refusetofight | For @messageforyou

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.

“In the first case, I would drink from the Lethe,” he says without hesitation, as if that option is always top of mind. Achilles is the only part of his life he cares to remember. If he no longer wants to be a part of it? Patroclus would sooner forget it all.

“In the second, I would …” The better outcome requires more thought. At least, it does with the way he framed it for Lyra’s sake. Even if Achilles did convince him that his love is enduring, that it hasn’t changed, there’s still Hermes.

Hermes, who hasn’t been unkind or cruel like his kin, and who’s given Achilles so many things Patroclus can’t—this sweet, clever child included. He’s made Achilles happy … given him purpose, even in death.

Pat tips his head to look at Méli. Her dark, guileless eyes peer back at him in simple adoration. And Hermes has gone out of his way to make him happy. This dog is proof of that.

“I would be pleased with that,” he finally says softly. “I would be content.”

Lyra frowns when he talks about drinking from the Lethe. She knows that there are so many stories of people throwing themselves to their deaths after being rejected by their lovers, but it seems like a very big reaction to her. Perhaps even an overreaction, though the grownups would say that she's too little to know that for sure. But is the Lethe the same as death? Would Patroclus persist after drinking, and be free to make a new, happier afterlife? Or would whatever holds his shade together fade away forever?

Questions to ask Elysium, she figures. Who would know better than Elysium?

"I'd be very sad if you drank from the Lethe," Lyra admits. "But I'll make friends with you again if you forget me. And I'd teach you any games you forgot."

She means it as a reassurance. That if Patroclus really does feel like he has to forget, that she'll still want to be his friend, and she'll still want to spend time with him. And perhaps he'll be happier for her company if his memories don't make him sad.

"My foster dad always says that it's usually not the best or worst thing that happens. It's usually something in the middle." She presses Patroclus' hand to her cheek, looking up at his face and memorizing the lines. He doesn't have many smile lines. He seems so sad. "You should ask him. You're very sad now. And I don't think anyone who loves you can be very happy when you're so sad."

Patroclus swallows back the sudden tightness in his throat. Why is he getting so emotional about this child he barely knows? Is it because she looks and behaves so much like Achilles? Because she says all of these things so earnestly? Because her care seems so disarmingly genuine?

He cradles Lyra’s face in his palm as he considers her advice. He opens his mouth to respond, but he’s interrupted by the stir of approaching footsteps. Achilles appears at the edge of the glade and does a blinking double-take on seeing Patroclus, Lyra, and Méli.

Achilles had no immediate destination, so Elysium must have seen fit to steer him here, to those people most important to him. Ever since Lyra began “talking” to Elysium, Achilles has looked at it differently—as an entity with a mind of its own, always leading him where it thinks he needs to be.

His surprise softens into a fond smile. “Ah! Pat … Lyra, you’ve come to visit?”

Achilles knows Pat will always be kind and welcoming to Lyra, but he also shares her concern: that she serves as a reminder of Achilles’ affair with Hermes and only adds to his low mood. He can clearly see something in Pat’s face. Not his usual melancholy. Something deeper.

“Apologies, child. I was off on an errand.” Achilles strides over, bending to rest a hand on Lyra’s head. Then, to Patroclus: “Thank you for looking after her, Pat.”

Méli clambers to her feet and dances around Achilles as if she’s just met him for the first time. He laughs and scratches her back with his free hand. “You too, Méli. Good job, pup.”

Lyra sees the emotion in Patroclus' eyes. Her gut pinches a little in guilt, knowing that she's made him feel so much, but she hopes that it's sweet pain. Sometimes her foster father talks about sweet pain when he comes home crying from the rare days he can catch a tragedy playing at the theater. The proper word is catharsis, but Lyra's noticed her fellow children don't really get that word, so she's taken to calling it sweet pain instead.

She perks as she sees Achilles (her father) emerge from the glades of Elysium. He rests a hand on her head, and she smiles wide at him.

"Hello, Daddy," she says the new title smoothly, just testing it out in her mouth, seeing how she likes it, seeing how he reacts. "You don't have to call me 'child' anymore. I liked it when you called me 'fledgling'."

