Hestia, oldest of the Olympians, watched the mortal Earth from her vantage point on Mount Olympus, wondering silently if there was someone down there for her. All of the gods and goddesses had at one time or another fallen in love with a mortal, but she hadn’t ever been in love, whether it be mortal or god. She sighed, and let her gaze travel over a small village.

A figure approached her from behind and asked in a silky, mocking voice, “Observing mortals? They’re an amusing race, aren’t they?”

Without turning around, Hestia said calmly, “Hello, Aphrodite.”

Aphrodite smiled charmingly and sat down next to Hestia. “Is there anyone in particular you’re looking for, Hestia?” she wondered slyly.

Shaking her head, Hestia responded, “No. I’m just observing what they’re doing, and keeping track of my worshippers.”

Aphrodite sighed dramatically. “You’re lucky. I have to watch Earth all the time, but not for fun. You don’t have to worry about keeping a mortal you love happy, like I do. That’s a full-time work in itself.”

This caught Hestia’s attention. “Oh?”

Nodding like a cat who stole the cream, Aphrodite explained, “I have to worry about Adonis. That boy’s always getting into trouble! Someday he’ll kill himself, going after all those wild beasts.” Still, there was pride in her voice of her adopted son’s accomplishments.

Hestia raised and eyebrow. “Oh? What does Ares think about your attachment? Isn’t he jealous?”

“I can handle Ares! He’s just a hot-tempered kid at heart, and I can manipulate him just as easily,” laughed Aphrodite, eyes shinning merrily.

Hestia sighed and looked back down to Earth. “I’d be careful, if I were you. But that’s your affair.”

Aphrodite was silent, watching the older goddess with hooded eyes, thoughts spinning into a plan. Hestia was a beautiful goddess, despite her lack of lovers. She deserved to have at least one. Perhaps something could be done to remedy the situation.

“Hestia, did you ever take a vow of chastity? There are quite a few rumors, both here and on Earth, that you promised to remain a virgin forever,” Aphrodite asked in a tone that implied she was just making conversation.

The older goddess was surprised and responded without thinking. “Never. I just haven’t met someone who I want to take as a lover.”

Frowning, Aphrodite asked, “But Apollo and Poseidon both said that you refused them.”

Hestia sniffed, offended, and explained, “Just because I don’t want to make love to either my nephew or my brother doesn’t mean I made a vow of chastity.”

“Ah,” the goddess of passion said, hiding a smile of triumph.

Shaking her head, Hestia briefly turned back around to look at Aphrodite. “Don’t, Aphrodite,” she commanded. “I don’t want to fall in love.” For the first time in the goddess of passion’s life, she saw the calm, easy-going goddess of the hearth’s eyes become hard, stubborn, and unswayable. She also saw divine retribution if she disobeyed.

Aphrodite hid her fear and chuckled dully, though it rang hollow even in her own ears. “Of course not, Hestia. I wouldn’t dream of it.”

“You’ve already dreamed of it. Just don’t act upon it,” the goddess of the hearth warned again, and her eyes blazed for a moment.

Not willing to risk Hestia’s sudden anger, Aphrodite shook her head in defeat and said with conviction, “I won’t. If you fall in love, it won’t be through my hand. I promise you that.”

“Good,” nodded Hestia, satisfied, and gazed back out the window. Silently, Aphrodite got up and left, leaving the goddess of the hearth to her own thoughts.

Soon after Aphrodite left, Hestia saw a small boy being beaten by his father. She frowned at the sight, for it was done in front of a hearth fire, which was the absolutely wrong place to do such a thing, for unlike most of the other gods and goddesses, Hestia couldn’t easily ignore a child in pain. Children were a soft spot for her, and she hated to see anything bad happen to such innocent little beings. Cloaking herself in the shadows of the hearth’s fire, she transported to the side of the child. The boy was curled up on the floor, face close to the floor and hidden from view by a mop of long blond hair. His filthy shirt had been cut up into strips of rags from the whip in the man’s hand, and the marks from the whip oozed blood that dripped down onto the floor.

This had definitely gone on for long enough, Hestia decided. The boy would be killed if his father continued much longer!

