refusetofight | For @messageforyou

Lyra kind of expects to wake up in the morning and realize everything was a dream. That she was still a foundling with parents who left her in the sea, and her family was still mortal and poor, and she'd still have to figure out how to save all her siblings from lifetimes of crime and miserable poverty.

But she doesn't. For the first time in maybe her whole life, the whole family sleeps past dawn, stomachs full of goose and under warm, heavy wool blankets they bought at the market.

Lyra wakes up with weight on her chest. She opens her eyes to see an orange tomcat with tufted ears, staring at her from his place on top of her. As she looks at him, he starts to purr, low and loud enough to vibrate through the blanket, and she scratches his ears.

"Morning," she whispers softly. The rest of her family is still asleep. "Dad?"

The only reaction the tomcat gives her at the experimental title is twitching his ear and turning to allow her to scratch him better behind them. Hermes is a strange grownup. He almost seems to like being an animal more than a person. Lyra is very curious about him, but she thinks it might take time to get to know him, since he so often has forms that can't talk. But that's okay. She has time.

But gods are very busy. They must be. Because soon, he touches her nose to hers, almost like a kiss, before he leaps to the window sill. She watches him as he blinks a goodbye, leaping out the window into whatever godly duties gods are supposed to do.

Lyra doesn't feel like going back to sleep, or waking up her family. So she wiggles out from her spot between her oldest sister and her youngest brother, brushing off her tunic before sneaking out of the home. Her foster parents promised a new tunic that didn't have goat blood stains on them, but she didn't want to wait for them to wake up before seeing Achilles again.

But he's not there at the mouth of the Temple of Styx. Nor is Cerberus. And it feels like the Underworld is inviting her in with open arms, waiting for a hug like a loving grandparent.

The stones hum pleasantly under her feet as she enters the temple, as if welcoming her back. So does the spongy, loamy green of Elysium as it squishes under her bare feet.

She's about to ask that Elysium lead her to Achilles, but she hesitates, tugging on the edge of her tunic. There's someone else she'd like to see, too. Someone who probably isn't so busy.

"Would you please lead me to Patroclus?"

Elysium shifts, soft and quiet and kind. The land feels kind under her feet. Like it would like to swaddle her if given the chance. A path appears forward.

"Thank you," she says, crouching down to pet the grass before going forward. The path is short, and it takes her to a glade where Patroclus is lying surrounded with strange objects, and he's with...

"I didn't know they let dogs here," Lyra says, forgetting for a moment that she's trying to see if Patroclus hates her and maybe there's better ways to announce her presence. "She looks so cute!"

Patroclus and Méli turn their heads in unison at the interruption, but their reactions couldn’t otherwise be more different. The honey-colored dog leaps to her feet and bounds over to Lyra with panting excitement, tail wagging. She hasn’t seen a child since the hopscotch tournament (and probably one of her favorite days in recent history).

Pat props himself up on an elbow, a brow arched in mild curiosity. He wasn’t expecting to see the girl again so soon. “She’s the only one you’ll find here, outside of Cerberus.”

Méli sniffs and licks Lyra, tantalized by the smell of last night’s goose and the goat’s blood still on her tunic. “If you’re looking for your father, he’s off on an errand. An hour or two, perhaps.”

Pat knows exactly what that errand is, and he’s not particularly pleased with it. Of all the possible mentors for his daughter, Achilles is considering Medea. Why not Chiron or Thetis or nearly anyone else? As usual, Achilles couldn’t be swayed with reason. He only assured Pat that nothing is decided yet—that he’ll speak with her first.

Patroclus assumes that this was Hermes’ questionable idea.

It's a dog! Lyra drops to her knees and accepts Méli's greeting with gusto, grinning as she coos and rubs Méli's fur and kisses her fluffy face. Oh, and she's such a sweet dog too!

"There's only one dog here, and she's yours? Lucky!" Lyra giggles as she's licked, squishing Méli's face with the happy affection of a child. Lyra wishes she had a dog, but her foster parents had always told her that the mutts that wandered the street were better off there because the family certainly couldn't feed them. Maybe that can change now that they don't have to worry about money anymore. "She's such a good girl!"

Aaaaand Lyra is going in for the belly rubs. Méli deserves belly rubs.