When she thought about it more, she'd seen the meaning. Hermes is part bird, so she's part bird, so she's a fledgling. It's nice. She doesn't know any other kids who can be called that. She takes Achilles' hand from her head and presses an affectionate kiss to his knuckles. "Pat was taking very good care of me. I wanted to make sure he didn't want me to avoid him, and he said no, and he's very good at petting hair, and it's been really nice."

And she'll give Pat an opportunity to bring up his questions on his own. But she's not above bullying a grown man if she thinks she's right about what he ought to do, and Lyra always thinks she's right.

The mode of address and show of affection creases the lines of Achilles’ face around a deeper smile. His pride couldn’t be more obvious. It’s much different, though, from the sort he had in life. “As you wish, my little fledgling.”

This is exactly why Patroclus is so very close to forgiving Achilles and Hermes; the way Achilles looks at his daughter is worth all the hurt he’s suffered. This tiny piece of the future they never had is invaluable.

Patroclus reaches out to calm Méli’s excitement. She settles back to the ground, but her tail still thumps happily against the mossy ground.

“And the two of you haven’t got up to any mischief?” Achilles teases, catching Lyra’s chin and tilting it with a curled knuckle. “Haven’t stolen anything from poor Theseus?”

“Not yet, but she’s only just got here.” Pat sets aside his emotions long enough to give Lyra a wink.

Lyra smiles to be called a fledgling--something she didn't realize she wanted is the little nicknames parents give their children, when her nickname among her foster family is 'trouble'--and she scrunches her nose with a giggle as Pat winks at her.

"I've got all day to get up to mischief," she says smugly, pleased at all the potential the day offers. "But I haven't stolen anything. Even though stealing is fun. Because I think Theseus needs to be mad about his belt for longer."

She can't distract from her first heist by committing a second so soon. She must let Theseus stew in his outrage that someone stole his treasured belt. Maybe wait until he makes another to steal it again. She could have a little collection of stolen belts from Theseus and then give back her treasure hoard when she dies with all the smugness due a hero.

"We've been playing with Méli instead." Lyra playfully bats gently at Méli's thumping tail. "Elysium spilled the secret of how Méli got here and I told Pat before I realized it was supposed to be secret. Sorry."

Lyra gets into trouble, but she only really wants to keep her trouble secret if she means to get into trouble. Now she might as well just tell Achilles that she told on Hermes before Pat says anything. Maybe it'll even prompt an important conversation between Achilles and Pat.

Achilles settles into a kneel, laughing at his daughter’s taste for trickery. He presses a smiling kiss to her temple. Should he be encouraging this? Probably not, but Hermes would contradict any attempts to rein in her behavior.

“How Méli got here … ?” Achilles blinks owlishly as he processes the implications of Lyra’s admission and surprise is replaced by dawning shame. His eyes flick to Patroclus and he rests an apologetic hand on his shoulder. “I’m sorry to keep that from you. I knew how happy you’d be to have a dog, and Hermes was kind enough to arrange it.”

Pat rests his hand over Achilles’ and sighs. He knows how difficult it is for Achilles to keep secrets. “You’re right. Méli’s been wonderful. It was thoughtful of you … and of him.”

Patroclus spares Lyra a brief glance, then shakes his head, contrite. “I’m sorry for treating him so poorly when he’s gone out of his way to show me kindness. I see that he’s not like his fellow Olympians.”

The kiss is nice. Lyra's still smiling as the grownups have their little apologetic exchange. She's not sure why Achilles feels bad about lying, but a lot of grownups don't like lies, even when the lies are for their own good.

If Pat has treated Hermes badly, she has a feeling that he ought to say that directly to Hermes, but she doesn't really know what 'treating him so poorly' means. Maybe he's been mean, or maybe he's just not wanted to spend time with Hermes. Excluding people is its own kind of mean, but sometimes it's better than including them when you don't want to.

Lyra trusts that Achilles will know and say so if Hermes ought to be talked to, so she leaves that to him. Instead, she starts scratching Méli's ears to direct her to cuddle Lyra. Lyra is going to try to be verrrrrry easy to miss while the grownups talk, and make Méli easy to miss too. And only poke Pat if it looks like he won't talk to Achilles as much as he ought to.

“I owe you an apology.” Achilles scoots closer to Patroclus and slings a full arm around his shoulders. “I’ve been quite clumsy, quite careless through all of this.”

