Hippolyta smacked the bottle of wine from Heracles hand. He rose from the bench to meet her. She stood eye to eye with him, something no woman had done before. Deep inside, Heracles had feelings for her, love and right beside that, fear. He could not speak out, only reach for another bottle, which she smacked from his hand just as quick.
"Hera told us you had come for war. She misled us, she misled you the same way when she murdered your children. Had Abderus not spoken with our field commanders, we would have slain you all," Hippolyta.
"And I thank you for that," Heracles smugly responded.
"Silence, do not interrupt a queen. You came here a drunken mess, a buffoon of a man. I defeated you, with ease."
"You could not do it again," Heracles stated as Hippolyta spoke.
She reached out and smacked him across the face yet again. His head rang, his sight had returned but his head still rang out with motion. He had never suffered such defeat and although she would not bring it up, she would gloat if it came into conversation. The mighty Heracles, left a drunken and bloody mess on the beach, what a sight. She had already had a portrait and several pieces of pottery commissioned.
"You came to my island a drunken and enraged buffoon," she smacked him again as he opened his mouth. "I do not care who your father is or what you are beyond this island you will obey. I have treated you hospitably because of Hera deceiving us. Still I will not tolerate disrespect from a drunken demi-god when I could invite Dionysus here. You sought my girdle. You lost in battle and thought you would win it with my heart? When you saw I had no interest in a broken man you attempted to steal it, and now you sit here still drinking. I should kill you," Hippolyta pushed Heracles back, watching him fall to the bench behind him.
"Please, make it quick," he responded.
"No. Because I pity you. Sitting here as if you are broken beyond repair. Nothing like the legends we had heard. Nothing like the warrior we had prepared for. You are nothing. I will give you my girdle. If you think completing these errands will absolve you of your sins, you are stupider than I thought. Leave this island, and do not return unless you are the man you once were."
Hippolyta left, not wishing to say anymore to the shell of a man. Heracles was escorted back to the ship. It had been repaired, and restocked. There was no celebration when he revealed the girdle, and there was no drinking of win on the trip back. They had gone to the island expecting a quick walk, and returned with battle scars. Heracles spent much of the uneventful trip back staring at the girdle with the words of Hippolyta echoing in his mind. Had he truly become a drunken, enraged buffoon?
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