refusetofight | For @messageforyou

For @messageforyou

Besides the obvious, there’s one big problem with being dead: it leaves Patroclus with too much time to think. To ruminate. To overanalyze. That was always his tendency, but at least in life, he had Achilles and the war. There was rarely a stretch of stillness that allowed him to wander so deep in the labyrinth of his own thoughts.

Not like Elysium. Patroclus wishes he was more like Ajax, always spoiling for a test of strength against the shades of other legends, or Odysseus, chatting and joking so easily with anyone who will listen. Will they ever tire of it? Meanwhile, Pat still feels like his place here is undeserved. His act of bravery at Troy was a fluke. That wasn’t enough for Elysium; Achilles had to arrange that deal with Hades himself.

And what is he doing with that gift? Whiling it away in a chronically dreadful mood. It’s no surprise Achilles would take another lover. He needs someone more exciting and vibrant. He needs a challenge. Hermes is who he needed from the very start. Powerful, divine, worthy.

Now there’s Lyra, to—a beautiful, perfect child. Hermes can give Achilles anything he wants. What can Patroclus give him? Painful memories. Shame and regret. Achilles never says as much—of course he wouldn’t—but Pat assumes.

He lays sprawled on the spongy ground in the center of a glade, looking up at Ixion and fumbling around the corners of this well-trod maze of thought. Méli has surrounded him in scattered offerings: very fetchable sticks, a sandal, a broken arrow, an old bone. She finally gives up her restless pacing to flop down next to him. She shifts to rest her chin on his chest and sighs emphatically. Her gifts don’t seem to be helping.

“I’m sorry. I’m not good company right now, am I?” he mumbles, stroking her soft ears. He wishes he could be more like her. Living in the moment, not a single worry except what fun will be had next …

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

Hermes immediately thinks of what Achilles is to him, someone to ground him and calm him when his restless energy threatens to vibrate him out of his skin. Yes, Lyra needs someone like that, who can make her feel calm without feeling slow.

And who knows what questions to ask. Hermes looks down at Achilles' thumb stroking his knuckles. His wings flex, fluffing and pinning, as he thinks.

"The more adults in her life who care for her, the better," he says. "And I trust Patroclus to treat her well."

If nothing else, he knows that Pat is kind, especially to weaker creatures like animals and children.

"But..." Hermes pins his wings to his head, grimacing at their hands as he tries to think of how he can put his feelings into words. The truth is, he's insecure. He's worried his daughter will prefer Patroclus over him, or just prefer the company of mortals, dead or alive, over a god who can't understand her the same way and who struggles so much to relate to her. And Styx, he doesn't want Lyra dragged into the drama between him and Pat. "Well. I hope she will like spending time with me too."

Ugh, that sounded so pathetic, even to his own ears. He winces, grimacing at himself. He's so in over his head with having a child.

Achilles hands grip a little tighter at that but and his brow twists into a furrow. This battle against Hermes’ anxiety will be a long one. A siege against nigh-impenetrable walls, shored up over thousands of years. But Achilles is nothing if not stubborn, determined.

“Of course she will, love.” Achilles pulls Hermes into a firm hug. “The moment she knew you were coming, she asked me to make certain you’d visit her as well.”

He turns his head to nuzzle a kiss against Hermes’ cheek and continues speaking, soft against his ear: “She told me all about your visit this morning. She was so delighted. You’re already a fine father.”

Hermes returns the hug, feathers fluffing to hear that his daughter (that word still feels weird) specifically asked that he visit her. And that she liked his visit earlier, even.

"Really? I hadn't meant to wake her up. I was guilty waking her up so early."

Even if Hermes sleeps just to unwind, he knows sleep is very important for mortals. He'd worried that he disturbed her, though she didn't seem grumpy to be woken up.

Hermes buries his face in Achilles' hair. He can't help but think of Lyra's hair, just as fluffy as Achilles', and perpetually smelling just a little of the sea.

"She called me 'dad'."

“My dear, can you imagine how special that is to a child?” Especially one who, up until now, thought she was a foundling. “To awake to the sight of their own father—in the shape of a handsome tomcat, no less?”

