"Mortals are always afraid of death until they have to deal with it themselves. Then they see it's just a new phase of existence."
Hermes thinks that Hades could stand to make the Underworld more comfortable, but he clearly takes his purpose to give the dead a place to rest in safety very seriously. It's professionalism that Hermes can respect, even if their temperaments guarantee he and his Uncle will never be close.
Hermes chuckles softly at Zagreus and the fig wasps. "He can afford to be kinder than most, I think. Death isn't permanent down here. Violence is gentler." On the surface, death meant losing someone for the foreseeable future. Killing someone required being comfortable erasing them from that plane of existence, never to return except as a ghost. It hardens people in a way that fighting in the Underworld doesn't. For all his skill in battle, Hermes suspects that his kind cousin would quail at killing a living, breathing, speaking person, and he's glad for it. "I think his kindness is necessary down here. Maybe when he grows, he'll be the counterpoint to his father."
The gentle if lackadaisical counter to the cold, hard consistency of Hades. Hermes already sees it in the way that Zagreus has adjusted the contracts of the dead.
Hermes shifts to lean his head on Achilles' shoulder, sipping his wine.
"...Maybe when all this is over, and provided I'm not locked up in Tartarus with you as my gentle jailer... we can think of how to safeguard our ability to see each other." Hermes looks up at Achilles through his eyelashes. "I don't want anything to get in our way again, not even my uncle."
Hermes isn't yet sure how--after all, Hades is famously uptight about decorum, and it's not decorous for his house guard to be in a relationship with his nephew--but that's something for the gears to churn through. Maybe he could call in favors.
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Hermes thinks that Hades could stand to make the Underworld more comfortable, but he clearly takes his purpose to give the dead a place to rest in safety very seriously. It's professionalism that Hermes can respect, even if their temperaments guarantee he and his Uncle will never be close.
Hermes chuckles softly at Zagreus and the fig wasps. "He can afford to be kinder than most, I think. Death isn't permanent down here. Violence is gentler." On the surface, death meant losing someone for the foreseeable future. Killing someone required being comfortable erasing them from that plane of existence, never to return except as a ghost. It hardens people in a way that fighting in the Underworld doesn't. For all his skill in battle, Hermes suspects that his kind cousin would quail at killing a living, breathing, speaking person, and he's glad for it. "I think his kindness is necessary down here. Maybe when he grows, he'll be the counterpoint to his father."
The gentle if lackadaisical counter to the cold, hard consistency of Hades. Hermes already sees it in the way that Zagreus has adjusted the contracts of the dead.
Hermes shifts to lean his head on Achilles' shoulder, sipping his wine.
"...Maybe when all this is over, and provided I'm not locked up in Tartarus with you as my gentle jailer... we can think of how to safeguard our ability to see each other." Hermes looks up at Achilles through his eyelashes. "I don't want anything to get in our way again, not even my uncle."
Hermes isn't yet sure how--after all, Hades is famously uptight about decorum, and it's not decorous for his house guard to be in a relationship with his nephew--but that's something for the gears to churn through. Maybe he could call in favors.