refusetofight | For @messageforyou

For @messageforyou

Achilles arrives at the Temple of Styx well before the appointed time. This is equal parts because it’s so difficult to judge time in the Underworld and because he’s determined not to be late to one of the most important meetings of his afterlife. … Or his life for that matter.

He approaches the edge of the Underworld—as close as he can before he begins to feel the insistent tug on his shade. By now, he’s discovered the exact stones that mark the border—unassuming at a glance, but should he step past, he knows he’ll feel the pull, like a strong ocean current willing him back to the depths.

So he stands just clear of this invisible delineation, hands clasped behind his back, and gazes past to what little he can glimpse of the surface. The slash of sun is too bright for his eyes, accustomed as they are to Ixion’s lesser light. The wind shifts, and he breathes in the pungent smell of growth, the distant tang of the Aegean Sea.

It brings to mind what Hermes said about Lyra’s birth: she was formed in the ocean. Was she tucked away in the midnight depths? Swaddled safe in a forest of kelp? Or floating free in the tides, pushed and pulled in meandering currents until she was finally washed upon the shore?

He wishes he could have been there to receive her that day—to lift her from the surf and sand, as small and precious as the beach’s scattered shells and wet, jewel-bright stones. Achilles entertains himself this way: imagining her early days, her first steps, her child’s adventures, her clever eyes examining each new thing the world offers.

Each shifting shadow, each rustle past the temple’s gate stirs a fresh flutter in his chest. It’s not long before his impatience and eagerness is fit to rival Hermes’. He periodically paces to the opposite side of the gate, as if it might provide a better vantage to spot her approach.

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“She also needs to hear about how brave you were. You saved the Underworld from irreparable damage. You freed so many shades from their suffering at Ares’ hands. You’ve delivered peace to Olympus.” Achilles presses a kiss to Hermes’ temple. “And now you’re a father to a wonderful daughter.”

Achilles sets aside the lyre so he can shift closer. “I know she‘ll be proud of you. I’m proud of you, love.”

It would have been easy for Hermes to keep his head down and maintain the status quo for centuries on end. Perform his duties, keep Zeus happy, turn a blind eye to the suffering of his kin. But he stood up for what was right, against more powerful gods and frightening odds. Achilles couldn’t respect him more.

Hermes huffs a breathy laugh, sipping from his wine before tucking his head in the crook of Achilles' neck. "I should ask you to tell the story. You remember me as so much more heroic than I do."

Hermes remembers himself as a coward. A coward who turned a blind eye to his father's cruelty until it was his turn under the lash, and only then did he upend all of Greece so he could live without his father's threat hanging over him. And then he didn't handle the obvious threat of Ares fast enough, and so an unheard number of mortals died in a torturous way and their shades were tormented. But Achilles always sees the best in him, even when he can't see it himself.

"I think she'd like you. She seems to like people who I like." But maybe that's just a mom thing, liking the people who have been good to her son when she wasn't around for him. "And I think she'd probably like Lyra. Maybe it'd be nice to have a do-over. And daughters are less scary than sons."

Hermes has thought about more than once how his mother likely wouldn't have recoiled so much from him if he'd been born a girl. He might have been able to have a mother then. But Zeus likely would have discarded him as uninteresting far faster, and if he wasn't clever, Zeus would have married him off to someone as a gift like he did to Hebe, to Thetis, to Aphrodite, to so many goddesses.

“I would happily tell it,” Achilles says, voice still rich with pride. “In fact, I should make a song of it. Such deeds are worthy of bards.”

He nuzzles his nose into Hermes’ hair, breathing in his smell—fresh and bright like the sun dawning on a new day of travel. It’s reassuring to hear him speak more optimistically about his mother. Maybe Lyra can help soothe the scars left by Zeus. “If Maia is anything like you, I’m certain to like her just as well.”

As far as Achilles can tell, Hermes inherited more traits from his mother’s line: Atlas’ tenacity and endurance, Prometheus’ intelligence. Perhaps some of his kindness comes from Maia. “Lyra might give her a taste of the years she missed with you.”

Hermes smiles, curling his fingers in Achilles' cloak affectionately. "If you wrote a song, I'd love to hear it, my darling."

It's one thing to hear regular mortals shout his praises, but another to hear it from someone who actually knows him. Him and all his messy foibles and indignities and quirks. It makes it easier for Hermes to believe that it's about him, and not about all the power he has over everyday mortals.