Achilles smiles against Hermes’ ear, as proud of his lover as he is of their daughter. Good girl, making Hermes feel welcome and wanted. “See? She’s already claimed you for her own, whether you want it or not.”

He rubs his palms at the small of Hermes’ back and breathes a contented sigh. His continued smile is still clear in his voice. “She called me ‘daddy.’ I never thought I would hear that.”

At this point, it’s far better than being called “Greatest of the Greeks.”

Hermes hadn't been sure how he felt about being called 'Dad'--it's going fast, this is all so fast, and for once he's not ready--but the idea of being claimed as hers seems... nice. And more than the nice is feels when someone decides to be his devotee.

"How silly, that the god of speed is outpaced by his daughter." But Hermes can't help but smile, petting Achilles' hair. And would it really be so hard to make sure he was around to greet her in the morning frequently? No, he doesn't think that would be so hard. He can keep up with all his other daily obligations, so why not one more to make his daughter feel special?

"I'm glad she called you that, my love. She's clearly already besotted with you." Hermes hears that's how little girls should be with their fathers. Zeus wasn't the sort of father who inspired his daughters to be daddy's girls, but Lyra can have better than that.

“It’s the fate of all parents to be outdone by their own children,” Achilles says with a soft laugh. Lyra was fortunate to know love from the beginning. It’s not as much of a stranger as it is to Hermes.

“Hearing her use that word … it makes me wish I could keep her close.” That they could carve out a secret, strange little home in the Underworld where Achilles could raise her himself. But that would be selfish. Lyra and her mortal body need the surface while she lives—with all its joy and pain and wonder. She has no business spending her short mortal years among the dead.

Achilles exhales, finally getting to the matter at hand: “But if she must be under another’s care … I believe Apollo is right. Medea is a worthy choice.”

It's the fat of all parents to be outdone by their children. That's normally a very charged thing to say in Hermes' family, but there's something warm in his heart to be outdone like this. Not by being violently attacked or overthrown or trapped, but by being bested at what he does. He wonders for a moment why Zeus and Kronos were so afraid of children who could outshine them in even some small way.

"The really annoying thing about Apollo is that he's usually right." Hermes pulls away from Achilles' hug just enough to see his face, smiling ruefully with a hint of fond humor in his eyes. "But don't tell him I said that. He'd be even more insufferable than usual."

At least Athena is just aloof about being right all the time. Apollo is snarky about it.

"You tell me about your thoughts on Medea." Hermes tucks one of Achilles' golden curls behind his ear. "And then I'll tell you mine."

“Your secret is safe with me—I’m sorry, love, but I prefer not to speak with Apollo if I can help it.” He’ll be civil for Hermes’ sake, but he won’t be friendly. Especially given that the feeling seems to be mutual.

Achilles hums and looks upwards through the sparse beams that crisscross the open roof. “Lady Medea is not what I thought. Not exactly.”

But how to describe her? “I think that she may have been much like me in her youth—vengeful and ruthless—but age has cooled her. She is still ferocious and powerful, but not indiscriminate. I think she has done what she must to make her own way in a world filled with cruel men.”

The same world that their daughter will also need to navigate. “If Lyra proves an apt and respectful pupil, Lady Medea will teach her well and keep her safe—at least from mortals.”

Achilles meets Hermes’ dark eyes. “But I am often a poor judge. I cannot see people’s true hearts as you can.”

"I think you've got a good judge of her, myself." Hermes hums softly in thought, his wings flexing as he considers. He's been watching Medea as much as he can all day, including when Achilles was talking to her, and... "I don't like that she's been denying people their rites. But I can't argue with her logic."

Hermes can't help but be a little ashamed that a mortal thought of this issue before him, one that seems obvious in retrospect. He'd always been skeptical of putting the power of judgment in the hands of only three mortal men, but he didn't think of the crimes that the gods would despise that the mortal men might not care about.

