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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Achilles has never thought of love as a choice. Like pride, it always felt like a force unto itself, as outside his control as the tides. The first time he felt it with Patroclus, it felt like his entire world had shifted to place Pat at the center. The second time, when he felt it with Hermes, it was slower but no less inexorable. He couldn’t imagine either of them being a choice.

Maybe that’s why Aphrodite adores him; for all his strength and heroism, he’s powerless when it comes to love.

That love is a choice—Patroclus understands that. Many times, he’s chosen to love Achilles despite his outsize pride, his stubbornness, and now his love for another man. Loving a hero has been a feat of endurance, but seeing Achilles happy—even now, holding a daughter in his arms—is worth the struggle.

The way Lyra obviously absorbs all of this information—a slight furrow in her smooth brow, a little tweak of her mouth—reminds Achilles of young Zagreus.

“It will make more sense when the time comes.” He also recalls how much the prince protested at ‘you’ll understand when you’re older’ answers and gives her a kiss on the temple. “That sort of love is still years away, fledgling. Until then, you have our love.”

Love has frequently been a choice for Hermes, especially one he struggles not to make. There were many times he didn't want to love Zeus, wanted to sever that last emotional tie, but he never could. He would always get caught on something--some scrap of affection his father threw his way. And he could never just leave and disappear and let Zeus be out of his life completely. With everyone else in his life, he could walk away and never again see them, such is the privilege of godhood--but he doesn't want to.

Just as he could walk away from Lyra, ignore her like so many other gods do, but he doesn't want to. Even if he's afraid.

And Lyra, for her part, is visibly soaking up the affection. Even if they give her the annoying grownup answer of 'she'll understand when she's older.' But she supposes if all the adults say that, there's probably at least a little truth to it.

"It seems like a lot of trouble," Lyra muses. "I like the love I have already."

"Oh, it's a lot of trouble," Hermes chuckles, looking down so he doesn't instinctively look at Achilles or Patroclus. "But it's worth it. You'll see. Unless you grow up like your aunt Athena, who hasn't the slightest interest in any of it, but not many people are like Athena."

Lyra cocks her head curiously, rocking gently in Achilles' grip because she is terminally unable to sit still. "What's Athena like? Is she nice?"

"Depends on how you define nice," Hermes says, still smiling. "She doesn't do social visits. I think being friendly for the sake of it would give her hives. But she's fair-minded and even-tempered. But Achilles has firsthand experience how she deals with mortals."

“Hermes is right. She can be as cold as the marble statues made in her image, but at times we must follow her example. We should not allow ourselves to be swayed by strong emotion.” Achilles gives Lyra slack to fidget. It’s not a nuisance, but an endearing reminder of her buzzing hummingbird of a father.

“Lady Athena moves her favored heroes to action, but has the insight to stay a man’s hand when it’s driven by his worst impulses.” Like Achilles’ urge to cut down Agamemnon; he won’t soon forget the divine grip that stopped him from drawing his blade. “Only now do I fully appreciate the wisdom she tried to impart. If she ever comes to you, my dear, heed her words.”

Lyra may not go to war, but he hope she’ll still earn Athena’s favor as a beloved niece. He suspects Lyra will need some tempering wisdom.

How interesting, to learn about the gods from people who've met them. Lyra had never imagined meeting one at all, let alone being able to hear about all of them. She nods as her daddy advises her to listen to Athena--not that she really intended to openly defy an Olympian who told her what to do. "I'll listen if she comes. Promise."

She can't help but hope she has a chance to meet Athena. And Aphrodite. And all the other gods and goddesses who make her aunts and uncles and grandmas and grandpas. Except Zeus, maybe. It sounds like there's trouble between Zeus and Hermes, and even at her age, she has the good sense not to get in the middle. Lucky he's gone to the stars, so she doesn't have to.

"Do any of the Olympians like social visits? Being friendly just to be friendly?" The stories don't make it sound like it, but Hermes kind of strikes her as someone who likes social visits. Why else would he visit her as a kitty? And Hermes smiles, and it's like the glade glows with his good mood. He likes talking about his family to her, she notes. And it feels a little like the world around him always responds to his mood, like the land is happy when he's happy, and it's sad when he's sad. Maybe that's just what it means to be a god.

"My brother Dionysus, and my aunt Hestia, both like to be friendly for the sake of it," Hermes says. "And Hebe. But Hebe has a mischievous side. She likes to raise a little playful trouble, especially when the grownups take themselves too seriously. Aunt Hestia likes a nice conversation by a warm fire, and Dionysus likes to party."

Lyra looks to Patroclus, then to Achilles, leaning her head against her daddy's stomach. He's not as warm as the living, but his embrace is no less loving for it. "Have either of you met them? Are they nice? You said Hebe made a hopscotch tournament."

