Summer Solstice was a wonderful time.

Olympus glittered from top to bottom under a high, bright full moon; satyrs and dryads laughed and danced in the streets, the occasional late firework exploded over the bridge to the mortal realm, and pegasi in full festival regalia clattered and jingled back and forth as minor godlings flitted from one celebration to the next. Chiron's 'field trip' group—Camp counselors all, the leaders and lieutenants of their cabins—was somewhere among them, confined to the lower reaches of the city but by all accounts thoroughly enjoying themselves. Artemis had even managed to slip out of the obligatory Council meeting early; it was amazing what the gods neglected to notice once the lightning bolts came out. And besides, she had more important things to worry about that the potential fate of the mortal realm.

For example, the Hunters' long-overdue uniform update.

"Come now, Zoë, I liked that one."

Zoë gave her a pained, long suffering look. "It does complement the summer uniform nicely, my lady, but you know my feelings toward down vests."

Artemis was forced to concede that she did, in fact, know her lieutenant's feelings toward down vests. They were similar to her feelings toward leeches, scorpions and Apollo's running shoes; valued by some and a necessary part of certain ecosystems, but nevertheless to be avoided at all costs. As a result, the goddess made certain to include them in as many uniform lineups as possible.

She fought back a smile. "Very well. White fleece, then, for the fall uniform, we'll deal with next summer's update in January…and I believe we decided on parkas again for winter, where was...?" Zoë glanced over the sprawl of Olympian catalogs and tugged one out from under the edge of the comforter, where a neon-green sticky note that had seen better days doggedly marked the page in question. "Ah, yes. Thank you."

"Of course." Zoë leaned over to copy down the product number and color designation on her official order form.

Artemis could remember a time when making a personal appearance as Goddess of the Hunt (and, not so incidentally, patron of the Amazons) would result in much more than simply being handed a pile of catalogs and a how-to guide on sizing. She was paying serious thought to revoking her patronage, but then again they did give her free shipping and a 10% discount.

Zoë looked up from the order form. "Lady Artemis," she began, and the goddess raised an eyebrow at the note of resignation that was already creeping into her lieutenant's voice. "Are you certain? I still hold that ecologically sustainable lighting is hardly an insult to thee. "

"I would never hear the end of it," Artemis said flatly. "My brother would be cracking his painful attempts at jokes for the next century. No solar-charged lanterns, I'm afraid." She softened the refusal with a smile. "If your tent is so difficult to navigate at night, Zoë, I will summon you a light. You only need ask, dear one."

Zoë sighed, shaking her head affectionately as she gathered together the excess catalogs. "If that is everything, my lady..." She straightened them unconsciously before setting the stack on her goddess' dresser. The furniture, much like the house itself, was mainly for show; it held more of Zoë's belongings now than her goddess', if only because Artemis had a tendency to pass her mildly useful trinkets along to her lieutenant and Zoë seemed to think herself honor-bound to keep them. It amused the goddess to no end watching her attempt to feign polite gratitude for whichever paperweight or copper bookends her brother had seen fit to gift her for their shared birthdays over the years. "May I borrow thy shower?"

"By all means," Artemis said idly, looking over the form and quickly jotting in an order of gray down vests while Zoë wasn't looking. "Hungry? I believe there's a mortal banquet somewhere in the market. I could send a satyr." Somewhere in the city there was bound to be one that was still sober.

Zoë declined, and Artemis turned her attention back to finishing off the order form as her lieutenant vanished into the next room, which, presumably, held a shower. Artemis suspected that Zoë knew her way around the house better than she did. It was traditional that every member of the pantheon keep a 'palace' on Olympus, but she had never taken much interest in hers. Her brother felt differently; Apollo's enormous, jewel-encrusted three-story monstrosity of glowing gold ("Complete with indoor pool, wall-to-wall plasma TV, every gaming system known to man, triple surround-sound" and that was usually when she stopped listening) was easily the flashiest of the twelve.

Some, admittedly, were actually quite pleasant. Athena's usually hard exterior tended to melt when you saw her curled in a worn, comfortable armchair in her cozy living room, every available surface overflowing with books and a mug of coffee that never seemed to get cold sitting on a side table; she had often commented drily that she ought to give Artemis either her blueprints or her keys, as the younger goddess was so fond of her home. And Demeter's practical, utilitarian setup was nonetheless sunny and warm and full of growing things, and while the harvest goddess could be overbearing it was nonetheless a charming place to escape her father's ceaseless bickering.

