Achilles, Best of the Greeks (
refusetofight) wrote2022-12-11 10:51 am
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For @messageforyou
“Achilles!”
“Yes, Lord Hades.”
“There are visitors at the gate. See them to the audience chamber.” Hades sets down his quill and pushes up to his intimidating height to head to the chamber in question—an austere and drafty room reserved for private conversations with his fellow gods and artfully designed to honor xenia, while still uncomfortable enough to encourage brevity. Mortal shades and house staff are rarely allowed entry. “And send my wife along as well.”
Achilles bows and strides off to do as he’s told. After his brief infusion of Hades’ power in the arena, he can well imagine the clarity with which his master sees his realm and all that stirs within it. Particularly divine guests at the threshold of his halls, toeing the invisible boundary he placed to prevent gods from entering without his approval. (Shades and other lesser creatures can more or less come and go as they please; he could care less.)
With the grinding scrape of cold iron and stone, Achilles pushes open the House’s gate to behold ...
“Lady Athena, Lord Hermes. Please, come in. Be welcome,” he says after a very brief, shocked pause. He leans on rigid formality to hide his relief at the sight of Hermes safe and well after two months and only one brief letter. This is short lived, quickly replaced by a fresh bout of apprehension; why have he and his sister come to see their uncle?
Once they’ve been ushered to the cavernous audience chamber, Achilles finds Persephone in her garden—with Zagreus—and summons her as well. She smiles, dusts the dirt from her hands, plucks clinging leaves from her peplos and asks her son to continue weeding. Zagreus looks chagrined as he works at a particularly stubborn patch of crabgrass.
After two more short detours—one to task Dusa with preparing guest chambers, another to request food and wine from the chef—and Achilles finally positions himself outside the imposing double doors, ready to receive orders and steer away would-be eavesdroppers. All while he’s desperately straining his own ears to hear snatches of conversation.
“Yes, Lord Hades.”
“There are visitors at the gate. See them to the audience chamber.” Hades sets down his quill and pushes up to his intimidating height to head to the chamber in question—an austere and drafty room reserved for private conversations with his fellow gods and artfully designed to honor xenia, while still uncomfortable enough to encourage brevity. Mortal shades and house staff are rarely allowed entry. “And send my wife along as well.”
Achilles bows and strides off to do as he’s told. After his brief infusion of Hades’ power in the arena, he can well imagine the clarity with which his master sees his realm and all that stirs within it. Particularly divine guests at the threshold of his halls, toeing the invisible boundary he placed to prevent gods from entering without his approval. (Shades and other lesser creatures can more or less come and go as they please; he could care less.)
With the grinding scrape of cold iron and stone, Achilles pushes open the House’s gate to behold ...
“Lady Athena, Lord Hermes. Please, come in. Be welcome,” he says after a very brief, shocked pause. He leans on rigid formality to hide his relief at the sight of Hermes safe and well after two months and only one brief letter. This is short lived, quickly replaced by a fresh bout of apprehension; why have he and his sister come to see their uncle?
Once they’ve been ushered to the cavernous audience chamber, Achilles finds Persephone in her garden—with Zagreus—and summons her as well. She smiles, dusts the dirt from her hands, plucks clinging leaves from her peplos and asks her son to continue weeding. Zagreus looks chagrined as he works at a particularly stubborn patch of crabgrass.
After two more short detours—one to task Dusa with preparing guest chambers, another to request food and wine from the chef—and Achilles finally positions himself outside the imposing double doors, ready to receive orders and steer away would-be eavesdroppers. All while he’s desperately straining his own ears to hear snatches of conversation.
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"Of course, Lady Athena." He's in the middle of rising from a deferential bow when he catches her chilling expression. From eyes like hers, Achilles has no choice but to freeze in place like a shew under the shadow of a stooping owl. So he stays when she approaches, and when the tiny feather comes into view, pinched between her fingers.
The tone in her voice and her frigid scrutiny are somehow magnitudes worse than Apollo's blindingly bright rage. Achilles' mind scrambles for some kind of excuse, but even if he grasped one, he could never hope to speak it convincingly. Nor could he bring himself to lie to the goddess who granted him so much favor in life.
He wishes Chaos would generously open a portal beneath him so he might plummet into the endless, primordial void. But Chaos is not so charitable today and leaves Achilles to his struggle.
"My lady, I—" is all he manages to stammer before he hazards a glance at Hermes. He's the one with the silver tongue and no compunctions about lying.
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"No, Lady Athena, it's not unwelcome in the least," he replies, glad that he can say this with all honest confidence. He allows himself a modest smile and a polite nod to Hermes. "It's a great relief to see your brother well after his long absence."
Does Athena know his part in waking Hermes? Achilles has no clue. If she does, it would be up to certain of her siblings or Hermes himself to tell her. If she does know, will she begin to wonder? It would mark the second time Achilles has gone out of his way to help her brother.
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He keeps the details vague, trying to estimate just how much Hermes might reveal to a friendly, mortal colleague. "Fortunately, he was able to wake from his sleep and has since been in hiding."
Achilles gives a respectful bob of his head and adds, "Forgive me if I speak out of turn, but I do hope this unfortunate matter is resolved so that Lord Hermes may resume his valuable work as a psychopomp. The Underworld suffers in his absence."
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For now, Achilles is deeply grateful for an excuse to leave Athena's oppressive aura and get some fresh air. Or as fresh as it comes in the Underworld. "Of course, Lord Hermes, Lady Athena. I'll leave you to speak in confidence."
