refusetofight | For @messageforyou

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.

Lyra’s optimism is infectious, and Pat cautiously allows himself some joy at her laughter. His beard bristles around a smile. “If you truly want a good life, you’d best get a dog. Or better yet, several.”

He joins in giving Méli some solid scritches; the dog couldn’t be any happier right now. “If anyone objects—your father included—I’ll have a word with them.”

Patroclus sighs wistfully. He feels curiously at ease opening up to Lyra. Is it because she’s a child, so devoid of any judgment? Or because she has that strange insight? “That might be what I miss most about the surface—the animals. Please enjoy them while you can, Lyra. There are precious few of them in the Underworld.”

Lyra listens, and she nods with wide-eyed solemnity. She decides she likes Patroclus' smile too. It warms his eyes. "I'll enjoy them. Promise."

It's not an onerous promise. Lyra likes animals. Especially dogs and cats. Dogs and cats are very good animals. And now she has a soft spot for hummingbirds, who are also very good animals. She'd also be sad if she couldn't see as many as she usually does.

"If there aren't supposed to be animals down here, how did Méli get here?" she asks, scratching Méli behind the ears.

Patroclus frowns at the question and scratches at his beard. “I— Hm. I don’t know.”

In all the quiet time to think, Pat’s wondered about Méli before: that she’s a fluke. Or maybe some arrangement Achilles made using his influence at the House. It wouldn’t be the first time Achilles tried to smooth over a disagreement by giving him a dog.

“All this time, I haven’t questioned it.” As if doing so might cause her to disappear. Pat can’t stand the thought of wandering the glades without her by his side. “Would Elysium tell you if you asked?”

Lyra makes a curious noise in the back of her throat. How strange, that Méli could sneak down here without anyone knowing how. Or perhaps someone does.

She moves her eyes from Patroclus' face to the ceiling of Elysium. "Elysium, how did Méli get here? Did she sneak?"

Roads and lands don't talk with voices, but they whisper meaning without words. Elysium is better at it because it's so old and magical. Lyra closes her eyes, humming softly, focusing on what the grass under her knows.

"Méli didn't want to reincarnate like other dogs. She didn't like the surface anymore." Lyra rubs a strand of Elysium's grass between her fingers. It's easier to focus that way. "And Achilles had said you were sad, so Hermes decided to take her here for you. He thought she'd help, but he didn't think you'd be so happy if he was the one who gave her to you, so he let Achilles take her instead."

Lyra doesn't quite understand why Hermes might think Patroclus would be less happy about a dog based on the source, but she does understand that Hermes knows quite a lot more than her. And she just blabbed. Lyra opens her eyes again, scrunching her face in childish consternation. "Sorry. I don't think I was supposed to tell you that."

Patroclus grunts in genuine surprise. His instinct is to recoil from this information, to feel a sting of fresh betrayal. Is Méli just part of Hermes’ trickery? To win him over with gifts?

But if that was the plan, wouldn’t it hinge on Pat knowing the dog came from Hermes? Why would he keep it a secret? Hermes could have used that as fodder in any of their arguments. I brought Méli here. See? I’m a good person.

He didn’t, though.

Pat slowly rubs the sides of Méli’s face, smoothing down her fur. She’s a silly thing, but she truly has brought him outsize joy. As he thinks about all the time he’s spent with her—walking Elysium’s paths, napping in the grass, ineffectually training her—he’s overcome by a wave of shame.

“It’s fine, child. I’m not angry,” he says, scrubbing a hand over his face. Hermes was kind enough to give him a precious gift, and what has he done in return? Stubbornly doubted Hermes’ character and opened his old wounds.

"I've made you sad, though." Lyra can tell she's missing something. It's a pretty common experience, since grownups try really hard not to say everything to kids. Her stomach pinches with guilt, wondering if she might have broken something, or messed up something important. Grownups keep many secrets for strange, sometimes incomprehensible reasons.