“Yes, you have,” Pat says wryly, like the long-suffering partner of a hero that he is. He rubs his beard pensively, sparing another glance at Lyra, almost as if he were a student under a mentor’s scrutiny. His throat bobs in a swallow, the question lodged thick in his throat. Instead he says, “You’re difficult as ever, Achilles.”

As much as Pat is trying to force some humor, Achilles can feel the tension in his posture, the tightness in his voice. “Are you alright, my dear?”

By contrast, Méli leans into the ear scritches, tongue lolling in bliss. She’s pleased to have so many nice humans gathered around in one place, even if they’re behaving strangely.

Lyra thinks she knows what answer Achilles is more likely to give. Grownups don't say sorry to other grownups when they don't care, not like kids trying to get out of trouble.

She hears Pat's hesitation now, which seems sillier now that she's hearing Achilles with him, hearing how he prods at his mood. It reminds her of her brother Thales, and how scared he gets of bad things that might happen, even if they don't happen.

But Lyra loves Thales, even though he's a scaredy-cat who cries easy, and she has tricks for making someone scared of bad things that might happen do what they need to anyway.

She kisses Méli's sweet nose before taking Pat's hand, giving it a squeeze. This could be considered kind and reassuring, were it not for the fact that she also pinches the skin of his hand. Support, and also a light dusting of bullying to get him to spit out what he's gotta ask.

Patroclus is so trapped in his own head, he can’t see the genuine concern and affection in Achilles’ eyes. But he feels Lyra’s tiny hand in his … and that goading pinch.

“No,” Pat finally sighs. “I need to ask you something. And I need you to be truthful.”

Achilles’ brow furrows deep with concern, and he combs fingers through Patroclus’ hair, reassuring. “Of course.”

Patroclus swallows once more, then gently squeezes Lyra’s hand, and forces the words out in a rush: “Do you still love me, Achilles?”

“Pat,” Achilles gasps. The question lands like an unexpected blow. But he recovers quickly; the answer couldn’t be more clear. He leans to press his forehead to Patroclus’ and breathes soft and insistent, “I do. I do, and that will never change.”

Achilles presses a kiss to his brow and clutches either side of Pat’s face so as to look him in the eye. “Death hasn’t changed that. Hermes hasn’t changed that, either. I swear it upon the Styx.”

The lesson Lyra chooses to take from this is that bullying grown men is a good thing that she should do more often, as long as it's for their own good.

She doesn't know if this will make all the sad go away from Pat. Probably not. Sadness seems to stick harder to grownups than it does to kids, who shake it off so easy. But maybe it'll make the sad less sticky.

Lyra tips her head to look at Patroclus' face, squeezing his hand again. She doesn't speak, not wanting to pull away Achilles' attention or remind the grownups that she's here. Grownups can be weird about talking about these things in front of kids sometimes. But she also wants to see Patroclus' expression, see if he really believes what Achilles is saying.

He said his plan was to be content if Achilles said he loved him. But Lyra wonders if he can follow through.

There’s a wet shimmer at the edge of Patroclus’ eyes. The certainty in Achilles’ voice cuts through the nagging worry that’s plagued him for so long. It pierces through the calloused sadness to something tender.

And Lyra’s hand is still warm and caring in his.

“I love you,” Achilles says. His tone carries the same steady conviction as it did when he declared that he would become the greatest of the Greeks, that he would secure a victory at Troy. It’s a hero’s firm statement.

“I believe you,” Pat finally replies, his voice still tight. But it’s the truth, judging by the soft openness of his face. Some of his sadness has been replaced with hope. “I’m sorry I had to ask. Forgive me for doubting you.”

Achilles dips his head to give Patroclus a short but tender kiss. “I’m sorry I gave you reason to doubt me. I will do better—you have my word.”

“Yes, well … you have a witness.” Patroclus glances past Achilles to his daughter. “I trust she’ll hold you to your word.”

Yes, good, this has gone well. Lyra should interfere in people’s love lives more often. She smiles as she’s acknowledged, giving a cheerful wave.

“I’m witness!” she confirms with a chirp. “And I’m really good at making judgmental faces when people do dumb things. Just ask my brothers.”

She has the impression of missing context—of course she is, there’s no Hermes here to tell her about his own view on the whole thing, if he’s got an opinion at all—but she’s pretty sure she’s done something good here. Patroclus doesn’t seem so sad anymore. Which has to be a good thing.

