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"My sweet Ariadne."
He held her against his warmth, lazily caressing the sensitive skin above her waist. They lay happily in his tent after a passionate night, humming with intent as the dawn fades to morning.
Ariadne of Naxos felt the need to be closer, her name in his lips a sweet nectar that made her bones soft and heart wild. Slowly, she turned to face him and snuggled her face in the space between his neck and shoulder. His arms securing her body beside him, naked and warm.
She whispered against the skin of his neck, "Yes, my love?"
Truly, she never imagined herself with him, not even as a child.
No one did.
Innocent Ariadne, elegant Ariadne. Growing up in a palace with a thousand servants kneeling before her, she was made to believe that she would one day marry a great man—a prince, maybe?Like her former lover, Theseus. The dashing prince of Athens, so great and noble he fought the Minotaur and won.
He was the prime example of mortal greatness, a demigod born from one of the elder gods, blessed with glory forever more. He was the best Ariadne thought she will ever be allowed to want, let alone have.
Everyone in Crete told her, as they tucked her in her bed, as they fixed the lilt in her voice or the rough drag of her feet, that she would be like her mother Pasiphae. Married to one of the greatest kings of their time, birthing more children for her husband's court to pry and control. She would be queen or lady, neither too ordinary nor too great. Simply, she was born Ariadne, a mortal princess, and if the gods bless it so, she could be Ariadne the queen, the bride, the mother.
And perhaps, some part of her, the little child stuck in a house of straws and spikes, settled to be all that if it meant being loved. She craved love too much, Ariadne learned to beg it off bloodied hands.
Maybe that's why she loved Theseus; why she had devoted herself to him to point of betrayal. He gave her what she wanted, even if it was only for a short while. He made her feel needed, loved, important. He looked at her as if she was neither mortal nor god, but something that exist in between: a savior.
But only for a short while.
Love like Theseus’ cannot be held by two hands for a long time, because like sand they slip off the crevices of one’s fingers. Because love like Theseus’ is conditional—and maybe on that note alone, it never deserved to be called such.
Either way, he was a lesson learned.
Ariadne wanted to laugh at the memory, to spat on Theseus and those who betrayed her. As great as the king of Athens is as a warrior, he is also a traitor without virtue.
Before, his abandonment felt heavy, an ache in her chest that weight as harsh as the angry waves at Naxos. Now, the memory made her feel silly. Why would it not? If he did not abandoned her back then, maybe she would never meet her true love, she would be stuck in Athens, playing the role of a submissive and meek queen.
Instead, she became consort to an Olympian god, bestowed with a crown of stars. Loved, cherished, never to be abandoned again. Her young love failed, embarrassingly so as she betrayed and was betrayed for a foolish fantasy for heroes and freedom. Yet it brought her someone better.
Truly, who could've known how this tale would unfold? It was unexpected as it was beautiful, painful as it was healing.
Yes, she never imagined she would marry a god, didn't mulled over the possibility. She was afraid, and felt wholly unworthy. Daughter of Minos, sister of the Minotaur. How could her love ever end well if her family was cursed by the gods themselves?
And yet she wouldn't trade her place for anything the Moirai would offer. Kingdoms, thrones, heroes. What more could she want when she's sated and happy in the arms of the Kindly Being who saved her?
Dionysus.
Her Dionysus.
The debauched god who drowned all the sadness in one kiss, replaced an entire ocean of disappointment and fear with this mad love that flowed to her like sweet, bitter wine. He made her lose her mind, her inhibitions, her entire being with a single look. His calloused fingers set her aflame in ways Theseus never did.
Perhaps it was fate——the Labyrinth, the Minotaur, the Island of Naxos. In the end, it was all Fate's play to bring her to this beautiful god.
"What are you thinking?" Dionysus murmured, kissing her temple.
She hummed against his skin, "The first time we met in Naxos."
She heard him purr like one of his leopards. Ariadne smiled at that. He always does that when he remembers something romantic, or thinks of something silly. She reached for his cheeks and planted a kiss on his lips.
"Thank you for saving me, my love."
"I would save you a thousand times again." He murmured, "We shall never be alone again, Ariadne. We shall always be together. "
Ariadne felt her heart melt. Yes, they saved each other. Yes, they would save each other again and again until eternity comes to an end, and the world ceased to exist. They would stand together. Always as one.
And this, she realized, is the kind of love no one told her about. It was quiet, inspiring, beautiful. It is the wildflowers growing during springtime, breathtaking in their struggle to crown themselves with sunlight and bloom. It persists and persists and persists. It cannot be defined or beaten, only admired and embraced.
For Dionysus gave her himself when she was at her lowest. For he saw her worst, her misery and loved her all the same. If something so pure was allowed to rest at her hand, Ariadne would protect and cherish it with all her soul.