"I'm sorry." She lets go of the blade of Elysium's grass, burying her fingers in Méli's fur. She tries to figure out why Hermes would lie about something like this. Wouldn't Patroclus be happy about a dog, no matter who gave it to him? Or maybe Patroclus is hurt like Hera, even if he's not mean like her, and he's mad at Hermes like she was mad at all the other women Zeus liked? But wouldn't a dog be a nice sorry gift, if so?

"Why would he lie about Méli?" When in doubt, the only thing she can really do is ask.

“No need for apologies, my dear. You only told me what Elysium revealed to you.” Patroclus pets Lyra’s hair soothingly. “And I’m not sad, either. It’s only given me cause to think.”

Hermes found the shade of a dog and defied his uncle to bring her to Elysium. For him, Achilles’ lover, because he knew it would make Pat happy. That isn’t the work of a spiteful, vindictive Olympian keen on destroying a rival.

“He must have known I wouldn’t accept her.” And Hermes would have been right. It’s a testament to his cunning that he made sure Pat would receive and enjoy Méli without complaint or suspicion.

He wouldn't have accepted her? How strange. Patroclus just said he missed animals the most of anything. But he might not have accepted Méli if he knew Hermes was the one giving her to him?

Lyra frowns as she thinks. Why would Patroclus turn down what he wants most if it came from Hermes?

"Has he been mean to you?" Lyra thinks she might not accept what she wants if it came from Marinos, because she knows Marinos is mean and has a mean sense of humor and might be planning something mean. Maybe Hermes hasn't been nice to Patroclus before? That's not nice if true. Or maybe it's just because Achilles really likes Hermes, and that hurts Patroclus. She's not sure why that would mean Patroclus wouldn't let Hermes do nice things for him, though.

Patroclus winds one of her curls around a finger and shakes his head. “No, he hasn’t been mean to me.”

“It’s as you said—adults grow sad and angry when someone they love decides they love someone else. Achilles is the one person I treasure most in the world. I thought he felt the same way about me, but …” Patroclus waves a hand. It’s hard enough to describe these things to a child, much less his lover’s child with another man.

He releases the coiled hair from his finger and it bounces like a spring to settle among the rest of Lyra’s curls.

“I worried Hermes was taking Achilles from me. He’s a powerful god—he can have whatever he wants.” And if given a choice, who wouldn’t want a god as a lover? A god is far more exciting than the shade of a simple mortal.

Lyra listens carefully, eyes wide as she takes it in and tries to understand. So Patroclus was hurt like Agathe, but he was also scared. Scared that Hermes might take away his one person, who should have wanted only him as his one person. And that made him mad and scared. Yes, that makes more sense to Lyra. She'd also be mad and sad and scared if it looked like someone she loved might not love her anymore because they found someone better.

But Lyra can't help but notice that Hermes and Achilles must have been together for at least as old as she is. So if Hermes really did want to have Achilles all to himself, he probably would have by now.

But just 'cuz Hermes doesn't want Achilles all to himself doesn't mean that Patroclus wouldn't still be scared of it.

"Gods are weird. Hermes admitted it when I said so." She looks at Méli, at her happy doggy face and her fluffy fur. "There's this butcher at the market I really don't like. He's mean. He kicks the dogs that come too close to his stall. He kicked one so hard that he made her snout bleed."

She scratches Méli behind the ears, as if in apology for making her hear such awful things. "When you think about it, we all could be mean like him. We could all kick dogs, and dogs couldn't do anything about it. But we don't. Because we know it's mean, and some of us love dogs very much and hate people who are mean to them because it's not fair to pick on someone that can't fight back." She looks up at Patroclus, her brow furrowed in thought. "I think it's like that with gods. That they could all be mean if they want to, and some of them are, but a lot of them aren't. Maybe Hermes doesn't want to hurt you anymore than we want to hurt Méli. Even if he already did."

She doesn't know Hermes, really. She's only talked to him a little bit. Maybe he meant to hurt Patroclus, but she doesn't think so, if he brought him Méli.

Méli’s mouth and tongue loll, blissfully free of any notion that anyone would hurt a dog. It’s not the first time, but Pat wishes he could be as carefree as this canine shade.