"The years she missed out on were full of mischief, so I'm sure she'll be exhausted keeping up with any of that," Hermes says with a laugh. "But at least Lyra can't fly, so she should be easier to wrangle. No need to call in Artemis with her honeypot to catch a rogue fledgling again."

It occurs to Hermes that Artemis may actually be interested in Lyra, though she's rarely interested in their mortal relatives (getting attached leads to too much heartache, really). But Artemis has a weakness for strong-willed, independent girls, and it's not like Hermes will nag Artemis about getting married if she shows her face around his daughter. Maybe that'd be good for Lyra, all told.

"I know that there's good reason to be worried about how my family will act--" Good reason for Patroclus to be worried, not that Hermes really wants to bring him up and the disaster yesterday. "--But I really think all the Olympians will treat her well, and not be too irresponsible with gift-giving. Except maybe Aphrodite. I'll talk to her about boundaries." (And he'll remind her of how much blackmail material he has if she disrespects them.)

Achilles has written a handful of songs in his lifetime—mostly for Patroclus—but he might have to consult Orpheus for help this time. There’s quite a lot to cover.

“Your mother might appreciate the mischief—I’ve no idea what it’s like among the stars, but it strikes me as very quiet. Perhaps a bit too peaceful.” If Maia shares even a fraction of Hermes’ restlessness, that might be maddening.

“And if your family treats Lyra anything like Zagreus, I’m not terribly worried. And I trust you to keep them from meddling overmuch.” A bit of friendly advice or an occasional blessing to help her on her way is fine. Achilles slings his arms around Hermes to clasp hands at his waist and says, softly, “The Olympians who might have worried me the most are gone, thankfully.”

The implication is clear: Zeus in particular. No doubt he’d feel entitled to dictate his granddaughter’s fate—hand her off as a coveted prize to some king who earned his favor.

Hermes hums softly. "I feel the same way." That he's not terribly worried about his siblings, and that the people he would've been most worried about are gone now. He would have never been able to trust Ares or Zeus near Lyra, and unlike with Ares, Hermes would be powerless to stop Zeus from doing whatever he wanted.

Hermes sighs softly, contemplating how much fear of his father commanded his life. The main reason he avoided children was because of him, now that he thinks on it.

"If Pop had still been around, I don't think I would've told anyone who she was, not even her. Might've found some lesser god to claim her instead." Just under the radar enough to not interest Zeus, but still providing her a fraction of the protection and status that's her birthright. And it'd break Hermes' heart to do it, and he'd never break his silence.

But he doesn't have to worry about that. He can openly be her father. He's not going to have Ares threatening her in a fit of pique, or Zeus casually deciding who to gift her to, or Hera possibly falling into a fit of destructive jealousy to see a grandchild of Zeus' infidelity happy. He doesn't have to worry. It's a weird feeling.

“I’m so grateful that she can be ours without worry,” he sighs, pressing another kiss to Hermes’ temple. This interim secrecy is bad enough; Achilles can’t imagine keeping the truth hidden for Lyra’s entire life.

“Will you tell the rest of Olympus immediately?” As far as Achilles knows, only Apollo and Dionysus are aware of Lyra. Though … he gets the feeling that Dionysus might be a little careless with that information. “Or only a select few?”

He winces. That means revealing something else, too. “There are still some who don’t know about us, aren’t there?”

Achilles sorts through the list in his head. Really most of them know about their relationship by now: Apollo, Athena, Dionysus, Aphrodite, Hebe, Hephaestus …

"Um..." Hermes frowns, looking up at the ceiling of Elysium as he counts off the various Olympians that already know about them in his head. "Artemis doesn't know, unless Apollo already told her, but she wouldn't care either way. Uncle Poseidon doesn't know, but I don't think he'd care either. Or Aunt Demeter, and Auntie Hestia is probably only pretending not to know for our benefit..."

Hermes gives a shrug after going through his internal Rolodex of Olympians. "No, I don't think any of them would care. But Uncle Poseidon might let something slip to Uncle Hades because he's terrible at tact."

And Hermes would prefer that Hades not know, but he's not desperate to keep the secret anymore either. With Achilles working more for psychopomps than for Hades himself, there's not much room to object, and Hermes honestly thinks at this point it would just be normal fodder for his uncle to be grumpy with him. And Hades is grumpy without any provocation, so it wouldn't be much of a change.

"I don't know if I really want to tell everyone, but the news has already made it to gossipy members of the family." Hebe and Dionysus. It's made it to Hebe and Dionysus.

“We should tell Lord Hades ourselves. About us, in any case,” Achilles says with a decisive abruptness. “Far better to hear it from us than second hand from Lord Poseidon.”