Artemis' true home, however, was and would always be her forests. As she had absolutely no idea what was meant to be in a palace, the palace itself reflected her lack of interest. Its only real redeeming factor was its location; as deep in the woods of Olympus as was possible without coming around on the other side, with a great many strange and lovely creatures turning up every so often on her doorstep. From the outside it was a small, trite little hunting lodge—she had gotten that part right, at least—but the inside had somehow ended up much larger and much less inviting. It was pretty enough, she supposed; delicately-veined marble carved with intricate friezes of hunting scenes, lined with silver lanterns and walled in glass that provided an uninterrupted view of the surrounding forests. It was beautiful, in fact; it just wasn't home.

Well, she thought. There was one exception. One of her Hunters long ago had discovered it… could it have been Alene, or even Callisto? It was tucked away in a corner, almost an afterthought, but the goddess loved it now more than any other room in this accursed formality of a living space. In stark contrast to the quiet dignity of the rest of the building, it was close and comfortable and decidedly informal; the walls were made of rough wood, the sofa and large pillows strewn about the floor were rough and mismatched and had been old and worn two thousand years ago but the room radiated love and warmth and comfort, and Artemis loved it.

She smiled thinking of it. The master bedroom, as she supposed this technically was, only ever saw use roughly every ten years; she and Zoë had gotten into the habit of performing the once-a-decade uniform upgrade with options laid out over the bed, and habits were hard things for two immortals to break, however mild her lieutenant's godly blood might have been. With any luck (if Zoë managed to suppress her sense of duty long enough to let the Hunters go without a watchful eye for one night, Artemis thought wryly) they would find themselves back in the lodge room tonight, and listen to the flames and the wind and the wolves howling faintly in the distance. A soft smile stole across her face, and she focused with renewed vigor on double-checking the order form.

A soft sound, the quiet swish of cloth against stone, made Artemis look up. Order forms were promptly forgotten.

Nor, clearly, was Artemis the only one to have forgotten them. It was not, she reminded herself with very little conviction, anywhere near the first time she had seen Zoë in a hunting chiton. There only remained the small fact that while the cut of the fabric could technically fall under that description, most hunting garments were not nearly so light and flowing, and the silvery velvet rope that served as her… lieutenant's… belt was terribly impractical. The long, heavy hooded cloak around the girl's shoulders hid something of the garments underneath, providing only teasing glimpses, but that was more than enough. Artemis was a huntress. She lived for teasing glimpses of her prey. It made the hunt a thousand times more satisfying. Tartarus.

Zoë hesitated at the threshold, one hand resting lightly on the doorframe as the white cloak shifted around her. The delicate white-silk chiton shimmered and caught the light in fascinating ways as she slipped slowly, barefoot, into the room. Pale silver ribbons were woven loosely into the nymph's dark hair, tumbling free and wild as it had been perhaps once in the last three centuries—which the Goddess of the Hunt told herself sternly should not affect her quite as strongly as it did (but, Styx and Asphodel...)

Hunting, Artemis told herself sternly. Monster dust. The price of arrows in Sparta. Mosquitoes. Phoenix, Arizona in high summer watching for signs of breeding dragons. Surely that trip had been miserable enough that the mere memory of it... would... that is...

Apparently not, she thought with a hint of exasperation. Oh, she remembered the trip, sure enough; it was an infamous chapter of Hunter history that had very nearly led to a mutiny. As it was, she had been forced to swear on the Styx that she would never make them do it again, after first rescuing Zoë from a cactus patch and confiscating Ari's explosives.

But there were other things to remember about that mission. Zoe, sprawled in the scrap of shade under a crumbling stone wall, silver jacket long since discarded in favor of a plain white tank top and dusty canvas slacks rolled up to her knees, snakes be damned; covered in a thin sheen of sweat and grinning ruefully as she took a long swig from a cold water bottle before emptying it over her head.

This was not at all helpful.

The Zoë in the present time gave a smile that hovered somewhere between embarrassed and hopeful, absently twitching the edges of the thick white cloak closer to herself. "You know I have never quite mastered the art of gift-giving, Lady Artemis. I...I hope this is not too..."

Artemis, throat suddenly extremely dry, picked up the order form and placed it very carefully off to the side. "I assure you, Zoë," she managed, looking around in case a glass of water had miraculously appeared, "that I am quite.. displeased is not a word I would use. In the slightest."

