The Dagda approached the contest carrying his massive club, the Lorg Mór, and dragging his Cauldron of Plenty. He looked like a mountain wrapped in a tunic.
"I am here to fight," he rumbled, sounding unsure.
Aphrodite rose from the sea foam. She wasn't carrying a weapon. She adjusted her Girdle of Desire.
"Are you?" she asked.
The Disarming
The Dagda stopped. He looked at the Goddess. Then he looked at his club. It seemed very... crude.
"Well," Dagda said, blushing. "Or we could eat?"
He offered her a ladle of porridge from his cauldron.
Aphrodite smiled. It was a smile that started wars. Discord-Woven Passion.
"I'm not hungry for porridge," she stood closer. "Tell me about your harp."
The Dagda dropped his club. He sat down and began to play a love song on Uaithne, his harp. He played the song that makes men weep and give away their kingdoms.
Aphrodite patted him on the head. She took the club (which was heavy, but she was a god) and sat on it.
"You win," Dagda sighed happily. "What was the question?"
"There is no question," Aphrodite replied. "Only surrender."