Disclaimer: Not mine, Rating: 13, Vague language and sex.
Set: Post-LYDB2, this is speculation for the future along with a cracked-out idea.
Notes: extreme thanks to karmaaster for looking it over. Any mistakes that remain are my own. Title is confiscated from Echo and the Bunnymen's 'Evergreen.
Genre: er... future fic. Pairings: Everyone/Everyone

Hitting sky
by ALC Punk!

At three months, Hera was too young to remember it, but the Pythia (she wasn't the Pythia, then) used to hold her. Hera liked to twine tiny fingers into dark red hair, and laugh.

The Pythia would tell her stories, and help put her to bed at night. She considered her something akin to a gift from the Gods.

Others did not.


When Hera was six months old, her mother discovered she was alive.

All hell broke loose.


Hera doesn't remember the journey to Kobol, doesn't remember that it was simply people who started out to change their destinies.

Their arrival showed them to be more than they were: the Lords of Kobol, the people claimed. And by the time they tried to say otherwise, it was far too late.

As the 13th God once put it, destiny was a crock of lies.


The first word Hera learned to say was frak. Her mother actually laughed, and then began telling her wild stories about Kara and Karl and their vipers. Sometimes, there were variations, and the Old Man and Doc would make an appearance. Once or twice, so did Galen and Cally.


Hera was four the first time she pretended to be Kara, running around in too-big vest and her mother's boots, stick held in both hands as she killed cylons.

The trees were not appreciative.

Sometimes, she would make zoom-zoom noises and fly like a viper.


At age five, Hera could say the names of all of the gods, and even pick them out of the pictures her mother had. Of course, she was also biased and thought her mother the prettiest of them all. Sometimes, she'd tell her mother she wanted to be just as pretty as her when she grew up.

It amused her mother, although there was also a sadness in her eyes.

Hera never knew her father.


When Hera was seven, her mama sat her down and explained that things would happen she wouldn't understand until she was older. There were tears in her eyes as she told her that she was the most beautiful child, the most wonderful little girl, and destined to be great.

Two days later, Hera's mama threw herself off a cliff.


When Hera was twelve, the Lords of Kobol left in their great ark. Only the 13th stayed, her gaze tired and distant.

Sometimes, Hera would watch her, and wonder why she kept her hair so short--surely it must be beautiful, despite its straw-color.


When Hera turned fourteen, the 13th Lord came to visit her, sitting down at her feet (at her feet, and Hera thought perhaps her mother was right about greatness), and told her stories. They were confirmations of the fairy tales told to her as a tiny child.

Space battles, genocide and children turning against their parents. Epic things that were echoes of the scrolls of Pythia.

Enthralled with the tales and constantly wanting more, Hera didn't understand the pain in the God's eyes.


When Hera was seventeen, she fell in love with a man named William.

The 13th God gave her blessing upon their union. She joked that William just wanted a hot young thing, but neither of the youngsters paid her heed.


At 21, Hera had a conversation with the Pythia that left her confused, but resolved. Shortly thereafter, she became the colony historian, recording births, deaths and everything in-between.

Some said, at times, she was just like her mother.


The 13th God left Kobol with the settlers for Earth the day Hera was 25.

After showing her the tomb of Athena and what it contained, she left Hera the arrow of Apollo.


Hera gave birth to twins, naming them Kara and Sharon after her childhood hero and her mama, though the other gods had dubbed her mama Athena.

While she was still full of pain-killer, Leoben the prophet came to visit her. Your soul lies within the stream, he whispered.

She told him to frak off.


Discontent began to spread amongst the peoples of Kobol. Old feuds and new hatreds flared up.

Peace seemed a distant thing, and Hera sometimes heard the Gods cursed for leaving them.


When Hera's children were 13, she told them the story of the 13th God. They didn't understand the passed-down jockeying of a viper pilot, but they understood the emotion.

The flights of fancy seemed more real, with the settlers of Kobol fighting amongst themselves. Some were saying it was time to move on, that their paradise was no more.


The Pythia foretold their leaving of Kobol to the exact day. Hera marveled at it, even as she packed the last of her things and kissed the planet she had loved goodbye.

Sharon called her sister a cylon on their way to the landing bay, and the 15 year-olds had to be separated by a laughing Billy.


On the journey to their promised land, the Pythia died, her scrolls unfinished. Hera, as teacher and historian, was given their keeping. She found herself writing of the 13th God, then crossing it out. The stuff of fairy tales didn't belong in recorded history.


The fleet of ships crashed into their promised land, killing many and wounding others.

From the survivors were birthed a new purpose. The past was pushed to the side. Everyone worked the land and machines to improve their life.

Hera herself broke the first ground on what was to become Delphi City.


The settlements prospered, child-birth at an all-time high. Hera laughed at the suggestion from Billy that they contribute, pointing to their two near-adults as proof that they'd already done their part.

He countered with the look that always set her blood burning.


Hera died giving birth to her third child--human anatomy being what it was, the death rate rose with every month they lost medical knowledge. Some claimed they had left Kobol for the dark ages. Others said it was how the world worked, some said it was the wisdom of the Gods which would provide.

She was buried in a valley, a small stone marking her grave which read simply, 'Hera Thrace; beloved mother and historian. May the Gods never forget her.'

A grieving William named his son Galen.