And Achilles can see Hades being exceptionally cross if he learns that everyone else knew about this before he did. This information would undermine his sense of order and control over his realm and subjects.

He hums, conflicted, and rests his head against Hermes’. “Lyra, though. I’m not certain.”

Shades becoming romantically entangled with gods is one thing, but shades having children is so far beyond the natural order, he’s not sure what Hades might do in response.

Hermes grimaces, but he can’t argue with the logic. As unpleasant as the thought of confessing to Hades is, it’d be much worse for him to find out that all of Olympus knew before him and hearing it from his brother.

“If we confess the affair, we ought to confess to Lyra too. I doubt the gossip will escape him for long, and I also doubt that she’ll respect the borders of the Underworld as much as she should.” She reminds him of himself when he was young, and he didn’t exactly do as told all the time when adults wanted him to. “I think it’d help to know that it was the earth that saw fit to form a child and not something I set out to do, but not by much.”

Hermes still intends to gloss over the part where he stole a shade from the underworld for a romantic ocean date, but it’ll be hard to hide an entire child from his uncle.

“I know he won’t be happy about it, but will he be angry enough to do something other than yell?” Hermes squeezes Achilles’ hand, frowning in thought. He knows that if his uncle is in a rational state of mind, he’d know that this affair isn’t worth retaliating against his quickest psychopomp and loyal advocate for the Underworld in Olympus. Hermes did, after all, keep the secret of Persephone’s marriage and then subsequent departure from the Underworld from Demeter at great personal risk, and averted war in doing so. He’s proven his loyalty.

But Hades is prideful just as his brothers are, and he’s prone to thinking the worst of people, especially children of Zeus. Hermes isn’t sure that Hades might be offended enough by the disrespect to retaliate against his better judgment.

“He might reinforce the realm’s boundaries against Lyra. Or forbid me from visiting her entirely.” If Hades was a mortal lord, Achilles would easily subvert his will, but Hades is the son of Titans and has the power to bind his shade in any number of ways.

Yes, he does have allies in Zagreus, Nyx, and others in the House, but he’s not keen on dragging them into his affairs, or causing strife in his Master’s realm. Achilles prefers to fight his own battles.

He rubs the coarse pads of his fingers over Hermes’ hands. Maybe the god of diplomacy has some leverage? “Do you believe this is something you can negotiate?”

Hermes guns softly, closing his eyes. His pupils dart under the lids as he thinks, laying out what he knows of his uncle, what he knows of his leverage, what he knows of their shared history.

His uncle doesn’t respond well to arrogant grandstanding, or threats, or confrontation. His uncle is a hard shell of a man, most at home when standing against resistance.

What few people give him credit for is that he’s fair-minded. Rules matter to him, but so does honoring debt and reciprocating kindness in kind. Maybe if Hermes leads with that…

“I have served the Underworld faithfully since I was a child. I’ve never asked for anything in return—not recognition, not a place in the House, not protection, not the resurrection of beloved mortals, not boons.” Not even protection from his father, though he suspects that Hades was at least somewhat aware of what Zeus’ children suffered. “This is the only thing I would have ever asked of him for myself. The only repayment for thousands of years of service.”

Hermes wants Achilles to know his daughter, and for Lyra to know him. That’s what Hermes asks of Hades. And he knows intimately that Hades has given more for much less.

Achilles knows his master decently well. He’s not unreasonable—he’s not Zeus—but he still has a tendency to be inflexible. The certainty and permanence of death, Achilles understands, needs to be rigidly guarded. Few gods would be suited to such a task.

But Achilles dares to hope Hermes is right. He’s delivered shades with utmost efficiency and honored his uncle’s privacy. Not to mention he thwarted Ares’ assault on the Underworld.

“Mmm. He might see reason in that, if we approach at the right time and with proper deference.” He lightly trails his fingers up and down Hermes’ forearms. “The House is nearly mended, and the backlog of shades is much reduced. His mood should be vastly improved.”

A part of Hermes is afraid. Afraid that Hades isn't so different from his brother, and like Zeus, will take Hermes for granted and toss him aside when he dares to ask for something for himself. He's afraid that Hades will hold Hermes' happiness in the same low regard, and only ever care about what Hermes does.

But if he wants to be given the benefit of the doubt, he should give the benefit of the doubt to Hades, too. And if there's any hope in guaranteeing Achilles' ability to see Lyra for her whole living life, it's in negotiating with Hades before he learns of her through the grapevine.