He gives a respectful salute with his spear and pushes open the heavy door. "Should you need anything, please call. I'll be posted at the end of the corridor." Before he fully closes it, he pauses and gives a knowing look. "And rest assured, if I see Prince Zagreus, I'll steer him well away."
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He hears the telltale change in tone that signals a conversation wrapping up and feels what? Embarrassed? To hear their affectionate words, especially from Athena. It's far from the first time he's heard gods speak so candidly with one another; his duties find him ignored like any fixture of the house. Standing watch outside closed doors like these, Achilles has heard hushed, loving words between Persephone and Zagreus, or even Persephone and Hades. It leaves him with a lingering film of guilt, like he's stolen their precious words out of the air.
And then Athena emerges, chasing shadows away to the furthest reaches of the hall with her very presence. Or maybe that's just how it seems to his bleary shade's eyes.
"Ah— ... I shall take greater care in future." He blinks back the fresh shock of shame at her warning and veers back into strict formality. "It's a pleasure, Lady Athena—the chance to serve you once again, if only for a moment."
Once the goddess is well out of sight, Achilles waits another dozen breaths before he returns to the door. He's not quite ready to drop protocol—not after what just transpired with Athena, or with Zagreus skulking about—and he gives it a gentle rap with his knuckle. "Lord Hermes? Would you still like my company?"
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Achilles notes the marked change from the bubbly god happily munching on sweets, and immediately wraps an arm around Hermes' shoulders. He coaxes his exhausted weight away from the door to lean against him instead.
"From what little I could hear, those words with your sister sounded fraught." He sets his spear aside yet again as he maneuvers Hermes to a seat. "Care to talk about it?"
Yes, he wants to help Hermes unburden himself, but Achilles is just as anxious to know about Zagreus' exchange with Athena. He might just have to give his student a proper reprimand.
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"But I agree with you. If things go to plan, there's precious little he can do to help." Achilles takes a solemn inhale as he lifts the half-empty amphora. "And if things take a turn for the worse, he's still at a grave disadvantage. He owes so much of his success to your family's generous boons.
"Yes, they've been enough to see him through the Underworld's challenges, but will he still hold his own in a war with established gods?" He pours a fresh cup of wine and offers it to Hermes. "There will be more forgiving times to cut his teeth."
Achilles settles back into his own seat, elbows on his knees, head hanging in thought. "I suppose your sister is accustomed to heroes; we need to be pushed to the brink of breaking if we hope to reach our full potential. Maybe she thinks Zagreus requires a similar trial by fire."
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"And in this case, your uncle's stubbornness works in our favor. Lord Hades would never allow his son to become embroiled in Olympian matters, and while his disapproval has never stopped Zagreus, his mother's just might. The queen will surely have her own objections and the prince will feel their weight."
He shifts a hand to Hermes' knee and gives it an encouraging shake. "If we all make it through this, maybe you can find some legendary exploits for the lad? Something thoroughly challenging."
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Achilles circles the ball of Hermes' knee with an index finger and sighs.
"I'm sorry about the feather. And the detail about your mother. I should have been more vigilant." Athena's words come back to him with a fresh twinge of embarrassment. Not for loving Hermes, no, but for being fool enough to think he could keep it from her.
*groggily emerges from the maw of the holidays*
"I would expect nothing less from the goddess of wisdom. You and I—we've discussed it enough times before: romantic love can inspire us to great deeds and acts of loyalty. Or it can turn us into fools and villains. Paris brought ruin upon Troy. I massacred the Trojans." His face wavers in the tense space between a wistful smile and a pained frown. "Love is a beautiful and terrible madness."
Achilles wonders if Athena was surprised by his wild grief at Patroclus' death. How many heroes have been completely undone by love and the loss thereof? He can't be the first she's seen.
He finally manages a weak smile and bumps his shoulder against Hermes'. "Your sister must find Lady Aphrodite completely baffling."
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"I'm not opposed to explaining this to her myself." He looks down at their clasped hands and gives Hermes an answering squeeze. Athena's earlier fussing over her baby brother is top of mind. "Maybe it's easier to hear from the party she didn't raise from a babe."
Achilles can say this, but his stomach will still twist as he stands before Athena and tries to assemble a thoughtful, reasoned statement as to how and why Hermes has become so important to him. First as a god who shook him out of his vengeful cruelty. Then as a friend who delivered brightness to his afterlife—with smiles and jokes, conversation and stories from beyond the Underworld. Then as a trusted confidant with whom he could share his heart—with all the fears and ugliness it contains. And finally, as a lover to cherish and protect, even if it means defying the very Lord of Olympus.
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"But Zagreus ..." Achilles smears a hand over his face, wiping away his smile. "Funny? To you maybe.
"It was difficult enough when he ran across Pat." And with him, all of Achilles' buried grief and shame. "It turned out to be for the best, like lancing a festering wound, but by the Styx, if it didn't sting."
At least his history with Hermes isn't so fraught. Achilles shakes his head and clasps his hand tighter. "It's as you say, though. One step at a time. Keep your focus firmly on this next one. You need to be sure-footed. There's no room to stumble, love."
Another wan smile pulls his lips and he bumps his head against Hermes'. "And after it's done? All of this other business will seem trifling."
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Achilles' fingers graze against Hermes' feathers, bright and vital. He can't imagine how hiding must chafe at the god, what with his constant urge to go and do and see. What would imprisonment do to him?
"I don't want to see you caged, magpie." As much as he tries to keep his tone light, there's an underlying note of pleading sincerity. "Not an hour would pass before you'd go mad."
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