It's a fine distraction from the reason why she came here, but she should deal with that, shouldn't she? Like a big girl. "An errand for Mr. Hades? That's okay, I was looking for you instead."

If she'd had more life experience, she'd probably have a graceful way of asking this. She's smart enough to know that adults usually like a little grace when people talk. But her stomach clenches when she thinks about this, and she'd really just like to know if it can stop or if she should figure out moving on. So she looks up from Méli towards Patroclus, frowning a little. "I just wanted to ask--do you not like me anymore? Because I'm Achilles' kid, but not yours?"

She isn't old enough to quite understand why Lady Hera always brings her wrath down upon the children of Zeus' affairs and not Zeus himself, but abstractly, she knows that it makes people really sad and angry when their spouse has an affair with someone else, especially if there's a child. Even if Patroclus and Achilles aren't married, the stories always made it sound like they might as well have been.

Méli revels in this attention, wriggling on her back. Little humans are always so enthusiastic. Patroclus allows himself the ghost of a smile while he watches.

The smile gives way to surprise at Lyra’s abrupt and very blunt question. Of course she would ask a question like that. She’s a child. Achilles’ child. Bold. He pushes himself up to a cross-legged seat.

The question immediately raises painful memories of a childhood spent wondering if (or knowing for certain that) adults hated him. He feels a tug at his heart that she feels compelled to ask at all.

Patroclus shakes his head and says, “Of course not. I would never fault you—or any child for their parentage. None of us choose when or where or to whom we’re born.”

He gives a soft laugh, almost a sigh, and smooths a hand over his beard. Styx, he’s in no way prepared to talk about this.

“I always expected Achilles to have children with someone else.” A woman. Someone Achilles wouldn’t love in the same way. Another Deidameia. “Two men— … Two mortal men cannot make a child together.”

Lyra sighs in soft relief as he confirms he doesn't hate her. That's good. She would have been very sad if he hated her. She likes Patroclus.

But she cocks her head, frowning in thought as she considers what he says. She still rubs Méli's belly as she does.

"But you didn't expect it after you died." That much, she's sure of. There are many things that she's been told she'll only understand when she's older, and romance and the complicated feelings in them are among those things. Eu-Eu told her that it's when you love someone so much that you want them to be your only person, and for you to be their only person, and Lyra hasn't loved anyone so hard that she wants to be the only one they love back. She loves her foster parents, but not so much that she doesn't want them to have other kids, and she loves her siblings, but not so much that she wants to be their only sister.

"And they like each other a lot. I know grownups don't like it when the person they're with likes someone else." She might not get it, but she knows that's a rule. "Our neighbor, Agathe, she didn't like it when her husband went to the brothel a lot. But it was when he said he loved a girl he met there that she slapped him and screamed at him in the market in front of everyone."

Lyra remembers vividly how Agathe screamed at her husband, how he shoved her away and yelled back, and how much she cried. It seemed so mean of her husband to make her cry like that. She wonders if her fathers have made Patroclus feel like Agathe, and she feels a pinch of guilt in her chest at the thought that she might make him feel like that too.

He silently nods, lips a flat line. No, he certainly didn’t expect this. Not after they’d died. He thought Neoptolemus would be Achilles’ only child, and an unfortunate one at that.

“Whatever hurt Achilles has caused me, don’t worry yourself, child. It’s still in no way your fault,” he repeats, insistent. “I know you’ll make him happy and proud.”

Pat begins gathering up Méli’s treasures into a neat pile and the dog stops writhing to watch the movement of his hands with keen interest. Pat picks up a bone—a cast-off from a feast table somewhere—and tosses it to Méli. “But you’re right. It does hurt. When you love someone so much, they can bring you both the greatest joy and the worst pain.”

Lyra nods solemnly in thought. She appreciates that Patroclus gives her the respect of telling the truth. She'd be frustrated if he lied and said it didn't hurt, when she can tell it does.

"My foster mother says I'll understand when I'm older. I don't really know how I will, though. I don't know if I'd keep loving someone if they hurt me. I mean, really hurt, not like when my brother pushes me or makes fun."

The kind of hurt that drives a grown woman to slap and curse her husband in public, and then cry for days after. Lyra's not sure anyone's ever hurt her that much.