Still, mortals shouldn't take the eternal fate of a shade in their own hands. The system needs changing so people like Medea won't be driven to act. Something to discuss later, perhaps with Nyx, since Hermes expects that Hades will be cross with him quite soon. "I think the panel of judges may be due more admissions in Erebus."

Women, certainly. Perhaps slaves. People who will think to protect the interests of the vulnerable in Asphodel, full of shades that can't defend themselves against monsters wearing mortal forms.

“That admission did not sit well with me, either. No one, mortal or immortal, should deny a shade its journey to the Underworld.” Every time Achilles says this, he feels a pang of old shame for his own past sins. “But you’re correct, as is she—terrible crimes are going overlooked and unpunished.”

His eyes wander over Hermes’ face, trying to read the minutiae in his eyes, the set of his brows. He wants all of his doubts unequivocally laid to rest before he puts his daughter in someone else’s care. “You’ve observed her? Does she speak the truth? About her craft?”

Maybe Medea herself isn’t a problem, but there are still the men around her. “And her sons and husband are not a threat to Lyra’s safety? I only have her word to go by.”

"She didn't lie about anything. Most of her time is spent on mundane tasks. Or, well, mundane for a witch." Hermes isn't sure that most mortals would consider milking venomous snakes and advising a king to be mundane, but a woman who traveled with the Argonauts would consider it so. "But it won't be long before people seek her out for poisons or curses. Lyra will learn those just as much as she learns about antivenoms and cures."

And is Hermes okay with that? ...Yes, yes, he is. He doesn't have to think about it too hard. Hermes has always been of the opinion that there's no such thing as bad knowledge, just tools one has just in case. But he knows that Achilles may not share the opinion.

Hermes cocks his head at the question about the sons and husband, frowning. "I don't think they're threats. Medus is with Chiron, and Tisander has all the cunning and aggression of a spoon. There might be trouble if Medus comes to Athens before storming Colchis, since he might get it in his head that Lyra would be a good match for him, but I expect his mother would put down the idea. Those men listen to their mother." Medus strikes Hermes as smart enough to know that he could get great power if he has a young demigod wife to bear him children well into his old age, but not savvy enough to realize all the trouble he'd invite by pursuing her. Luckily, Medea is savvy, and Medea has iron control over her sons. "Medea is clearly the dominant personality of the family. Aegeus is king, but she's the one with the power, and I think everyone in the palace knows it."

And Hermes, as a purveyor of shadowed hands of power, has to respect that. Medea is practically a force of nature unto herself. And if Hermes must trust the safety of his daughter to a mortal, then a force of nature seems the most capable of protecting her.

Achilles nods, pleased to hear Hermes’ read—and that Medea was being honest. He can dismiss plenty of shortcomings, but obvious deception is not one of them.

It’s also a relief to know that Medea holds so much sway, at least over her family and Aegeus’ court. She can use those resources to keep Lyra comfortable and well-protected. They really couldn’t ask for a better situation; even Phthia pales in comparison to Athens and all it has to offer. Wealth, art, knowledge …

“With your insights, I have no qualms about naming her as Lyra’s guardian.” Achilles moves his hands up to rest heavy on Hermes’ shoulders and rub the slope of his neck. “Though I would ask that you keep watch for a time. Make certain they get on well and Lyra behaves herself.”

"Of course, my love. I don't think I could do anything less." Hermes is worried about Lyra. Worried that maybe he misjudged something, or will make a mistake, or she'll get hurt. She's so small. It'd be so easy for her to be hurt.

He heaves a sigh, bumping his forehead gently against Achilles'.

"I hope some of the anxiety about fatherhood goes away. Setting her up for success has been all I've been able to think about." And his fear that he'll just not be a good father to her. "And... Mum should be coming out of the sky soon. So there's that. I'd like to introduce you."

Especially now that they have a child. He can't help but feel guilty that he didn't introduce them before that happened, but it wasn't exactly planned.

“Some of it will go away. Not all of it.” Achilles thinks of his own parents. Thetis in particular—how much she worried over him. “I think that worry is the price we pay for loving someone so dearly.”

He moves his hands to cup Hermes’ face and tip him into a kiss. “I worry about you. I worry about Patroclus. Zagreus … and now Lyra. But there will be plenty of joy to make up for it. I know because I’ve already felt it.”

Achilles drops his hands back to Hermes’ waist, gently rocking his weight back and forth. “I’m eager to meet your mother after all this time. I hope she approves of me.”

Hermes returns the kiss. Styx, but the worry borne of love is a sweet, sharp pain. Will he still worry for her after she's finished her mortal life and gone to the Underworld? Will he still fret?

Well. He worries for Achilles, so he doesn't see why he wouldn't worry about Lyra.

He wraps his arms around Achilles' neck, rocking with his lover. So many things happening at once. Lucky he thrives when things move at a fast pace. "I'm sure she will, darling. I don't see what she could possibly disapprove of."

Maybe Hermes is biased, but he doesn't see how anyone could dislike Achilles, especially now that he's grown wise and kinder in death.

"You could meet her tonight. After Lyra's brought back home. And after we explain her future to her." Will Lyra like the idea of becoming a witch's pupil? Hermes isn't sure. Maybe? The girl is so curious.

“Tonight?” Achilles stops rocking for a moment, surprised. For a moment, he forgets he’s dead. He’ll need to prepare. Bathe, wear something nice, find an appropriate gift. Make a good impression on his lover’s mother and a goddess. But then he remembers he can’t—or doesn’t need to—do any of those things. “Certainly. If you’re ready, I am.”

He suddenly feels the same way Hermes does: like he’s swept along in a flurry of activity. Who would have thought death would keep him so busy?

“I already mentioned that we were searching for a tutor. She seemed excited by the idea.” Achilles smiles, pleased that he can tell her their decision. “But Lyra will need some time with her foster family and the village. To say good-bye.”

"I'm not ready. But when have I ever let that stop me?" Hermes hasn't been ready for anything related to his mother--opening the letter, meeting her, reconciling, introducing her to Achilles, explaining Lyra--but if he lets himself wait until he's ready, it'll take forever, and they all deserve better than that.

But he supposes that they can wait for Lyra to feel ready for her next stage in life. She's much quicker on the uptake than he is, clearly.

"I don't see why she can't have time to say goodbye." Hermes knows how precious goodbyes can be to mortals. "Do you think she'll be excited to learn witchcraft? Or frightened?"

Although perhaps nothing can scare this girl, if she can face the Underworld with a smile.

“I’ll make a good impression, I promise.” Achilles playfully kisses Hermes’ nose. He’ll have confidence enough for the both of them; he knows Maia will be happy to know more about Hermes’ life, especially now that it can flourish outside of Zeus’ influence.

“Lyra is a brave and curious girl. She’ll be very eager to learn anything that isn’t spinning and weaving.” Even if life in a small village has taught her that witchcraft is wicked, Lyra seems willing to question any and all beliefs. To experience things for herself and form her own opinions. “Maybe not as excited as she is to learn her letters. She wants to be ready to write down all of her adventures.”

Hermes wrinkles his nose affectionately as it's kissed, the corners of his eyes softening. How does Achilles always make the most stressful times in his life feel so exciting instead?

"Write all of her adventures? Maybe we should send her to speak to Prometheus when she's ready. I think he'd be delighted to give her what she needs to write down her story." In fact, Hermes struggles to think of anything Prometheus would enjoy more than helping a mortal write down all her experiences, provided he got to read them all after.

Hermes leans in, resting his cheek against Achilles' shoulder. "Thank you, my love. For being so confident." Hermes really isn't sure he'd be able to do any of this without him.

“That’s a fine idea.” Achilles idly wonders how Prometheus is enjoying his freedom these days. He can easily imagine the old Titan wandering mortal cities, delighting at human accomplishment. “Maybe he’ll be inspired to invent a new creature.”

Achilles rests his own cheek against the top of Hermes’ head. He runs a hand in long, slow strokes over a silky wing, remembering the time in Elysium when Hermes first trusted him with his ruined wings. Trusted him with his vulnerability. That’s not an easy thing for a god. “Thank you for being so brave, magpie. I know this is difficult.”

Achilles would never have imagined that the biggest challenges for a god might be the most mundane. Connecting with his mother, growing into fatherhood, trusting someone enough to ask for help.

Hermes breathes Achilles in as he's gently pet. It's hard to think of a place he feels safer than right here, in Achilles' arms. He wishes it didn't take so much courage for him to face basic things, like his own mother or daughter. But he's so grateful that he has Achilles at his side, giving him that courage.

"Alright." Hermes pulls away, slipping on a confident smile and pressing a kiss to Achilles' lips, quick and tasting like the first deep breath before a long and exciting journey. "Let's tell her about Medea. You said Patroclus is watching her?"

Under their feet, Elysium is already ready to create a short path right back to Lyra. It makes Hermes smile, looking down at the loamy grass. "I haven't seen Elysium liking someone this much in a while."

“Yes, let’s,” Achilles agrees, energized by the kiss. It’s a good sign. “I didn’t know the realms of the Underworld were capable of liking someone. Certainly not a mortal.”

He’s accustomed to the Underworld taking a more adversarial approach—twisting itself into a maze to thwart shades (or Princes) who try to escape. Though it does assist Hades and his servants.

Before he takes a step towards the offered path, Achilles threads his fingers through Hermes’ hand. “Are you still worried about Patroclus? I can go ahead and ask him to give us a moment alone with Lyra if you don’t wish to see him.”

As much as he’s confident Pat will be more civil, he also doesn’t want to risk ruining Hermes’ good mood.

"Tartarus, Asphodel, and Elysium were among Gaia's first children. They have thoughts and personalities and preferences the same as us," Hermes says, affectionately tucking a lock of Achilles' golden hair behind his ear. "Most people just don't remember that because they weren't born with mouths or the urge to speak much."

But he can tell that Elysium is delighted to have someone new come along who wants to love and respect it as a person and a place. He hopes that it still remembers Lyra when it's her time to return forever, and it loves her the same as she loves it.

Hermes squeezes Achilles' hand as he considers. He doesn't really want to risk a fight in front of Lyra, but he doesn't want to make Patroclus leave just because he's arriving either. Not only would Lyra be able to pick up on the tension, but it seems cruel to force Patroclus out of witnessing these conversations.

But he really doesn't want to fight in front of Lyra, and he doesn't know if Patroclus won't be in a mood and start sniping.

"You have to promise you'll redirect him if he starts needling me again," Hermes says as a decision. If Patroclus is in a fight-picking mood, Achilles shutting it down would be a lot less potentially explosive than Hermes doing it himself. Hermes doesn't want to shut Patroclus out of the major moments in Lyra's life, but he also doesn't want to fight in front of her.

It is comforting to know that at least one of these primordial children of Gaia is looking after his daughter. He should properly offer his thanks.

“Patroclus is in a better mood today. We spoke and he—” Achilles shakes his head and hums through a wincing frown. “He thought I might not love him anymore. I told him that wasn’t true at all. My love for him hasn’t changed.”

Achilles takes Hermes’ other hand and grips them both, hoping this information won’t somehow hurt Hermes in turn. He made it clear from the beginning that Patroclus isn’t going anywhere, but he knows Hermes’ heart is tender. “I think he understands that now, but I’ll remain vigilant. I’ll intervene if he takes a turn.”

Hermes' brow creases in sincere confusion. Of all the things he suspected Patroclus felt, it wasn't that. "How could he doubt you? He should know that he's always first in your heart."

There's a touch of melancholy in the last sentence, swiftly covered up as Hermes continues, "I'm glad you were able to talk. But promise that you'll intervene if his mood changes."

In Hermes' mind, Patroclus will always come first for Achilles, and as their bond has grown stronger, it's become a point of tenderness. Hermes doesn't need to be first, but it hurts to be second, thinking that Patroclus could still end their relationship with a snap of his fingers if he really wanted to. But Hermes doesn't want to dwell on that--he just wants to know that Achilles will support him and make sure there's not a fight in front of Lyra.

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