The Huntress—the Huntress, and how long had Artemis thought of her that way, the only one who really mattered?—gave a light blush and ducked her head, hiding behind the hood of her cloak in a manner that gave her goddess a shrewd suspicion as to why she'd worn it. Somehow that tiny, characteristic grain of modesty shook her out her daze. Once the initial shock had been gotten over, after all...

...Well. This certainly beat the fuzzy socks Apollo had given her. And the solstice wasn't even really a moon-centric holiday.

A slow smile spread across her face as she approached her lieutenant, taking the time to look her over properly. Zoë glanced up long enough to read the appreciative look, then lowered her eyes again, hiding back behind her hood. Artemis slipped careful fingers along the inside of the soft fabric, ghosting along the silver embroidery, and paused. She recognized the thick, fine material, the pattern of a very specific flower along the edges of the hood...

The little minx, Artemis had given her this cloak more than five hundred years ago. And it was no coincidence; Zoë had to have realized what the reminder of that particular hunting trip would do to her. The perfect midsummer moon and black hair unbound, the scent of clover and pine all mixed up with sugar and cherries and the smell of clean night air, the slight chill of a mountain-fed pool, murmured promises and the taste of honey and Olympian wine on both their tongues, and for the first time since the fall of Rome she'd remembered what it was to be a goddess...

She took a deep, calming breath, and it really only shook a little.

The Goddess of the Hunt flicked experienced eyes over her lieutenant, forcing herself to take a metaphorical step back and read her like she'd read any other prey creature. Sure enough, there it was; the slight tension, the tiny twitches of instinctive fear, unwillingness make eye contact, the muted terror of a line overstepped...

She took Zoë's face gently between her hands and pressed a light kiss to the girl's lips. "You," she said softly, "are beautiful."

The honest statement brought its intended effect. Zoë's shoulders dropped, the tension along her spine relaxed, her head lifted ever so slightly. Artemis carefully folded the heavy hood back from her lieutenant's face. She trailed feather-light touches along the girl's jawline, coaxed her slowly in for another kiss, let it deepen in minute degrees; slowly, unbearably slowly, but they had all the time in the world and every hunter knew that nothing good ever came of rushing. She weakened enough to let herself run her fingers through Zoë's loose hair, just once, or maybe twice but that was all, before trailing down her shoulders and along her sides. The chiton was almost sheer, liquid beneath her hands... and if she spent a little more time than absolutely necessary running the very tips of her fingers down the curves of smooth, flawless, subtly glowing skin, well, Zoë had offered.

There was something unbearably intimate about the way Zoë's pulse pounded at her wrists, the way it jumped whenever Artemis found one more sensitive spot that she hadn't before and her Huntress melted, trustingly, into her touch.

Tonight, Zoë was hers.

A metallic click, barely audible, and Artemis took a single half-step back, watching Zoë carefully as she blinked in the goddess' sudden absence and finally noticed the chain that had appeared at her wrists.

It was only slightly thicker than some necklace chains, slim and silver and oddly beautiful, and with cuffs no more than bracelets on each end; Zoë had roughly a foot and a half of slack, perhaps slightly less. Delicate, almost fragile, even a child could have broken the bonds with minimal effort. The point was no less made.

There was a pause while Zoë contemplated the development with a distant, unreadable look—a pause that went on just long enough for Artemis to start worrying.

Finally, she spoke.

"In the old days..." Zoë said slowly, "There was nothing considered quite so difficult, or so much of a feat, as to..." She stopped for a moment to look tentatively up at her goddess. "To have conquered an Amazon... not so much defeated, but to have had them surrender freely. Their repute has diminished, since... and even if they do believe they can conquer the world through online shopping and their mail-order process is needlessly irritating, they are nonetheless fierce warriors, and have never surrendered—" She cut herself off, paused, and ducked her head again, blushing with fierce embarrassment. "And there was a reason for mentioning them, my lady, I swear, but I'm afraid I can't remember it..."

The corner of Artemis' mouth quirked as she reached out again, toying with Zoë's loose hair for a moment before drawing the former Hesperide close. "You are no Amazon, Zoë," she murmured, kissing her temple and moving down the curve of her ear. Sensing the slight hurt at her statement, she pulled back and gave her Huntress a reassuring ghost of a wink. "Have you forgotten?" she asked, gently teasing, easing a lock of hair the color of midnight carefully over the girl's shoulder, stroking her cheek. "I am the patron of the Amazons." Zoë plainly didn't see what that had to do with anything, and Artemis' smile turned playful. "If any of them had been quite so lovely," she said conspiratorially, "I should think I would have noticed." Zoë blushed again and tried to hide her face; a gentle finger tipped her head back up for a long kiss that tasted solidly of amusement.