She scratches Méli's back as she catches the bone, but she's not quite as enthusiastic anymore, thinking hard as she is about complicated adult feelings she doesn't quite understand.

"It's not my fault I was born," she says, as if making a decision, "and it's not my fault that I'm not yours. But that doesn't mean I don't make you sad. I can stay away from you, if it'd feel better."

Lyra would be sad that she couldn't spend time with Patroclus, but she'd be sadder to think that she hurt him by being around. He's nice to her, and he deserves a peaceful death.

“Love is a powerful thing,” Patroclus says grimly. Especially after being deprived of it for so long. “I hope you only know its joys.”

Lyra’s blunt, astute questions remind him of Achilles when he was a boy, but this thoughtful offer is much more foreign behavior. Her humble upbringing, with no notion of her divinity, must have taught her greater regard for others.

“No,” Patroclus says quickly. He can’t bear the thought of being cut off from another part of Achilles’ life. Especially one so precious. “Find me anytime you like. I have few visitors.”

Mostly just Zagreus and Achilles, or the odd veteran of Troy who seeks him out. Patroclus would sooner speak with an enthusiastic child than a boastful war hero.

“And Méli seems very fond of you,” he adds, with a faint smile. On cue, the dog happily clacks her teeth against the bone, daring Lyra to take it from her.

The vehemence of his answer is surprising, but reassuring. "That's good. I like you. I'd've been sad if you didn't want to see me anymore."

Méli's antics provoke a smile, and Lyra happily takes one end of the bone, tugging it as if meaning to take it away. Lyra loves playing tug with dogs, even though she knows that she has to let them win or else it gets mean.

And it also occurs to her that few visitors here makes it seem... lonely. She wonders if Patroclus is lonely. She considers asking, but she probably shouldn't. Grownups don't usually like questions like that.

"I was a little scared when they started talking to me," she confesses, tugging Méli's bone. "I thought maybe they'd say Zeus was my dad. I'm glad they didn't, because the stories make him sound like a really bad dad to everyone. I probably shouldn't say that since he's my grandfather, I guess, but the stories make him sound like a bad granddad too."

Like the story of Iphigenia, sacrificed so Agamemnon could sail to Troy with his army to recapture Helen. It seems like very bad dad behavior to ignore his granddaughter being killed and his daughter being kidnapped, then kidnapped again. She can't imagine her foster father letting that happen to her without a fight, and he's an old man with hurting joints, not a god.

“The stories of Zeus are true, to hear Achilles and others tell it.” Achilles has told him plenty. “You and everyone else are safe from him, though. He’s gone to the stars.”

Pat idly plucks a white flower from the ground cover and rolls its stem between his thumb and forefinger. “You’re fortunate. Achilles is a fine father. And Hermes is not the worst of the gods, near as I can tell. He seems … kind enough.”

More than kind, really. Achilles wouldn’t love someone who was mean or cruel—or so Pat likes to think. It seems Hermes is interested and present for his child, which is more than most gods can say. The Olympians have truly set a low bar for parenthood.

“Are you still worried?”

Gone to the stars? That explains why Hermes doesn't want to talk about Zeus. Lyra thinks she'd be sad about talking about it if her dads went away forever into the sky. And don't the stories say that Hermes' mom was a Pleiad, and she went to the stars too?

"I'm not worried anymore. Achilles and Hermes seem nice. And they want to take care of me. Hermes blessed my foster family, so they'll never have to worry about anything anymore. And he said good morning to me as a cat today, and he let me scratch his ears."

Probably not the sort of thing that most kids can say about their parents, but Lyra thinks it's pretty neat that her father can turn into animals and lets her pet him.

She hums, scratching Méli behind the ears as she thinks.

"It must be sad to be a god, and to have both your parents go away forever," Lyra says idly, as if the observation is obvious. "Maybe that's why Hermes is so sad."

She says that as if it's obvious too. It's obvious to her. Hermes is very good at being silly and charming and kind, but she remembers how his eyes welled when she asked why he left her in the sea, and she sees how he hides behind animal shapes. He's sad and scared, even if he's good at being cheerful while he's sad and scared. Lyra has met lots of grownups like that.