Edited 2024-01-14 22:30 (UTC)

Patroclus doesn’t trust himself to answer that question without bias, so he looks to Achilles. He’s more than happy to paint a favorable picture of Lyra’s relatives. “Other than Hermes, few Olympians visited the Underworld until the prince brought his mother back to the House of Hades.”

Achilles idly combs his fingers through her hair as he speaks. His shade may be cold, but he basks in her youthful warmth and Hermes’ peaceful glow. “Since then, they’ve paid more visits. Ladies Athena, Hestia, Hebe … Lords Apollo, Poseidon, Dionysus to name but a few. Many of them are pleasant. Others are more difficult.” Apollo. He means Apollo.

He cocks his head as another name occurs to him: “I suppose he’s not counted among the Olympians, but I hope you’ll meet Lord Prometheus one day. He’s a kind god who loves mortals. He could teach you many things about the world and the creatures he’s created.”

Lyra listens with wide eyes. She's grateful that she gets to hear about the gods from Hermes and Achilles. Hermes seems to know them like people, because he's one of them, but Achilles knows them like she's likely to know them. Like gods.

"Isn't Prometheus trapped on a mountain?" she asks, leaning her head against Achilles' hand.

"No longer. He was freed, and Olympus isn't rushing to put him back up there." Hermes smiles at her, warming to watch how easily Achilles embraces her. Hermes is jealous that he can't do it himself, but there's something that eases the knot in his chest just to see his lover holding their daughter so tenderly. "I think he'd like to meet you a lot. He has a soft spot for all his creations."

"Would he answer my questions?" Lyra asks with wide eyes. "Like... why sometimes you're itchy? Or... why boys grow taller than girls?"

"I'm sure he would, little bird." Hermes doesn't even notice himself reusing Apollo's own term of endearment for him, the one Apollo used especially when he was still a child. It comes naturally. "He likes curious people."

Little bird. Achilles smiles at the nickname and takes it for a good sign. Hermes is thinking about his own family, his own childhood. Apollo was obviously a loving surrogate father—Hermes isn’t totally without a good parental model.

Idly, Achilles wonders if Prometheus would be surprised by Lyra’s unlikely birth. Well … Maybe not surprised—gods and demigods are conceived in all sorts of unusual ways—but he might be intrigued.

“He would love to answer your questions, so long as you allow him to ask some of his own.” That’s what struck Achilles about his time with the Titan: that a god would want to know so much about him and his life. “Lord Prometheus loves to know about mortals.”

Achilles gives Lyra a conspiratorial look and taps her chin. “If you can hold still, he might draw your portrait.”

Secretly, Achilles hopes he does, if only so Lyra’s likeness is captured somewhere.

Meanwhile, Patroclus continues watching, listening, keeping his focus tightly on Achilles and Lyra. He can’t ignore the peaceful divine aura that’s flooded the space, but when he looks at Hermes directly, Pat risks suffering another twinge of jealousy. He’d much rather soak up Achilles’ paternal happiness and Lyra’s bright excitement.

"I'm no good at holding still. Eu-Eu says it's like I have ants in my clothes," Lyra says solemnly, like this is very important information to impart. "But I'll try, if I ever meet Lord Prometheus."

"Not holding still well is something else you come by honestly," Hermes says with a laugh.

But Lyra is still curious. It's a boundless curiosity, childlike and full of wonder and impossible to sate. She blinks up at Achilles, resting her hands on his and feeling the creases of his knuckles. "You said some of the gods are easier to deal with than others. Which are which?"

"I'll save Achilles from answering that question to my face," Hermes says, chuckling warmly. He knows Achilles' feelings on the matter, and he knows and loves that Achilles tries to be sensitive to Hermes' own feelings about his family. "My brother Apollo is the hardest to deal with for mortals, usually. He's temperamental at the best of times, and going into the Underworld puts him in a foul mood because it's so uncomfortable for him. Your father is very patient with him, mostly for my sake."

Hermes flashes Achilles a smile, warm and loving and grateful. It makes the glade warmer too. Lyra cocks her head. "Why's he so grumpy?"

"Ah, that's complicated." Hermes gives a small shrug and a rueful smile. "For a lot of reasons. But especially because he carries the heaviest burden of all the Olympians by knowing the future and guiding major events. Bearing so much, he's more sensitive than most to feeling taken for granted. So remember to be thankful for his blessings when he gives them, mmm?"

Including the things most people take for granted. Medicine. Knowledge of how to keep a healthy body. Education. Light. Music. The guidance of prophets. Lyra nods, taking this advice as seriously as all the other advice she's received about the gods.

