Here we have a prime example of the way I get a good idea and then suddenly run out of it, as mentioned in  this post.  Goddess of Time going on strike and the consequences? Awesome idea. But could I do anything with it? No.

For once, it wasn’t all Loki’s fault. It was Eris’s.

The Gods and Goddesses residing in the Heavenly Realms, despite their periodic spats, got on surprisingly well. Most of them, after all, had been around for a few millennia, and it’s surprising what you can grow to tolerate in the passing of a few thousand years. Thus, if some kind of serious trouble occurred in the Heavenly Realms, it was either because Loki or Eris had started it.

Eris, it must be noted, was usually considered to be one of those inexplicable annoyances that life simply requires that you put up with. Where Loki, the God of Chaos, delighted in getting people killed or assisting invasions, Eris as the Goddess of Discord was usually happy merely to set people arguing.

Thus Eris was merely acting as usual when she got together Aielwyn, Lord of Time and something of an antisocial goddess, with Ares, God of War, notorious for being brash and overbearing, and set off a conversation that would undoubtedly lead to argument.

Aielwyn was in the dining hall quietly eating lunch when Eris bounced in, golden curls flying, and seated herself opposite.

“Hello,” said Eris.

Aielwyn frowned at her warily, clear trying to work out what the impish young woman was up to.

“Hi,” she replied. Eris beamed prettily. That was another thing about her; she always looked like a small angel, and somehow never older than about thirteen. Aielwyn had tried speeding time up around her to see if that would make her age, but no; clearly Eris’s innocent appearance was unaffected even by the passing of time itself.

“So,” Eris began, “been down on the Mortal Plain lately?”

Aielwyn opened her mouth to reply, but Ares, sitting at a nearby table, beat her to it.

“Ridiculous! “ he snorted, overhearing. “Rotten sort of place. Filled with idiotic mortals living idiotic lives. No decent god would go there.”

In front of Eris’s delighted gaze Aielwyn seemed to freeze, before somehow growing in height. A sense of ominous strength and power slowly swelled about her.

“Not that it is any of your business,” she told Ares icily, “being as it was a private conversation, but the mortals are, as a whole, a great deal better than snobbish, prejudiced, brash buffoons who are clearly not only the type to interrupt others conversations but also forgetting that they are speaking to a goddess rather than a god.”

Ares face filled with red.

“Don’t you take that tone with me, you little chit!” he roared at her. Aielwyn’s face turned white with fury and she rose to her feet and closed the distance between herself and Ares in one smooth movement.

“You mind yours, then,” she spat. Ares, by now turning an interesting shade of purple, was so enraged by her lack of subservience that he forgot himself so far as to slap her.

A hush fell upon the interested observers in the dining hall, each of them looking shocked or stricken.

“You’re just a silly little girl,” raged Ares in angry satisfaction. “Not even a proper goddess.”

Aielwyn slowly turned her head so that eyes like chips of old glass stared frozenly into his.

“So be it,” she hissed. Turning and bowing to the horrified onlookers, she announced, “Since it has been declared that I am somewhat lacking in the godly department – or should that be goddessly? – I publicly renounce my state of divinity in favour of rejoining the mortal world. Good luck to anyone trying to sort out time – it’s a hellish job.”

With that the Lord of Time swept out and promptly vanished.

Back in the hall there was a chaos worthy of Loki himself. Morpheus, a particular friend of Aielwyn’s, had temporarily abandoned his usual neutral stance in order to help a furious Athena beat Ares’ head into the dining table. Clusters of gods and goddesses chattered about what had happened and what might happen next, while the most senior of those present gathered in the middle of the room and tried to come to a course of action.

“She won’t do it,” Zeus declared. “When she cools down, she’ll be back.”

His wife elbowed him in the ribs.

“Don’t be ridiculous,” she said sharply. “What if it takes her a while to cool down? Even a temporary neglect of time and space will wreak havoc among the mortal world. And go stop your daughter from beating Ares to a pulp.”

Zeus did so. Athena left Morpheus to it and came over to join the discussion.

“She deserves an apology,” the fiery goddess declared. “I wouldn’t come back without one, not if someone gave me all the jewels on earth. I mean, she’s the Lord of Time! War’s nothing next to Time. We could all live without it, and it’s not like it happens that much anymore anyway. All the mortals have are battle and skirmishes. I should know.”

Zeus frowned. Athena was referring to her habit of backing various individuals in those battles and skirmishes. She did it quite regularly these days. The number of men – and women – putting never-miss automatic aiming carbonizers and supersonic heart-stoppers on ebay was steadily increasing at the end of each civil or international ‘conflict,’ as they called them. Zeus flatly disapproved.

Hera, seeing his mouth set in a thin line, shot her stepdaughter a nasty look. Athena glared back.

“Perhaps we should consult the All-Father about it,” Freya suggested.

“Definitely,” her brother declared positively. “He’ll know what to do, I’m sure.”

Freya sent him an irritated look. Frey gave her a blank look in return.

“That’s why he’s called the All-Father, genius,” Freya told him scathingly. “Because he’s all-knowing.”

Apollo hastily coughed.

“Ah, so do we have any other suggestions?” he asked tactfully. Silence from the others.

“All right then, let’s rescue Ares from Morpheus – that eye really ought to be treated, the forks aren’t very sanitary round here – and take him to Woden.”

His fellow gods and goddesses nodded in agreement, while in the background Ares’ howls for mercy were cut abruptly short as one of his colleagues threw a well-aimed melon at his head.