Swiftly she traveled to the layer of Sleep himself, the god Hypnos. “Hypnos? Can you please aid me? I need your help,” she whispered into his ear.

The god looked up, startled to see Hestia standing in his cave, and smiled in welcome. “Hello, Hestia. What can I do you for you?”

“I need you to put a mortal to sleep for a little while,” Hestia explained.

He thought about it for a moment, then nodded his head in assent. “Alright.”

The pair made their way back to the home of the little boy, and Hypnos put his magic to work, making the man so tired that he dropped the whip and slumped to the ground. Hestia gave a breath of relief, and smiled at Hypnos.

“Thank you, my friend,” she said.

“It’s no trouble,” Hypnos said with a shake of his head, and disappeared from the room.

Hestia turned her attention back to the boy, who was staring at his father in shock, tinged with relief. But she could see that the boy would have to be cared for as soon as possible; the whip marks needed to be cleaned and bandaged. Unfortunately, she didn’t know who she could safely give the poor child to without worrying for his safety.

Finally, she made a decision. She would raise the child as her own; the father didn’t want his child, so he didn’t deserve to have him. On the other hand, she would care for him like a son.

With that decision made, she walked behind the boy and donned the disguise of a noble lady.

Softly, she spoke to him. “My dear boy, who did this to you?” she reproved, bending down at the knee and kneeling behind him.

Startled, the boy turned around and confronted a beautiful lady. “Who…who are you?” he asked, innocent blue eyes wide.

She smiled warmly and told him, “I am the lady Damara. What is your name, my dear boy?”

“…Cletus…” he said warily.

“Cletus. Cletus, who did this to you?” she asked, pretending she didn’t know.

He sniffled and pointed at the man on the floor. “My father. He said…he said I was bad because I wouldn’t steal from my friends in the market, and now we’d starve, and it was all my fault, so I had to be beaten.”

Hestia’s eyes softened greatly at this. “Cletus, would you like to live with me instead? You’d never have to see this man again, if you so wished it.”

The boy’s eyes immediately brightened up. “Truly?”

As serious as she could, she nodded and offered him a hand. “Truly.”

Cletus looked from the hand to his father, and back again to the hand. Finally, he stuck his hand into hers. She helped him up and together they walked out of the small home forever.

* * * * * *

Cletus grew up into a fine, handsome young man. Hestia proved herself to be a good, loving mother who didn’t spoil him rotten, but at the same time was able to show him how much she loved having him as a son, and not once did she ever beat him. It didn’t take long for their mother and son relationship to turn into friendship, though, for after awhile what he needed was a friend, and not a mother.

Cletus, however, never knew that his kindly stepmother was actually a goddess in disguise. All he knew was that he grew up like royalty, and got all the necessary training it required. He became an expert fighter, but at the same time was able to show compassion and make hard decisions. Hestia made sure of all this, for she’d seen too many heroes turn out badly because they never learned respect, or how to control their temper. She was very proud of him.

Finally, though, Cletus wanted to go out on his own. She let him go, though it broke her heart. He had to be able to make his own way in the world. But, she would watch him from Mount Olympus, and make sure he stayed alright.

She stared out at Earth, watching his movements as he journeyed through the land. He made many friends, and the enemies he did make were few and far between.

Hestia heard a familiar silky voice behind her as she gazed at her stepson. “I haven’t seen you in quite some time, Hestia,” Aphrodite greeted.

“I’ve been busy,” Hestia said enigmatically, which aroused Aphrodite’s curiosity.

“Really? I thought you were raising some mortal boy as your own,” Aphrodite grinned.

“Cletus decided to make his fortune,” she explained without turned around, eyes locked on her stepson. Casually, she asked, “How’s Adonis doing?”

To Hestia’s surprise, she heard a suspicious sniffle come from Aphrodite. “He…Ares…Ares killed him…” choked Aphrodite.

Hestia felt her heart soften slightly at the pained words. “I’m very sorry, Aphrodite. I know you loved him a lot,” the goddess of the hearth said sincerely.

A tear spilled over Aphrodite’s beautiful eyes and dropped onto the ground. She bowed her head and whispered, “I have some advice for you, Hestia. Let Cletus go; don’t watch over him. If you don’t let him go, you’ll watch him die, whether it’s at the hands of an enemy or from old age.”