“Maybe we can get rid of some of those pesky ants?” Achilles laughs, easily lifting Lyra into the air and giving her a playful shake. “They must like you because you’re sweet as honey, hm?”

He appreciates Hermes taking that particular answer; he doesn’t want to make it sound like he hates any of Lyra’s aunts and uncles. Patroclus, for his part, thinks Hermes is cherry coating it. Even outside of his and Achilles’ deaths, he did watch Apollo kill many of his fellow Greeks with a brutal plague. It goes beyond grumpy or sensitive.

Pat opens his mouth to speak, but Achilles shoots him a look and quickly interjects. He remembers his promise to Hermes. “Lord Apollo gave the Trojans his favor and he made our lives very difficult for it. But such is to be expected of a war waged with mortals and gods.”

Patroclus isn’t entirely satisfied with that explanation, but he closes his mouth and drops his eyes to Méli. Achilles was just keeping the peace, he knows. This isn’t the time to argue about the cruelty of the gods.

Lyra squeals in delight as she's picked up and shaken, giggling before wrapping her arms around Achilles' neck. Hopefully, he had no intention of putting her down, because now she's thoroughly latched on.

Hermes is grateful for Achilles' tact, and it doesn't escape his notice how quick he is to intervene and stop any potential conflict before he starts. Hermes takes a mental note to give him a hundred kisses later for keeping his promise and for being sensitive to not giving Lyra a bad impression of her family before she has a chance to meet them and form her own opinions.

"War sounds like it's hard in the stories," Lyra agrees, putting her head on Achilles' shoulder. "Why'd Apollo side with the Trojans? The stories I hear don't say."

"He favored Hector and Paris, but I don't think that was the reason." Hermes shrugs. "You'd have to ask him. I know that the King Agamemnon offended him very deeply. And he raised the walls of Troy himself with Poseidon and Aeacus, and said only with a descendant of Aeacus could anyone breach the walls. When he gets caught on something obscure like that, it's usually for some prophecy reason where things will go really badly if they don't go that way."

"Why?" Lyra asks, her new favorite question.

"I don't ask anymore." Hermes shrugs with a half-smile. "Apollo doesn't like to share visions of the future with me unless they're happy ones."

Achilles has absolutely no intention of letting go of Lyra if he can help it. She’ll be off to Medea soon and he wants to hold her as long as he possibly can. He wants to commit her childhood squeals and giggles to memory—he knows she’ll be grown in an instant.

He shifts his hold more comfortably under her legs, still rocking her slowly back and forth. “You need not worry about Apollo, my dear. Even if he doesn’t like me very well, he loves your father. He wouldn’t hurt you.”

Really, the only Olympian Achilles is concerned about is Ares, should he ever be free of his imprisonment, but he doesn’t want to worry Lyra (or Hermes) with talk of that. “Someday, I’d like you to meet the gods and goddesses of the Underworld as well. Between you and me, they’re not nearly so scary as the stories say.”

Lyra is very happy to be carried. Her foster father is too old and bent from a lifetime of labor to carry her, so she clings to Achilles like a little monkey and giggles as she's rocked, tucking her head into the crook of his neck. Even now, even as a shade, he smells a little like the ocean.

"What are the gods and goddesses of the Underworld like? Patroclus told me that there's a prince Zagreus, and you taught him," she says, happy to bask in the affection and attention being lavished on her.

Hermes watches, smiling. His own internal clock tells him that soon, Lyra will need to go home, but he doesn't want to make her go quite yet. He wants to commit this moment to memory, watching Achilles hold and rock her back and forth.

Achilles flashes Patroclus a teasing smile, half in apology for cutting him off earlier. “Revealing all of my secrets, are you?”

Patroclus shrugs. “Oh, of course. And there are plenty more where that came from. Juicier ones.”

“Don’t listen to him, fledgling,” Achilles says in mock exasperation before returning to the topic. “You asked about the Chthonic gods …”

He hums, still moving Lyra side to side, as if she’s infected him with her fidgeting. “They’re not as ostentatious as Olympians. They work hard and don’t ask much in return. Many of them are kinder than they might look. Particularly Charon.”

Lyra giggles, wrinkling her nose in delight at the banter and rocking. "I haven't seen Charon, yet."

"My associate--Charon--is impossible to miss. He towers over people, breathes purple smoke, and has very little flesh on his face, and the lack of lips make it hard for him to say anything but groaning." Hermes' aura, if anything, warms even more as he talks about Charon, guard thoroughly down. Not that he's really worried if Achilles picks up on his relationship with the boatman. "But don't let the intimidating visage fool you--he's a softy. He especially likes it when people talk to him and learn how to understand him. You catch on eventually, if you take the time to listen."