If Hermes is already improving Lyra’s life, maybe his fears were unfounded. Still, the novelty might wear off and Hermes will visit her less, or leave her to fend for herself. Achilles would have no way to fill in if Hermes proves absent. And this poor child …

Then he remembers Hermes’ accusation: he’s determined to see the worst in me. Pat remembers the pain in his face, his voice. It struck him as vulnerable and mortal. So unlike a god.

And if Hermes was truly upset at him, why didn’t he lash out? If he wanted Achilles to himself, why not use his trickery to banish Patroclus to the depths of Tartarus? Maybe for the same reason that Lyra seems to think he’s sad to lose Zeus. Hermes really is that tender.

Patroclus frowns. “Zeus was not kind to him. I know that much. He should be pleased his father can’t hurt him. Or you.” Or Achilles.

"I think he's happy about that." Lyra shrugs as she contemplates it. Yes, she thinks that Hermes was happy like she was that there was no need to worry. "But people can be happy and sad at the same time. Zeus was still his dad, even if he was a bad dad, and it's sad when dads go away."

Lyra pauses in her doggy play, humming softly in thought as she looks up towards Ixion. She wonders if Ixion is still in pain, or if being on fire just feels normal after a while. She wonders if Hermes ever thought Zeus might set him on fire too.

"I'm lucky. I get three dads. A foster dad, a hero dad, and a god dad. And I even have a foster mum." Even if her family isn't traditional, even if she can't be tucked into bed at night by her fathers, even if she has to sneak around and lie and break rules to see them--she's lucky. "And they're all nice to me, and they like me, and none of them will go away forever. And Hermes doesn't even have stories about him doing really mean things to people or his kids or anything, like all the other gods. His stories are usually just funny, or helping heroes. So that seems like a good dad to have."

A good dad that won't do things like hang her from the ceiling of the Underworld and set her on fire so everyone can see her agony forever.

Is Patroclus sad that he never saw Menoetius again? If he digs deep enough, he might find some sadness, but it’s entirely borne out of grief for the relationship they never had. He’d feel that regardless of whether he saw his father again or not.

He sets aside his own pain to smile at Lyra’s wealth of fathers. It’s good to know she’ll grow up much like Achilles did—adored and doted on. “You’re very fortunate, indeed. I’m glad they found you, little stranger.”

Méli paws at Lyra’s arm impatiently and gives a petulant whine. Pat tries to distract her by patting the half-chewed sandal against the ground. “You know, your other grandfather will be very happy to meet you. He’s house guard far below in Tartarus—he assumed your father’s former post.”

Lyra shuffles closer to Patroclus, bold now that he's confirmed he doesn't want her to go away, and she flops down to put her head in his lap before patting her stomach, inviting Méli to put her head down and be pet. There's no real consideration that Patroclus may want her company but not her contact; Lyra is a girl who wants physical contact, and won't let little things like social mores get in her way.

(After all, if she can have three dads, why can't she have an uncle too? An uncle besides her divine uncles. Maybe it makes Lyra greedy, but she doesn't mind being a little greedy.)

"I'd like to meet Peleus. But I don't think I could go all the way down past Tartarus. I think Tartarus would be crankier than Elysium, and probably wouldn't let me walk around so easily. You have to be cranky if you put all your effort into making yourself unpleasant for the people living in you." She looks up at Patroclus, blinking in open curiosity. "What's he like? You grew up in Phthia, right?"

As she asks, she reaches for one of his hands, pressing his palm against her cheek as if to show him what kind of affection she likes. She likes it when grownups she likes touch her face or her hair. ~~Almost like preening.~~

It takes Patroclus a moment before his discomfort gives way to amusement. This also has echoes of Achilles—so at ease when it comes to physical contact. He runs a thumb against Lyra’s cheek before combing fingers through her hair. Those familiar, golden curls are replicated so perfectly.

“You think Tartarus would be as ill-tempered as the master who lives there? That’s probably a safe guess,” he laughs, then falls quiet as he decides how best to describe Lyra’s grandfather.

“Peleus is a very generous man. He took in many sons who were not well-loved by their fathers—myself among them.” True, many of those castoff sons would be trained as Myrmidons, but that was still more glory and purpose than they might have found if their fathers had decided to keep them.

