A/N: I really wanted to write this. (Title is supposed to be 'mother' in Greek but I'm not entirely sure if that's right.)

Summary: A mother keeps secrets from her child for only one reason.

Mana

They are sitting in the temple, and it is very late at night. The day had been warm but now a slight chill is carried by the wind.

He is sitting on her lap, curled up against her chest as she rocks him to sleep. She is warm, and he clutches at the clasps on her silken chiton with his short fingers.

"Mama," he says softly, and she takes his hand in her own and twines their fingers together. She has done this before, and it makes him feel safe.

He stares at their hands curiously, her long, slender fingers longer than his stubby, chubby ones by far. He pouts petulantly.

"Herakles," she croons softly over him. He looks up at the sound of her voice and smiles, the warmth emanating from her making him sleepy.

"Herakles, my love," she continues. "You know the story of your name, do you not?"

"Yes, mama," he replies, because it's the truth. The story of his namesake had been told to him by many, including her.

"I want you to do something for me, love. I want you to be as strong as the one for whom you are named. But do not make the same mistakes. Follow your heart, my dear."

"Yes, mama, of course," he vows.

She smiles, warm and sweet, and kisses his brow, sweeping back some stray brown locks.

"You are so very beautiful. I'm glad I got to see you grow up to be this big."

"I'm not all that big, mama," he argues. After all, he still fits on her lap, even though he eats too much honey and sweetbreads.

"I know, but someday you will be. You will be big and strong."

"And you'll be there too, right, mama?"

He watches curiously as tears spring to her eyes, but they are gone the next moment. "Anything is possible, my child."

The wind whistled through the large columns. Both mother and son felt the chill as they lay in wait for morning to come and bring warmth to the world.