He considers Lyra’s comparison. Simple, but it’s well-reasoned, and apt—after Troy he’s certain that gods place mortals on the same level as animals. Disposable fodder for their games.

“No, he’s not like Zeus or Ares or Apollo. There are stories of Hermes’ mischief but he doesn’t seem to delight in cruelty.” Pat looks down at Lyra and notes Hermes’ features blended so seamlessly among Achilles’. “Nor would Achilles love anyone, man or god, who would do such things.”

He exhales, sagging. “I know all of this to be true, but my heart still aches.”

Lyra thinks she understands better now why Patroclus is sad, and why he doesn't like Hermes even if Hermes isn't mean to him. It's not just because grownups want to be the only person their person loves.

"Are you scared that Achilles might not like you as much anymore?" Lyra doesn't consider the tact of her blunt question, just the truth. It'd make sense, how Patroclus can know Hermes doesn't want to hurt him, but he's still scared of him taking Achilles away. Because he's not really scared that Hermes will make Achilles leave--it's that Achilles might want to leave. And her foster dad once told her that it's easier for grownups to feel mad at someone instead of feeling scared.

Not that Lyra thinks that's true. The stories don't make it sound like it'd be true. But she doesn't really know Achilles well enough to say.

In a way, it would feel better if Hermes bewitched Achilles somehow. Then Pat’s anger could be legitimized. It would be another case of a god selfishly meddling in mortal (after)lives. Importantly, it wouldn’t have been Achilles’ choice to be unfaithful.

But that’s not the case, as far as Patroclus can tell. Hermes didn’t push himself on Achilles. Apparently Achilles is the one who initiated the affair.

Patroclus doesn’t respond for awhile. Only rubs Méli’s ears in silence. Should he really be talking to a child about this? But who else can he discuss it with?

“Yes,” he admits quietly. “Why else would he grow to love someone else?”

"I don't know," Lyra admits honestly. "I don't know much about that kind of love yet."

She knows enough about it to know that she doesn't know much at all. She doesn't know what stirs Agathe to cry over her husband or slap him in public, what stirs her husband to love someone else even if it hurts her, what stirs Achilles to split his affection and why Patroclus doesn't--or can't--do the same. All she knows is that it's obvious that it's a big deal to grownups, and it hurts them a lot, and they keep coming back to it even when it hurts. It seems mean of Achilles to hurt Patroclus so much, but also it feels strange to be mad at him for it considering Lyra wouldn't exist if he didn't.

"Achilles would probably know," she says. As she always says to herself: when in doubt, just ask. If Patroclus doesn't know why Achilles would grow to love someone else besides not loving him as much anymore, then he should ask. "You could talk to him. Or you could try to fall in love with someone else too and see for yourself."

Maybe that would make it fair. Or make Patroclus happier. Maybe love is like food, and the more you get from many sources, the happier and healthier you are, even as a grownup. Maybe that's part of why Achilles seems happier than Patroclus. Or maybe that's just Lyra not quite understanding it. She'd ask her foster parents if she had any faith they'd really explain instead of just saying she'd get it when she's older.

“Hearing the question from me would cause him such pain,” he says with a solemn shake of his head. And as much as the uncertainty plagues him, Patroclus fears hearing Achilles’ answer. Worse yet, to see him struggle with a lie.

Lyra’s second suggestion takes Pat by surprise. He blinks, and then huffs in amusement. As if falling in love with someone else is as simple as changing one’s clothes, or tasting a new food. “Try as I might, I could never love anyone else. Not after all that the two of us have endured together.”

Méli squirms to nuzzle her cold, wet nose into the palm of his hand, trying to cheer him up. It reminds him how she ended up here in the first place, a token of Hermes’ kindness. “… All I can do is accept that things have changed. Really, what did I expect? That everything would remain the same for eternity?”