Achilles spies Lyra’s hand in Pat’s and also wonders if he’s missing something here. Namely, what else were the two talking about before he arrived? His daughter obviously has Hermes’ way with people. He’ll ask Patroclus for the details later.

Pat claps a hand on Achilles’ arm and says, “Good. I love your father dearly, but he can be a fool sometimes.”

“Pat,” Achilles chides in mock exasperation. “I’ve only just met her. Give me a fighting chance to make a good impression.”

He does wish his daughter wasn’t caught in the middle of his messy love life. That would have been nice, but she also doesn’t seem visibly bothered by it. She’s a child of Hermes, though. She’s either very unbothered, or already practiced at seeming that way.

Were Lyra older and a little more familiar with the ins and outs of love and its complications, and were she more familiar with Hermes, it probably would bother her more to sit in the awkward space of her father's tangled love life, weighing Patroclus' happiness against Hermes'. It would be easier for her to understand that it may never be possible for Patroclus to be wholly happy when Hermes is in the picture, and Hermes' happiness may inherently cost some of Patroclus'. Interfering in that would be hard for her, if she had a chance to understand adulthood love and knew Hermes well enough to see how fragile his bird heart beats his breast.

But she's not. She's a child, still understanding romance only in theory, and her divine father and the thoughts behind his eyes are still strange and unknown to her. She doesn't know how Patroclus' happiness may come at the cost of Hermes', or vice versa. She just knows that she saw a problem, and now it seems that she's fixed it, and she's quite pleased with herself. Maybe one day she'll look back on this with more discomfort.

"It's okay. You've already made a good impression." She stretches, perfectly relaxed with her head in Pat's lap, and wraps an arm around Méli to snuggle into her fur. "Hermes said good morning to me as a cat. He's a very cute cat with a cute purr. Does he always like to be animals so much?"

Achilles keeps one hand at Patroclus’ shoulders while the other combs through Lyra’s wild hair. He still can’t believe he’s blessed with this strange little family. Lyra, Hermes, Pat. Maybe it’s hubris, but he feels like he has a good chance at keeping this all in a happy balance.

“It’s much easier to visit you as an animal than as a god.” Achilles side-steps the question; he’s not about to reveal Hermes’ lingering anxieties around fatherhood, or how animal shapes are a balm for that.

It warms Achilles to know that Hermes took the time to visit her, though. “Remember how terrified your foster mother was to see him?”

Patroclus is quiet at the shift in subject. He puts his focus on Méli, doing his best to combat the twinge of jealousy by remembering Hermes’ kindness and Achilles’ hand warm and solid against his back.

"Hmm. That's a good point." And she supposes that her family would know who he was even if he only came as a man. And if he was a strange woman coming to their home, that'd be scary in a different way. "A cat is a lot less scary than a god."

It doesn't occur to Lyra that even the mention of Hermes may hurt Pat, convinced as she is that the primary trouble is his relationship with Achilles and that seems mostly settled now. Instead, she takes his change in mood for feeling left out, so she looks up to him to say, "Eu-Eu--that's my foster mother, Eu-Eu--she found us yesterday, and she was very scared that I'd gotten into terrible trouble because she couldn't imagine why else I'd be with a shade and a god. She was very silly about it and bowed on the ground and stuff, and Hermes and Achilles had to be very nice to her so she wouldn't be so scared."

There. Now Pat's in the loop.

"My foster dad didn't believe that we really met a shade and a god. Not until we dug up gold in the field like Hermes said we would. Then he insisted we sacrifice something to Hermes so he could say sorry for doubting him, even though we already sacrificed our goat and only had a chicken left. I hope he liked the chicken."

But that's alright that they sacrificed their last chicken to her foster parents' piety. With the gold, Lyra isn't afraid of her family ever going hungry again.

Patroclus nods at Lyra’s explanation, charmed by how eager she is to tell a funny story about the adults in her life. It’s further consolation that Hermes bestowed riches upon her foster parents—Pat assumed that most gods wouldn’t bother with their children, much less show gratitude to the mortals who are kind enough to care for them.

“I don’t blame them for their fear and doubt. It’s not often mortals encounter gods, and those meetings are not always pleasant,” Pat says, thinking of his own experiences with Thetis and Apollo.

Achilles nods. He hopes Lyra’s foster parents aren’t forever intimidated by Hermes’ attention. He can easily imagine them enjoying their reward, but wondering when the other shoe will drop.