"I'll finish off the backlog," Hermes says, cupping Achilles' face in his hands before planting a slow, savoring kiss to his mouth. "Then I'll talk to my uncle. And whatever he says, we'll figure something out, okay? You'll still know her."

Even if, worst case scenario, Achilles is forbidden from ever speaking to her... well, Hermes is really good at smuggling letters. It's his thing. They'll figure something out.

Achilles bobs into the kiss with a pleased hum. “That’s a fine idea, love. Take some extra time to help him with his work. Progress and efficiency always puts Hades in a more receptive mood. Relatively speaking.”

And if that doesn’t work? Maybe it’s time to call in favors. Achilles tips his head and lowers his voice to whisper conspiratorially in Hermes’ ear. “All else fails, Lady Nyx might assist us. Her veil of darkness hides many things from Lord Hades’ sight.”

Mother Night has her own claim to the realm, and importantly, she and Achilles partnered well in reuniting Zagreus with his mother. Nyx might be sympathetic to Achilles’ plight with his own child.

Hermes scrunches his nose with his smile, squeezing Achilles affectionately. “I’m rubbing off on you, darling. Favors owed are for exactly these sorts of situations.”

And Hermes can conceivably ask Charon for his own help. Charon is a force unto himself in the Underworld, working tirelessly without instruction and largely independent of the House. There are strings he can pull, and he’ll pull them if Hermes asks, even on behalf of another lover.

“Hades is the lord of this realm, but he’s not its most powerful force, and he knows it.” The fact that Elysium itself accepted Lyra gladly is a sure sign that the Underworld itself likes her company. That holds its own sway. “I’ll do my best to negotiate with him. But some tricks and strings pulled are excellent backup options.”

“You’ve taught me well,” Achilles laughs, relieved. It will be good to finally come clean with Hades, all the better with backup plans in place.

“We have much to do, don’t we?” He runs down the mental list so far: speak with both of their mothers, Medea, Hades … and Achilles still needs to work through problems with Patroclus. It’s good to be busy, though, particularly when it’s for the benefit of his child.

His eyes wander over the krater of wine, realizes it’s still mostly full and he clucks his tongue. “We’ve spent far too much time discussing responsibilities and too little celebrating. Look—we’ve barely touched the wine. Your brother would be sorely disappointed.”

Hermes laughs, nose scrunching. "You're right, he would be. Nothing makes him sadder than a wasted chance to drink." He winks before draining his cup, pressing a wine-soaked kiss to Achilles' lips.

"We have a plan. We'll get to it tomorrow." Hermes reaches for Achilles' set aside cup, refilling it before offering it to his lover. "Tonight, we celebrate. We have a clever, brave daughter, and now we can get to know her."

And they have this daughter with someone they love. Not everyone can say such in Greece. Not everyone can say such in Olympus, really. But they can say it this time.

Achilles takes the offered cup and quaffs it, throat bobbing. He quickly realizes that this wine is heady enough to make even a sturdy hero’s shade tipsy. Hermes really got the good stuff.

Now Dionysus would be very pleased.

“Tomorrow,” Achilles agrees, rocking into Hermes to pepper kisses along his jaw and neck. It’s not often that he defers responsibilities, but this is a special occasion.

He sighs and dances his fingers over the curve of Hermes’ wing, warm and soft. “I love you, magpie, and I love our unexpected little fledgling.”

Hermes giggles as Achilles' lips tickle his neck, turning his head to give Achilles more room to kiss. He stretches his wing into Achilles' hand, toying with Achilles' belt. "I love you too, darling. And I'm excited for this fledgling. I think fatherhood might be a fun adventure."

Hermes isn't one to throw around the word 'love' lightly--it took Achilles defying his father on his behalf three times before he was willing to say it out loud, and he's only really talked to Lyra once--but it's already big for him to be excited about her instead of just anxious and dreading any attempt at being her father.

"And I'm excited to go on this adventure with you." For all the complications with Hades and Medea and Apollo and Patroclus, Hermes is still happy that of all people to share this scary and exciting experience with, he gets to do it with the man that makes him feel so courageous.

The hesitance to say love doesn’t escape Achilles’ notice, but it doesn’t bother him, either. Hermes loves at his own speed, and he’s come a long way since his previous panic. Excitement will do just fine.

Achilles sighs contentedly, warmed by the buzz of wine suffusing his shade. He splays his fingers across Hermes’ stretched wing, still every bit as lovely as when he first laid eyes on them.

“Of all our adventures—” Defying Zeus, delving into dreams, battling Ares … “—this promises to be the best yet.”

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