When Artemis finally pulled away, her eyes were warm, all traces of humor gone. "Besides that," she said quietly, trailing delicate fingertips down her lieutenant's cheek, "You are a far rarer creature than any Amazon..." She ran the delicate chain between her fingers before letting it slither into Zoë's hand. "...and I do not believe you can be conquered."

At those words, the very air in the room suddenly seemed to hum with tension. Not a negative tension, but something like suspense; the sense that something monumental was about to shift. It was not unlike the stillness before a storm breaks, or the feel among a group of archers, of a hundred taut bowstrings in the moment before their release.

"I can be," Zoë whispered, so very softly only a goddess could have picked out the words. She looked up, stole a kiss before pulling away again, and there was no nervousness in her eyes, only trust and need and a love so deep it was almost pain. As she spoke, slowly, carefully, she gathered her thin chain into the palm of one hand. "I have been. Once. My lady."

"Zoë—"

Ignoring the protest that even Artemis didn't quite know the cause of, Zoë very pointedly took the goddess' hand and slipped her the chain. Holding her with her eyes and keeping her hands clasped around Artemis', every movement careful and measured, she dropped to one knee.

The moment lasted an eternity.

"You surrender, then?" Artemis asked softly.

The words had the feel of a ritual, almost, and Zoë's response, head bowed, was a simple, formal, "I do."

Unable to stand the sight of her friend, her partner (something deep inside whispered more than that and was brushed, for now, aside, because she was afraid to listen to it for too long) kneeling before her any longer, Artemis squeezed her hand and Zoë stood fluidly. The goddess sat on the edge of the bed, where not long ago they had been poring over uniform designs, and pulled the nymph down next to her.

"Your terms," she whispered, nuzzling along the smooth, copper-toned neck and wondering when, exactly, the world had gone mad.

"No terms," Zoë answered. Her voice was even and honest, and she rested her head gently on Artemis' auburn hair. "Everything I am, everything I will be..." She sat up and pressed a sudden kiss to her temple, and the tiny spark of mirth in her warm eyes set Artemis at ease again. Smiling, she reached over and pulled the tail of Zoë's cloak-tie, letting it fall free.

"It hardly seems fair," she mused, murmuring the words against Zoë's throat and smiling as she felt the girl's pulse quicken. "Not to be offered anything in return." She let her teeth close just under Zoë's jaw—gently, impossibly gently, a wolf holding a hatchling in its jaws, and Zoë's eyes fluttered closed as she leaned into her goddess.

"I think, my lady," she breathed, "that I shall endure."

"I'm sure it must be awful for you." Artemis nipped playfully at her throat. A moment later, however, her eyes clouded with worry again. "I ask nothing of you, Zoë," she said quietly. "Nothing but honesty, and I have no reason to doubt that."

"I know." Zoë smiled and closed the goddess' hands over the pool of silver links. "Else I would not offer."

With a single lifted eyebrow in acknowledgement, Artemis wound the thin chain once around her wrist, holding it loosely in one hand. Very well, then. "Are you quite certain there's nothing you want from me?" she murmured, letting her gaze wander over her lieutenant with warm intent, smiling to herself when the expected slow blush smoldered to life. Her voice dropped to barely above a whisper. "...My captive warrior?"

She had time to register the flash of flirtatious mischief in Zoë's eyes before her question was answered decisively. With the chain around her wrist, Artemis could only go along for the ride when her temporary prisoner gave it an unexpected tug, pulling her off-balance. With a speed and dexterity that demonstrated exactly how she had managed to survive so long, Zoë ducked to the side, slipped Artemis' fingers free from the silver links, and came up on her elbows, hovering over the goddess with the chain tucked under them both, fingers brushing lightly over Artemis' temples.

The nymph's eyes wandered over Artemis' face before softening. "What more could I ask of thee?" she asked softly.

The goddess smiled, and answered her with a kiss.

A/N: What happened between Zoë and Artemis on Midsummer's Eve in medieval Europe is entirely their business.

By which I mean, of course, "Somebody go write a oneshot about it!" The fandom in general can consider this a challenge. And hey, if you write it, toss me a link!