"Did you really want everything to stay the same forever? That sounds really boring to me," Lyra says, thinking about staying forever in the comfort of her own family, her own home, her own life as she's always known it. It sounds like it'd be nice for a while, but how boring to have so much potential for new things, and to never experience them.

She's not sure why Achilles can fall in love with someone else, but Patroclus can't. Surely there's someone nice around here that he might like. But she knows better than to try cajoling him into loving someone else--that seems like a silly thing for her to do, if he doesn't want to do it.

"Maybe it'd make him sad if you asked the question, but you're sad now, and he can tell if I can tell. So right now, you're both sad." And it seems silly to Lyra to put off making Achilles more sad for a little bit and then maybe get better in favor of staying sad together. But maybe it's one of those things she won't understand until she's older.

Patroclus feels a twinge of pique. “After a life like ours, I was hoping for some peace.”

Once Achilles’ assignment was changed, Pat hoped that they could have some approximation of their time back at Phthia or Mount Pelion, or even the months leading up to Troy. But that was silly, he realizes. They’re not boys anymore. They’ve been irrevocably changed by experience.

And their relationship has never been so challenged and strained as it has been since their death. When have they ever had to negotiate something like this? Patroclus looks pointedly away as he admits, “The problem is … I’m a coward. I’m afraid of what he might say.”

In comparison to war, this seems pretty peaceful to Lyra. But then again, she's never been to war. Maybe this isn't all that peaceful after all.

How strange to hear a grownup admit to being a coward. She thinks it's quite brave of him to say so, really. Even grownups are mean about making fun of cowards in Greece. But those are the cowards who run away from war, and Patroclus didn't do that. He's just running away from a conversation, and it's hard to imagine a conversation that's scarier than war.

"Well, when my brother--the one who cries easy, not the dumb one--when he's scared of stuff, our foster father tells him to think of the worst thing that could happen, then the best thing, and make a plan for both but expect that something in the middle will happen."

Lyra has never really needed the trick because she's not an anxious child, trusting as she does that the world will look out for her. But clearly, Patroclus is scared, so he needs a trick, and Lyra will help.

She takes his hand, idly tracing the calluses on the pads of his fingers and palm and comparing the sizes of their hands. "So... if you ask him, what's the worst thing that could happen, and what's the best thing?"

Pat wasn’t expecting for Achilles to pick fights with gods, least of all Zeus. Nor did he expect it to culminate in a savage assault on the Underworld led by Ares himself. He was hoping death would free them both—Achilles especially—from violence.

He lets his hand rest slack in Lyra’s. His palm isn’t nearly so calloused as Achilles’—Pat was more likely to wield a surgeon’s tools than a spear and shield—but it was difficult work all the same. It took a craftsman’s strong and careful hand to mend bones and flesh.

The first answer comes easily: “The worst case, Achilles will admit he no longer loves me. That he would sooner spend his eternity with Hermes.”

The best case takes a little more care. Lyra probably doesn’t want to hear his first thought: Achilles says he’s done with Hermes and he’ll never speak of him again. As much as he wants that for himself, Patroclus doesn’t want that for Lyra; her fathers should both be there for her, and on good terms.

Instead, he says, “The best case, Achilles will say that he loves me, and nothing will change that.”

Lyra notices his pause before talking about his best case scenario, and she suspects that he's not being wholly upfront. But that's okay. He's been very honest with her so far, and grownups have such trouble talking about grownup things. She hopes that even if he won't say it out loud, he at least thinks his best scenario, and he thinks of a plan.

"So... what's your plan if he says he doesn't love you anymore, and what's your plan if he says that he'll always love you?"

Eu-Eu would call this Lyra being sneaky, talking like Patroclus has already decided to ask the question. It's something she's figured out makes it more likely that people will do what she thinks they should. And she really does think that Pat is very sad, and that Achilles will probably say he still loves him, and hopefully that will make Pat less sad.

Lyra curiously explores Patroclus' less prominent calluses, drawing spirals into his palm. His hand isn't so hard as Achilles'. She wonders if Patroclus did much fighting before he died. The songs don't really say much about him before he put on Achilles' armor.

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