“He gave me a fine home and treated me as if I was his own flesh and blood.” Particularly when he and Achilles became inseparable. “When we were growing up, he always loved to entertain guests—old brothers in arms from the Argo, strangers, travelers, merchants—anyone who would share a cup of wine, a warm meal, and exchange a good story.”

Pat continues gingerly arranging Lyra’s curls and adds, “Achilles will arrange for you to meet him, I’m certain, maybe with the help of your other father.”

Lyra likes Patroclus' laugh. She has a feeling he doesn't laugh much, and she knows very well that laughing is really important for people. It's good for them. And she likes it when he pets her hair, too.

"He sounds really nice. I hope I get to meet him soon."

Lyra folds her hands on her stomach, blinking up at Patroclus' face. "Maybe you can all visit me for Anthesteria. It's supposed to be soon. But you'll have to be careful not to tell people Achilles is my dad. He and Hermes are very scared that people will find out, and then Neoptolemus will want to take me in."

Neoptolemus, her brother. The more she thinks about him, the more curious she is, even though the stories make him sound very scary and like the sort of brother she probably shouldn't meet. She can't help but wonder what he's like, though, and if he's anything like their shared father.

"I'm supposed to tell people that Apollo is my dad instead, because people are much more scared of Apollo than they're scared of Hermes, and Neoptolemus won't come for me if he doesn't know I'm his sister."

“Yes, they would happily visit you.” Pat is careful not to make any promises for himself. Achilles and other shades have regularly left the Underworld during Anthesteria, but in spite of Achilles’ urging, Patroclus has sat it out every year. He’s always thought seeing the surface and life marching on would make him feel worse.

The tiny mote of his good mood evaporates at the mention of Neoptolemus. He’s heard the stories and spent long hours trying to soothe Achilles’ guilt. This is precisely why Pat was so difficult with Hermes; he won’t watch Achilles lose another child.

“That’s very wise. Your half-brother is a cruel man.” Neoptolemus inherited all of the worst parts of Achilles, then the world forged him into an even more brutal weapon. Pat doesn’t want to so much as think about Lyra falling into his custody. “I’ll keep your secret very safe. You’re a daughter of Apollo, even if he’s my least favorite of the gods.”

To put it mildly.

Méli nuzzles her nose under Lyra’s hands, snuffling and sneezing in a petition for more pets. Pat reaches down to scratch the soft fur behind her ear and sighs. “Your father used to get so cross with me. I’d let all of the dogs pile into our bed at night. There was no room left for him, he said.”

Lyra notices that Patroclus doesn't promise himself visiting, but that's okay. She thinks she can convince him, if she asks really nicely. Usually she's pretty good at convincing grownups.

"That's a silly thing to be mad about. He should've just gotten a bigger bed." Lyra pets Méli's head, scratching her nails in the fluffy fur. Méli's really a good girl.

Lyra wonders about Neoptolemus. She wonders if he knows that everyone's scared of him, and if he knew, if it'd make him happy or sad. Lots of people like it when people they don't like are scared of them, but Lyra thinks she'd be sad if her own father was scared of letting her know she had a sister.

Neoptolemus isn't the only one she wonders about.

"Have you ever met Apollo? Or any of the other gods?" Nestled in the peaceful glade of Elysium, head in Patroclus' lap and a dog nuzzling her hands, it's hard to remember that people should also be scared of the gods. "I've only met Hermes. He's a lot friendlier and sillier than I imagined gods to be. Achilles said they're all very different."

“That’s exactly what I told him. And he never did, so I think he liked the dogs’ close company more than he let on.”

Pat scrubs a smudge of dirt from Lyra’s forehead with the corner of his cloak. He forgot just how filthy children can get. Or maybe he never knew. He hasn’t been around very many children since he was one himself.

He cocks his head at her question, frowning.

“I only ever glimpsed Apollo. That was when he took my wits and left me to die,” he says blandly. “Before that, I’d only met Thetis. And since then, I’ve met more gods. Mostly those from the Underworld, but a few Olympians.”

Hermes of course, as well as Hebe and a handful of others during Ares’ raid on the Underworld.

