel and walked away, muttering under my breath. "If this doesn't settle things, I'm burying the next apple in Tartarus."
The rest of the wedding proceeded without incident, though the atmosphere remained subdued. As I returned to my shadowed corner, I allowed myself a rare moment of satisfaction. Order had been restored—for now. But I knew this would not be the last time I'd have to deal with divine foolishness.
Years passed since the wedding of Peleus and Thetis, and for a while, the ripples from that golden apple seemed to fade. Olympus returned to its usual chaos, the mortal world carried on in its endless struggles, and I returned to my duties in the Underworld.
But peace never lasts—not in the realms of gods or men.
It began with whispers. Rumors of an oath sworn by mortal kings, of a beauty so radiant that it could drive men to madness. Helen of Sparta—soon to be Helen of Troy—became a name that echoed across the mortal realm, her fate entwined with a spark that would ignite a war.
And at the heart of it all, the gods meddled, as they always did. Athena, Hera, and Aphrodite, their wounds from that cursed apple never fully healed, whispered in mortal ears, sowing the seeds of discord. They chose sides, stoking flames where embers barely existed.
From my throne in the Underworld, I watched the mortal world unravel once more. Ships gathered, alliances formed, and blood spilled in the name of honor, vengeance, and pride. The siege of Troy was upon us, a war that would burn brighter than any before it.
And as I gazed into the mortal realm, I sighed.
"Of course," I muttered to myself, the weight of inevitability pressing against me. "Because nothing can ever just end without violence."
Such was the burden of being Hades.