The Fates did not sleep, they could not--they dared not. Were their labors to cease for any substantial length of time, then life itself would stall. Babies would stay in limbo in their mothers' wombs, unable to enter the world. The aged and the mortally wounded, or ill, would linger in pain and mounting despair. Most of them, and the loved ones watching them suffer, would soon reach the point of praying for the mercy of Thanatos, and swift passage to Lord Hades' realm. Mortal man would find himself without purpose or drive in his life, with no sense of necessity to do what had to be done.

The Fates did not sleep, but there were quiet times in their cave. There were times when the work went in a slow rhythm, the motions performed so many times that the body could almost carry on alone, while the mind rested, smoothing itself into a state that was not sleep, but was not quite waking.

This was one of those times. The hum of the spinning wheel was quiet, like the drone of a bumblebee, dallying over a patch of clover. The clacking of the loom was slow, almost lazy, and the clicks of the shears severing a thread were few, and far between.

Then the sound of the loom stopped completely for several minutes. Without looking up from her work, Clotho said, "Sister, if you pause much longer, the threads I spin will bunch and tangle. Do you need me to slow down for awhile?"

"Hm?" Lachesis' voice was distracted. "Well, yes--slow down a little. You're spinning some of them so close together that I can hardly keep them from twining together before their appointed spot."

Atropos snipped a gray thread, and an old man passed away peacefully beside his sleeping wife. She eyed the old woman's thread, knowing that she'd be cutting it soon, as well. She also knew that the woman would welcome her trip to Lord Hades' realm, and the chance to be with her husband again. "What does it matter if some come together sooner, rather than later? They all come to me--eventually." She snipped another thread, and a dog turned on the man beating him, ripping open a vein in his leg.

Lachesis cast a reproving frown at her sister. "It matters to them. Things must happen in their own time. Unripe fruit brings a bellyache instead of sweet repletion, and a seed planted too early will wither and die instead of bringing forth something new and beautiful."

Clotho tutted gently, but she was smiling. "Lachesis is working with young lovers again."

"With those who will eventually be lovers," Lachesis corrected, "if things go properly."

"And who is so important that you're fretting to the point of breaking your rhythm?" asked Lachesis. She usually worked near her sister, not liking to wait too long to bring a life to its end, once the end had been decreed. Now she leaned down, studying the section of the tapestry that held Lachesis' interest.

Instead of speaking, Lachesis carefully teased two threads to a more clearly lighted section of material. One of them was a bright, sunny yellow. Just seeing it made the normally dour Atropos smile. "Ah, Bliss. He's growing into a fine, sturdy young man. Yes, he's approaching the time when he'll begin to take lovers. Perhaps earlier than some, but," she shrugged, "considering his heritage... And the other is?" Lachesis silently indicated the other thread.

Atropos examined the deep maroon, and her smile softened a bit. "Accord." The young God of Mediation was much like his birth father--Joxer. He had a talent for bringing out the sweetness in almost any woman's nature. "Hm. They are close, aren't they?" She ran her finger along the two, never finding a gap of much more than a hair's breadth between them.

"And look," Lachesis ran her hand over the tapestry, finding a spot that marked the past. "Here. This is Accord's birth. My, my--I had to do some fancy weaving that day. But see? The two are close before this point. Sister, this relationship started even before Accord entered this world."

"Soul mates," said Clotho softly.

"Most likely," Atropos agreed. "Though we've seen this before in life long enemies, as well."

"No," said Lachesis firmly. "Not these two."

Atropos gave her a sympathetic, but pragmatic look. "You know that we don't really have the say in this. You've tried it before."

"Yes," said Lachesis sadly. Hercules' first family had died, despite her attempts to change the pattern that she saw forming beneath her hands.

Clotho paused in her spinning, and said, "But I doubt there's any cause for mourning here, sister. After all these many years there are still a few surprises left to us, but not many. Look at them. Touch them." She lifted the two threads, gazing at them. "I can sense nothing but love here--love on many levels." She released the threads. "Just do your job. Sometimes we need not force things. Sometimes we need only let things run to their destined end."

Lachesis nodded, cheered once again. "I just need to be sure that they don't consummate their love before they're ready."

Atropos sniffed, going back to her work. "Two young men--one the son of Ares, and the other the offspring of Passion? Good luck, sister."