“I’m sure he was grateful for the chicken, but Hermes really enjoys sweets.” Even with all their new riches, maybe get them to sacrifice something a little less valuable?

"He likes sweets?" Ah, a god of taste. Lyra nods thoughtfully. "I'll try to talk them into sacrificing sweets to him instead. But they might think it's insulting."

After all, a little bit of honey or sesame candy is much less valuable than a chicken or goat, and now that they know they have the attention of gods, they'll be scared of seeming impious.

"I tried telling them that Hermes is very nice and I don't think he'd mind that my foster father didn't believe us when we said what happened at first, but they say better to be safe than sorry." Lyra gives an exaggerated shrug and a shake of the head, almost as if she were the adult marveling at their paranoid foolishness. "They're being silly 'cuz they're scared. Maybe they won't be so scared once they see no one's turning them into a frog for not sacrificing enough."

Oh, turning into a frog. There's an idea. Maybe Lyra should ask Hermes to turn her into a frog after he turns her into a snake.

Achilles knows Hermes doesn’t seek to be feared, but he also isn’t sure if Hermes wants mortals to know he’s one of the kinder gods (at least, to those who deserve kindness). Maybe best to let her foster parents do what they will to feel comfortable, so long as it doesn’t cause them harm. Lyra is right: time will pass, and they’ll find themselves unscathed.

Their foster daughter will probably be off to Medea’s care before long, anyway.

“Today I spoke with someone who might take you on as a pupil,” Achilles says carefully and tucks a golden curl neatly behind her ear. “Now that your family is cared for, do you feel ready to leave them for a time?”

Patroclus’ mouth twitches and his fingers fiddle with one of Méli’s paws. Achilles divulged that particular plan, and Pat already voiced his concerns. The talk must have went well (at least by Achilles’ estimation) or he wouldn’t have brought it up.

Lyra blinks in surprise, distracted from fantasies of being a frog. “Already?”

That was fast. But maybe these things just go quickly—you learn you have famous divine dads one day, then the next you’re whisked away to be taught by a stranger.

She frowns in consideration. “When would I have to go?” She considers more for a beat. “And what will I learn?”

If her dads send her away from her family just to learn how to weave, she might cry from boredom. That seems to be what most demigod girls do in the stories.

“A few days yet, once Hermes and I have agreed on her suitability.” Achilles gives his daughter a reassuring smile. This is moving fast, but rumors of divine offspring also move fast; the sooner she’s in Medea’s care, the safer she’ll be. “We won’t send you off to someone who doesn’t have our absolute confidence.”

He runs a thumb along her hairline. “If we proceed, you’ll learn a great deal more than most mortal women. Perhaps more than I ever did.”

Witchcraft, Patroclus thinks, but he holds his tongue and works some dirt from between Méli’s blunt claws. He wonders if Apollo has taken Achilles’ wits—why else would he have decided Medea is a worthy guardian for his child?

Achilles was forthcoming about Medea, but carefully withheld the fact that Apollo made the suggestion. Pat would truly be livid.

Her suitability? Lyra perks at the thought. She hadn't thought there were many women out there who could teach her more than Achilles knew. Unless they're talking about a goddess? Or a hero?

Interest piqued, Lyra leans her head into Achilles' touch and considers. Yes, she does want to go off and learn new things with a mysterious lady teacher, but the thought of leaving her family gives her a little pang in her heart. How strange. In all her dreams of adventure and exploring, she had never considered how sad she might be to leave what she already loves behind.

"After you and Hermes decide, may I have a week with my foster family before I go? There's lots of people in the town to say goodbye to." Lots of fishermen who only come in a few times a week, lots of merchants who come in and out, lots of familiar trees and hills and roads to bid farewell. Lyra wants to make sure she doesn't forget anyone, because even if she can write letters to them one day, they'll only be able to respond if the messenger can read the letters to them and write what they dictate.

"And... how will we stay in touch?" She takes Achilles' hand in hers, squeezing with a frown. "Will the teacher be far enough away that I can't walk back here? Will Hermes bring me back sometimes? Or write letters with me to bring to you?"

She's only just met her mortal father. She doesn't want to leave him so quick, nor does she want to leave Patroclus. Patroclus who seems suspiciously quiet about this subject.

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