“The prince visits regularly.” It occurs to him that Zagreus isn’t a household name among mortals (yet), and he explains: “Lord Hades and Lady Persephone’s son, Zagreus. Achilles tutored him for years. He might be one of the kinder gods I’ve met.”

Lyra doesn't react much when Patroclus mentions Apollo killing him. Right, yes, the stories said that, didn't they? It's kind of weird that her uncle killed her dad and Patroclus. She wonders if Apollo ever said sorry. It's not nice to kill people, but she's not sure if gods really say sorry even when they do mean things.

"Hades and Persephone had a baby? That's nice. Maybe I'll meet him someday. We must be... first cousins once removed?" She always wondered why there weren't stories of children of Hades and Persephone, since they were married. Maybe it's only because they stay in the Underworld.

Lyra allows Pat to clean her face. It's the sort of thing adults do. She thinks it's their way of showing they care sometimes.

"What's Thetis like? Do you think she'd like to meet me one day?"

“You’ll meet him before long. Achilles would never admit it, but Zagreus might as well be his own son.” Maybe even a way to atone for Neoptolemus, but Pat isn’t about to say that out loud.

“Thetis …” Pat hums. He drops the corner of his cloak and resumes idly combing Lyra’s hair. His hands are well practiced at this. It’s comforting. It helps him think. “I think the only mortal she ever cared for was Achilles. She certainly didn’t like me.”

He exhales at the memory of the contempt in the goddess’ eyes. “I only ever saw that side of her. Intimidating. Cold. But she was fiercely protective of Achilles. She loved him like any mother would.”

Patroclus looks down at Lyra, almost the spitting image of Achilles. “I think she would love you just as well.”

"I have another brother? I'm very lucky, then," Lyra says confidently. She's just discovering so many new family members. She's so excited to get to know them.

She listens to Pat's description of Thetis curiously. The stories don't really go into much detail about her, besides that all the gods thought she was very pretty, and she wanted her son to be immortal. It makes sense with what Patroclus says about her.

"I think... if I'd always be on the surface, I'd really want my family to be on the surface forever with me, too," she says, imagining a goddess bent in protection over her golden-haired father. "I think I'd be really scared if my family ever loved someone enough to not want to be on the surface with me forever."

She doesn't see any other reason why Thetis would be mean to Patroclus. He's very nice. And he pets hair well. But also, he's mortal, and if Achilles fell in love with him, that meant there was something that might matter more than immortality.

"I don't want to live forever. I'd be very sad if everyone I loved went to the Underworld, and I couldn't follow."

The depth of Lyra's intelligence, the real uncanny edge that unsettles the mortals she's grown up with, is how well she understands people already. At an age where her peers barely comprehend that other people have their own distinct lives separate from themselves, Lyra can see through adults into their feelings and hurts. The sort of skill that helped Hermes once upon a time when he tricked Hera into accepting him as an infant.

Pat continues to be surprised by her strange maturity. Achilles never had this kind of insight into people. He certainly developed more empathy over time, but not to this depth.

“Yes, I can hardly blame her for being unkind. She knew his fate. She spent his life in constant vigilance.” And it must have cast a pall over the short time she had with him, Pat suspects.

“I’m not sure I would enjoy immortality, either.” It’s still very unnerving for a child her age to speak so casually about death, but to be fair, she was born to a shade and a psychopomp. “You’re far too young to concern yourself with such things. You’ll have a good, long life with your divine blood and two strong fathers looking out for your safety.”

Méli decides to get in on this grooming and resumes licking Lyra’s face and neck. The parts of her that still taste like goose.

Lyra laughs a big laugh that scrunches her nose as Méli licks her neck and face. "Méli! That tickles!"

She giggles, hugging the dog and scratching her nails into her fur. Oh, what a good dog! A good cuddly dog! Lyra will plead with her foster parents to let her take one in now that they have gold. Maybe they'll let her.

She smiles bright up at Patroclus, eyes gleaming with excitement. "I'll have a fun life. And then I'll have a fun afterlife. I have so many things to look forward to."

She knows most people see death as a grim topic of discussion, but she never has. It seems as natural to her as talking about one day traveling, or having babies, or having grandbabies. Another phase of her existence that she knows that she'll love when she gets to it, but is more than happy to enjoy what she has now.

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject