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 …

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"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.

“For most of our time together, he’s been the only one in my heart. He never expected to share.” Certainly not with a god. But Achilles can see a distinct parallel between Pat and Hermes: both of them are afraid of being unwanted. Abandoned. He wishes he could find the words to break them both of that miserable curse.

“Pat would never argue in front of Lyra,” he says firmly, compelled to defend Pat’s sense of honor.

Hermes has asked for a promise, though, and he’ll have it. Achilles gives a tight smile and he kisses Hermes’ knuckles. His voice softens. “But you have my word—if there’s any hint of bitterness, I’ll step in immediately.”

Not expecting to share and how deeply hurtful it is to suddenly share without warning is something Hermes fundamentally doesn't understand. Not only because multiple lovers is so ubiquitous among his family, but because he's never sought to be the only one in a person's heart. Just having a piece of their heart would be enough for him, and all too often in his life he didn't even have that. He's never had a desire for monogamy, so the pain of being implicitly promised it just to have that promise broken is beyond him.

So he still doesn't get it, even when Achilles tries to explain it. But maybe he doesn't have to get it. It's enough to just take the evidence before him and understand that regardless of whether or not he understands it, Patroclus finds the whole thing upsetting.

"Alright. Thank you." Hermes tries to take Achilles' word for what it's worth, and trust that he'll keep it, even if it means upsetting Patroclus. And hopefully, he won't have to keep his word in the first place, and Patroclus really doesn't start anything in front of Lyra.

Hermes tries to shake himself back into a good, optimistic mood. It's a little forced, but that's okay. Often the first step of being optimistic is forcing it. "Let's get to Lyra. She should know who will teach her."

Achilles gets the feeling his explanation wasn’t satisfactory, but it’s hard enough explaining one’s own heart, much less someone else’s.

“Yes, and she’ll be so pleased to see you, love.” He gives Hermes a nod and a reassuring smile, then takes his hand to guide him along the path Elysium’s offered. It’s far shorter and cleaner than the route he originally took to get here. It’s clear and confidently laid with stone.

Back at the other glade, Patroclus is showing off Méli’s repertoire of tricks. Or at least trying to figure out which ones she hasn’t forgotten again. At present, he’s standing drawing circles with his finger, trying to get her to spin around. The best he’s getting is a quizzical look. “Come now, Méli! Spin! I know you can.”

Lyra is happy to watch Méli try and fail to do tricks. Poor, silly doggy can't be blamed for forgetting everything when she keeps on drinking Lethe water. She laughs at how confused the poor dog is as Pat tries to get her to spin, leaning her cheek on Pat's shoulder.

But she perks as her fathers approach. She feels the change in the air, whispering of Hermes' presence. It's like the very land anticipates him. Before they arrive, she whispers in soft excitement to Patroclus, "They're coming back."

And as they do, she springs from Patroclus' lap. "Dad! Daddy!"

She's already greeted Achilles, but she hesitates before greeting her divine father so casually. It's still strange to see a god looking like a god--strange to see the wings, strange to see the glow, strange to see how the land itself seems to gravitate towards him. Instead of running up to him, she just holds out her arms, a silent request for a hug. She's not actually sure he'll give it to her.

Hermes, for his part, has to smother the urge to turn into an animal again. Instead, he has his easy, opaque smirk on his face, his eyes impossible to read, and he crouches down to hold his arms in turn. When she hugs him, it's polite, gentle, but it's still a hug. "Hello, dear one. I see you've wasted no time breaking back into Elysium?"

"Nope!" she says cheerfully. She doesn't need to hide anything behind a smirk or facade. She's very happy about the fact that she's a little criminal and now she's getting to hug her dad.

Méli immediately lunges to be part of this greeting, but Patroclus holds her back to give Lyra and Hermes their space.

It’s easy to observe the differences in how Lyra interacts with her fathers. Pat’s first thought is, He’s a god. Of course, he’s not suited to fatherhood. But he pauses and tries to be more charitable—he knows this is Hermes’ first child, and Zeus was a terrible parent. Of course this is difficult.

Besides, it’s easy for anyone to look stiff next to someone like Achilles, who takes so naturally to fatherhood. Even now, he’s beaming proudly at his daughter.

“Seems you kept Patroclus and Méli out of trouble,” he says, patting her head. “Thank you. Hermes and I had plenty of time to discuss your tutor and come to a decision. Are you ready to hear it?”

Hermes sits on the ground so it's easier for him to be at eye level with Lyra. It really is so strange to see so much of himself and Achilles in one person. She jumps up and down, tapping her hands together in excitement, her face practically splitting with her grin. "Yes! Yes! I want to hear it!"

She looks to Hermes, and his opaque smirk naturally warms into a softer, more genuine smile at her glee. "Daddy said she was a girl. Is she a goddess? Or a human? Or a nymph?"

"A mortal girl, just like you," Hermes says, voice dropping into soft, conspiratorial tones. This is easier than hugging someone he doesn't quite know yet. Being a bit silly comes naturally to him. "Some people think she's very scary, but I think they're just scared because they're not used to girls who can tell them off when they're rude and mean. Boys are silly about that sort of thing, hmm?"

Lyra wrinkles her nose and laughs, still clapping. "Yes! Yes, they are! Boys keep telling me to stop talking, even though I'm right, just 'cuz I'm a girl and they don't like it when girls are right and they're wrong."

"Exactly." Hermes gives her a wink. "Lucky you're too smart for that, aren't you? I don't think you'll be scared at all."

Nor does Hermes think Lyra has any cause to be afraid. Medea is formidable, but she's no threat to a god's small child. Hermes expects that the worst Medea might inflict in her displeasure is grueling chores.

This is why Achilles loves children: the infectious, unabashed joy.

“Speaking from first-hand experience, boys definitely don’t know what they’re talking about half the time,” Patroclus agrees, adjusting his hold on Méli as she squirms. “We just like to hear ourselves speak sometimes.”

“I’ve been guilty of that,” Achilles laughs, though he does wonder what the women in his life would have had to say if he’d given them space to speak. Maybe Lyra is his chance to do right by them. He crouches next to Hermes and his daughter, an elbow resting on his knee.

“Your teacher’s name is Medea of Colchis.” Achilles draws his fingers through Lyra’s hair, pulling it back, away from her face. “You’ve heard many stories, fledgling. Does that include hers?”

Lyra pauses in her bouncing to look up at Achilles with wide eyes. Many children would tremble and cower at the thought of meeting Medea of Colchis, but Lyra just looks surprised and curious.

"Stories about Medea?" Lyra nods. "Yeah, she was an Argonaut. And a witch. And they say she killed her children."

"She only pretended to kill her children to protect them from the wrath of those left behind by her murder of a king," Hermes says gently. "And to hurt her former husband, Jason. Her children are grown men now."

Lyra listens intently, nodding as Hermes speaks. Ah, that's okay then. She'd feel a little weird about her fathers sending her to someone with a history of killing children. "What's she like?"

"Formidable. Clever. Resourceful. Courageous. Much like you." Hermes takes Lyra's hand, resting it between his as he holds her eyes. "And we have it on good authority that she'll be the best guardian for you. She'll teach you what you need to know to have all the adventures you dream of."

Hermes doesn't know that Achilles has withheld information about Apollo's suggestion from Patroclus, so it doesn't occur to him to skirt around references himself.

Patroclus is still skeptical of this choice, wondering how the Fates’ might be pulling their threads, impelling even a clever god like Hermes to make irrational decisions—like put his child in the hands of a renowned witch. And Pat wonders exactly who the “good authority” is and why they had so much influence over this choice. Something to ask Achilles about later.

For now, he just watches and listens. Upsetting Hermes wouldn’t do right now.

“Both Hermes and I have met with her. We wouldn’t send you to someone who would cause you harm,” Achilles rests a hand on her small shoulder. “Even so, Hermes won’t be far, and Medea will teach you how to call me to your side.”

He smiles, trying to kindle more excitement. “Her husband is the king of Athens. You’ll live comfortably and see all the wonders the city has to offer.”

Later on, Hermes will take note of Patroclus' restraint and be grateful for it. For now, he focuses only on Lyra. It's easier that way, rather than worrying about anything else right now.

Lyra bounces gently in place, a little bit of excitement alighting at the thought of going to Athens, where all the merchants seem to want to go and talk up so much--but still, her curiosity is ever greater. "Will I learn to be a witch? What's it like?"

"You know..." Hermes crosses his legs, keeping a hold of Lyra's hand and smiling at her, voice soft. "I think mortal magic is a lot like a good trick. It's learning the rules of how the world works... so you can break them very cleverly." What else is the art of seizing a shade of the dead from the Underworld? Growing dragon from teeth, regrowing missing limbs, laying down a curse? Knowing the rules of the world so well that one can twist them to their advantage, or break them entirely without suffering the consequences.

"That sounds like fun," Lyra says earnestly. "I like breaking rules."

"You come by it honestly," Hermes says with a wink.

Pat wonders how quickly Lyra will be taught such dangerous things. She’s a precocious child, but she’s still a child. As a girl, it’s the best way to protect herself in a world like ours, Achilles had insisted. Maybe that’s true, maybe these arts will protect her from cruel men, but what are the chances she hurts herself in the process?

“Don’t break rules just for the sake of it, my dear,” Achilles says in his best parental tone. He’s happy to enforce some semblance of order and let Hermes be the fun father. “I expect you to treat Medea and everyone in her house with the respect they’re due.”

Achilles sees the skepticism stormy in Pat’s face and adds, “I’m sure you’ll learn medicine, too. That will come in handy on your adventures, and be a great boon to those around you.”

Pat is only slightly mollified. He’d prefer that’s all she learns. And that they would send her to Chiron. But she’s not his daughter.

Hermes glances at Patroclus, the first time he’s really looked straight at the man since greeting his daughter, and notes his expression. Not that Hermes is inclined to really take Pat’s opinion into account on this one. Hermes is willing to be very flexible to make things work out between them, but giving him say over how Lyra’s raised is where he draws the line.

“You’ll learn all sorts of things. All of them fun or useful. Many will be both.” He pats Lyra’s head, and she grins, bouncing in place. She really can’t stay still at all. She came by that honestly too, he supposes.

“I’ll be good! I’ll be really nice to her and to the king and learn all the things she teaches me! And I’ll learn how to summon the dead, so I can summon Daddy and Patroclus and I can show them what I know!”

“Good.” Hermes’ smile reaches his eyes. “And if you ever need me before you can summon the dead, I’m just a prayer away, alright?”

Lyra pauses in her bouncing to arch one skeptical brow. “Is it really okay to pray for you to visit? Aren’t you busy?”

“Not too busy for you,” Hermes says quickly, ruffling her hair to cover how that question pinches his heart. “A prayer away. Promise.”

“Good.” Achilles kisses the top of her head. “But I’ll hold you to your word. If you cause too much mischief, Lady Medea won’t trust you to keep a pet.”

As much as he’d like to be focused on Lyra and her restless excitement, Achilles also has his eyes on both his lovers. He knows Pat is already becoming fiercely protective of Lyra.

But he sees Pat’s face soften when Lyra again mentions summoning him as well as her “Daddy.” Patroclus’ eyes flick to Hermes, looking for any sign that he disapproves; he’s still not confident Hermes wants him around their child. He finally bobs his head, grateful to be included. “I’m eager to visit and see your progress.”

Satisfied there’s no need to intervene yet, Achilles turns his attention back to Lyra. “Your father is very fast, little fledgling.” Achilles quietly finds Hermes’ hand, clasps it tight. “It’s no trouble for him to come when called upon.”

Hermes doesn't visibly react at all to Lyra wanting to summon Patroclus. That could mean that he doesn't mind, or that he's consciously not reacting--it can be hard to tell with his face if one doesn't know him well.

"Yes, I have to be good so I can convince her to let me have a pet. A dog. Or a cat." Lyra doesn't yet know Hermes well enough to see the pain he feels that she needs reassurance that he'll come when she calls. Instead, she bounces in place, eager to tell him all about her plans for an animal. "I've never had a pet, even though I've always wanted one and the strays are very nice to me, because Eu-Eu says we're too poor, but if I live with the king of Athens then I wouldn't be too poor especially if I promise to take care of it all by myself, so I got to convince Medea that I'll keep a promise like that and I can be good! Do you like cats and dogs?"

Hermes has absolutely no trouble keeping up with the burst of excited babble from his daughter. He squeezes Achilles' hand, steeling himself even as he smiles. "Oh, I like most animals. As for cats and dogs, I prefer being a cat--easier to get up to all sorts of trouble--but I think dogs make for better company. Don't they, Méli?"

Hermes looks to Méli with a wink, like she can understand him. It makes Lyra giggle, swaying as she bounces. "Will you turn me into a cat some time? I'd like to get into kitty trouble too." Already she's imagining the mischief. Visiting the Underworld as a kitty. Stealing from the market as a kitty. Scratching her dumb big brother's leg as a kitty.

"Maybe. Let's focus on getting you settled with your human trouble first, hmmm?"

Méli acknowledges the wink (or perhaps just her name) with a long pause, tongue lolling, one ear perked … before she resumes squirming against Pat’s hold. She hasn’t been the most well-behaved dog Patroclus has ever known, but she’s definitely made for more interesting company.

“What about a horse?” Achilles muses—they’ve always been his favorite ‘pet’ and the animal he misses most in the Underworld. “They’re more practical than a dog or cat. They’re fine companions and can help you cover ground on your adventures.”

“She’s still young for a horse, Achilles,” Pat chides. “And I doubt Medea could teach her to handle one.”

“Father took me on rides with Xanthus and Balius when I was just a boy,” Achilles argues.

“Not alone,” Pat sighs, as if this isn’t the first time he’s dealt with some revisionist history. “He led you and Xanthus around the fields at little more than an easy trot.”

"A horse sounds fun!" Lyra pipes up, wiggling in excitement. "But I couldn't cuddle a horse in bed like a dog or a kitty. Maybe a horse, and a dog or a cat?"

"You're limited only by what you can convince Medea to tolerate, my dear," Hermes says with a fond smile. "Consider it a test of your charm. Life is full of goals best met by being very charming."

And Hermes is more than happy to let her get away with whatever she's charming or cunning enough to get herself. It seems like an easy way to encourage her to develop the skills Hermes sees as most useful in life.

"Is that how you meet most of your goals? By being very charming?" Lyra asks, bright-eyed and curious. Hermes huffs a chuckle, still smiling.

"I'd say that's how I meet most of my goals." Hermes looks to Achilles, smiling. He only just stops himself from joking that that's how he convinced Achilles to get with him in front, conscious of Patroclus. "What do you think? Do you think my charm is mostly what got me where I am?"

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