And with that, Aphrodite, the goddess of passion, turned on her heels and stalked away.

Hestia sighed and shook her head pityingly. Then she turned her head and went back to watching her stepson, her friend.

Cletus had come upon a tyrant of a king in the kingdom of Galen, and after observing the king’s treatment of his sons, the princes, he became angry and bested the king in combat. He claimed the throne, and the people crowned him king. He used all the skills he’d learned with Hestia to become a wise ruler, beloved by the people.

As she watched, she saw him make friends with each and every of the small orphan princes, who looked up to him as the father they’d never really had. He taught them everything he knew.

Hestia, though, grew unhappy, and realized she missed his love, his comfortable presence, and his warmth more than any true mother should. But she also knew that soon he’d have to choose a wife and marry, and when that happened, it would be very unlikely that the woman would be deserving of him. She hadn’t yet seen a woman who could support him in the way he needed, and when she looked into their hearts, all she saw was greed for his power and his throne. None of them loved him like she did.

A plan crept into her mind as she thought about this. Perhaps…she could disguise herself again… It wasn’t as if she was his real mother, after all, and she knew she loved him more than any mortal woman could.

With this in mind, she disguised herself in plain peasant clothing and went to Earth. She sought him out in his kingdom, and saw him standing in a garden, all alone, his head bowed.

Smiling, she approached him. “Good morning, Your Majesty,” she said graciously, giving a deep curtsy.

He twirled around and saw her standing there. “Good morning,” he smiled in return. She noted with approval that he didn’t look down upon her like she was just a servant, but as an equal. Yes, she had raised him well, she thought.

“Your Majesty, I’m sorry to disturb you, but you looked troubled by something,” she said compassionately. Truthfully, she was severely worried. He’d looked increasingly sad in recent months, and she couldn’t figure out why.

He sighed in a way that made her think he had a broken heart, and said, “I simply miss someone, someone who raised me and was my friend. When I left her, I also left my heart.”

She nodded in understanding, and said, “I, too, miss a friend.”

He studied her for a few moments before murmuring, “You remind me of her, in a way…” He shook his head to clear it of the memory, and asked, “What’s your name?”

“Calandra.”

Cletus smiled at her, and held out his hand in a gesture a lot like one she’d used on him before, when he was only a boy, crying and in pain. She swallowed painfully at the memory, and hesitantly put her hand within his own.

Their romance was a whirlwind affair, and it wasn’t long before she was married to him. She spent many happy days and nights with him, helping him to rule his kingdom by giving advice and lending support when he needed it, as well as reveling in his strength and comfortable presence.

All that came to an end when he went into battle with a neighboring kingdom and was killed. She felt his soul leave the world, and wept bitterly, along with most of the kingdom.

Where his body was buried, the sons of the king Cletus had killed stood around his grave in a circle, along with his most devoted of followers making up two more circles behind the sons. They told her they didn’t want to live without the man who had become their father and friend, and Hestia again wept for them. As her tears of compassion touched them, they turned to blocks of stone, and their souls happily joined their stepfather in the Elysian Fields of the underworld.

When she stepped away from the grave of her one and only beloved, she surveyed the circle of stones. They’d connected together to form a circle of distinct-looking stones. She surveyed it once before weeping one last time and going back to Mount Olympus to heal her broken heart.

Aphrodite was there, and watched her with rarely compassionate eyes. Hestia nodded once to the goddess, and sat down to watch Earth again.

Slowly, Aphrodite asked, “Will…you be okay?”

Hestia nodded. “Yes. In time. Besides, I know he’s happy, and that’s the most important thing. Perhaps…perhaps I’ll be able to visit him in the Elysian Fields…”

Hestia then turned her gaze back upon Earth. As she sat, and watched, she saw the grave of her beloved and the circle of stones around it begin to be revered by the locals. Soon people made pilgrimages to pay homage to it. Hestia was very pleased; who would have thought her husband would have been so revered? In time, it was given a name, and known throughout the world, though no one, not even the gods, remembered who first made it, or the real story behind it.

The circle of stones was named…

…Stonehenge.