The grape vines rustled, and a shower of the little black fruits rolled onto the snow. 

Dionysus frowned and picked up a shriveled grape. Why, at this point they might as well be raisins! Inspecting the grape vines, the God of Wine noted that  the leaves had withered. A few fluttered into the breeze, carrying the salt brine air with it. 

Dionysus placed down his shield, sword and helmet. He knelt to the fertile soil, wondering if his past deeds were a kindness or a curse to future harvests. Rotting bodies created ideal growing conditions. But he'd forgotten Demeter's warning. 

-

"Your sense of justice is different from mine," the Goddess of Harvest muttered. 

They stood on an outcropping that jutted over the Aegean Sea. Wooden wreckage battered against the rocky shores, choked with grape vines.

"I would have stopped if you told me," Dionysus lied, gulping some vodka. Ah, that hit the spot.

Demeter glared. Her green dress swirled as she stepped closer. "I'd understand if they were pirates, but innocent pilgrims?"

"Ha! Pilgrims. What a convenient alias for the thieves that stole our honour."

Demeter scoffed. "I am not that full of myself. You, on the other hand, have a delicate ego." She plucked a strand of wheat from her curly hair and crushed it between her fingers. "Times are hard, brother, but I'm wondering if you're being paranoid. Our father has established a strong democracy. The Greeks will not bow down to the foreign beliefs these weak pilgrims are bringing. Are you listen—GODS, Dionysus!" 

She grabbed his toga before Dionysus could stumble off the cliff. His cup fell and smashed into the rocks below, vodka and all. He mumbled something incoherent. "I'll make them pay," he said finally. 

Demeter sighed. Sitting down, she put his head on her lap. A cool cloth appeared in her hand, and she dabbed his feverish forehead. "Immortality is a double edged sword. Its extents and limits are arbitrary, but until you learn them, I'll be keeping an eye on your foolish self."

Over the cliff's edge, Demeter saw grapevines dragging the pilgrims' dead bodies to shore. She breathed a sigh of relief when all the dead was counted for. She didn't want any of them alive, either.

-

Dionysus held up his hand. His enemies often mistook the red sherry stains as blood, which suited him fine. But in the soft winter sun, his skin flickered and paled. Meanwhile, black snowflakes drifted down. 

"Your plan isn't working, Demeter. Winter isn't stopping them from coming," he grumbled. 

Gathering his equipment, he armed himself like a traditional Greek warrior—then decided he would fight the invaders with his godly powers. He wasn't merely a party animal when the war reached its darkest moments. He was powerful, decisive, and to be worshipped. 

In the bitter winter air, he exhaled a puff of smoke. "But I can't stand being sober for this long, okay? After this, I'm hosting a banquet with all the wine in the world."

A few footnotes. 1) Unlike the other major gods like Demeter, Dionysus was born a human and later granted god-status through Zeus, who was impressed by his wine-manufacturing skills. 2) Dionysus is the God of Wine as much as he is madness. To me, he represents the two extremes of humanity: indulgence and insanity. 3) I don't know of any myths that involve Demeter & Dionysus (if you do, please tell me!), though they both control parts of cultivation and food. Here I imagined Demeter half-heartedly trying to be a mother figure to the young Dionysus.