She was the Goddess of War

I.
She was the goddess of war. Her beauty came from a resilient strength and a comforting wisdom. She moved with grace; but not the fluttery, winsome grace of her cousin, the goddess of beauty. But with a grace that comes only from ease and confidence.

Her days were not filled with the primping and the pruning of herself or others. Nor with any great concern for the safety or beauty of her mother's flowers or hills, trees or valleys. She passed the minutes and hours of her immortal life by studying the most questionable, and indeed most dubious of all her parents' creations.

She had been a child at the time of man's conception and had since watched man roam about the vast lands of earth. Seeing her amusement at both man's successes and blunders, her parents determined her fate.

They nurtured her to it. Her father causing small tiffs to break out across the otherwise peaceful planet both within families, and between neighboring tribes, so that she might learn.

Her knowledge grew quickly. The need for more challenging courses escalated these small tiffs into large-scale battles spreading out for miles regardless of border or tongue.

When she had become a master both in skill and in the wisdom of its execution, the warring ceased. Her mother more than any other was grateful for the silence and serenity. Man slept and waked for centuries in this peace. The goddess of war controlling any potential skirmish; weighing its cause, its effect. Only when she discerned the former to outweigh the latter would she permit the one side of man to face the other in anger. But like the action, she controlled the outcome. And despite the many offerings, and there were many, presented to her from all sides, she was never swayed. The victory was always bestowed upon the right. The win was always just.

And so man's fate was handled for centuries, without the slightest deviation.

II

He was the son of a blacksmith. From his birth he had been charming and handsome. Auburn ringlets atop his round head.

As he grew, he spent his days alongside his father, learning his ways. As his hands and muscles memorized the work, the roundness of his young body melted away. As if he too was being heated and shaped and molded into perfection.

The curls remained. But they now accented his chiseled cheeks and squared jaw. Always in his eyes was a fire, as if permanently embedded there as a result of his work. That fire was one of passion, not rage. A passion for life that always grew, never waned.

It was this passion, the heat from these two small fires that drew her to him. From her high perch the goddess of war watched the son of a blacksmith go about his chores. She watched until she too was a master of metals.

It was on yet another serene day that she traveled the distance between them. The once boy now man was celebrating his twentieth birthday. There was to be a great party and feast thrown by his parents in his honor. And so, taking advantage of this rare opportunity, the goddess disguised herself. Dressing similar to the other young girls attending the celebration she transcended from the heavens.

From the moment of her arrival they locked eyes. She could feel the heat of the two small fires from across the room. His eyes burnt into her, just as her very essence encircled him. The space between them finally diminished to almost nothing. They stood there, in silence, looking into each other's eyes.

III.
For many months she traveled to him their affair a secret only to those on earth; as nothing went unknown to the gods. Their passion turned to love. A love like no man or god had ever endured or could ever express.

To his parents she was just another girl. Her rather abrupt appearance in their village explained convincingly enough to raise no further questions. To them she was simply the woman who had captured their son's heart. The woman for whom he now worked so feverishly in order to start a home.

To her parents he was a hobby. A temporary amusement of which she would tire from at any moment. They watched her steel away from their home in the heavens to the hard and crumbly earth below. They watched them dart through fields, and embrace in quiet, secluded corners through out the village. Their ever increasing joy becoming more and more disconcerting.

It had been six months since his birthday. Six months since they had met. Sixth months since their love affair had begun. The sun was just dawning, and she had not yet waked. While she slept soundly nearby, her parents watched the fretful scene below. They watched as he went to his first his father and then the two men together to his mother telling of his plans to propose. The joy of his parents equaled the fear of hers.

They woke her immediately. And while celebrations were enjoyed below, an argument escalated above. She had to choose. Her parents made no secret of their preference. They used every possible scenario of failure and misery against her. Hoping and finally pleading for her to remain with them. But for all the power she now possessed, for all the days she was guaranteed to live, her love for him was still not equaled.

She descended for the last time. And as her foot touched the dusty ground she felt the immortality of a goddess drain from every pore. With each step along the familiar path to his house she grew more comfortable in her mortal skin.

Through a small front window they saw her approach the gate. He ran out to meet her. His parents, soon to be her parents, watched their embrace. They watched as he asked and she answered. They watched as smiles broke across each of their faces and then were hidden by a kiss of rapture.

IV.

They lived out their lives. He never knowing of her past. Never knowing that she had traded centuries for years and power for love. Traded all she had for everything she wanted. And even as she watched his life slip out of his aged body, she bore no regrets. And when her time came to follow him, she stared into the faces of their children and grandchildren and saw that through them she was still immortal. And their love surrounded her and carried her out of their world and into her next.

But while her actions gave way to a life of joy for her, it had not the same result for many others. Without her in the heavens above, without a goddess of war to watch and weigh and control; the emotions and actions of man fell into their own control. Wars were no longer won solely by the just. Victory rarely went to the right. And the effects seldom outweighed their cause. Man now controlled the fate of man. Because of one unknown choice, they were given the power of a god, but not the wisdom of its proper execution.

And so the centuries of peace were no more. And mother earth slept no more; but lived her days tormented by the distant memory of those once silent and serene.