Hermes is pretty sure Charon fell in love with him because Hermes was terminally incapable of shutting up. Charon likes cheer and chatter. Hermes thinks that's why Charon has a soft spot for Zagreus, too. All too frequently, people find Charon frightening or repulsive, but that's their loss.

"I'll listen, if he talks to me," Lyra promises. "I'll learn how to understand."

Achilles has his suspicions about Hermes and Charon, but it’s hard to know for sure; Hermes is so friendly with most everyone. In general, Achilles avoids thinking too much about Hermes’ other lovers. He can’t trust himself to not be a little jealous, even if it’s only fair. Achilles has Pat, after all.

But Achilles is the only one who has a child with Hermes, so he can’t help but feel just a little special. “If you keep sneaking down here, you’ll meet Charon before long. And Prince Zagreus.”

He adjusts his hold on Lyra, easily transferring her weight to one arm. With his free hand, he fixes the shoulder of her tunic. “I think you would like Lady Persephone and Lady Nyx, too. They’re both kind, strong, and wise.” He looks to Hermes, “They’re as vital to the Underworld as Lord Hades himself, don’t you think?”

If Lyra grows to be anything like them, he’ll be more than pleased.

Hermes has kept a pretty solid policy of not unnecessarily talking about other lovers when he's with one person. It seems rude. Plus, he's always been so afraid of one being discovered that he's made a habit of not sharing any of their names, even to each other.

"Oh absolutely. And my uncle would readily admit it." Hermes stands up from the grass, leaning in to tuck a lock of hair behind Lyra's ear. There's something very nice about just... standing with them. Together. Like a family. "My uncle Hades is grumpy, but you can trust him to be fair-minded. Persephone is half mortal, so she understands them better than most of the family."

Hermes grins at Achilles. "I think Lyra would get along with Zagreus. They'd keep each other busy with questions for eons."

"I want to meet Zagreus!" Lyra may not be able to tell how time is passing down here, but her body is. She stifles a yawn, fatigue beginning to drag her eyelids, but she's too eager to keep up the conversation to admit to being tired. Especially since she's pretty sure that it wouldn't be good for her to sleep in the Underworld. "I want to meet everyone. They all sound so interesting."

Achilles gives a ringing laugh. “Styx, I don’t want to think of the mischief the two of them would be capable of.”

Especially given how well the Underworld seems to like Lyra.

“You’ll meet them all someday, you have my word. But you’ve had quite enough excitement for one day, little fledgling.” It’s almost surprising to see her tired after buzzing with so much energy; he expects her to be like Hermes, scarcely stopping for a single moment. But she’s still a mortal child with mortal limits. Achilles gives her a smiling peck on the cheek. “Time to get some rest.”

He sighs softly, wishing he could keep her here. But this isn’t her place. Not for a long time yet. Achilles steps closer to Hermes and presses Lyra into his arms. “See her safely home?”

"I'm not tired! I can stay!" Lyra protests, but Hermes just shakes his head with a soft chuckle as he takes her into his arms.

"Don't try to push yourself to stay awake as long as gods and shades, little bird. You're still growing, and you need your rest."

Lyra pouts. She makes a point to pout very emphatically. It makes Hermes giggle, tapping her nose playfully. "Keep making faces and you'll get stuck that way."

She scrunches her face at him, which makes him laugh again. He smiles to Achilles, aura swelling with love. "I'll make sure she gets home safe. I'll meet you at the mouth of the Temple later tonight?"

To meet his mother, Maia. Just in case Achilles needed a reminder.

Lyra, meanwhile, twists in Hermes' grip and reaches for Patroclus, wordlessly requesting he come close so she can squeeze his hand and say goodbye.

“Yes, I’ll be there,” Achilles confirms to Hermes, then leans in and brushes the curls away from Lyra’s forehead to give her another kiss. “I love you.”

And Pat can’t very well deny that adorable petition. His beard bristles around a smile as he stands, releasing Méli. He approaches and rests one hand on Achilles’ lower back while he takes Lyra’s tiny, offered hand in a gentle squeeze. Hermes receives the briefest glance before Patroclus focuses his eyes on Lyra’s. They match Achilles’ color, but take Hermes’ shape and keen focus. “Be good and rest well, little stranger.”

Méli won’t be left out, and she plants her front paws on Hermes’ leg, snuffling excitedly and begging for all the pets she’s missed in the past several minutes.

Lyra smiles as she's kissed by her father. "Love you too."

It's easy for her to say. Hermes is almost jealous, how easy it seems. But the jealousy gives way to relief that she doesn't face the same struggles he does.

If Hermes feels any sort of way about Patroclus getting close enough to say goodbye to Lyra, he doesn't give it away. Lyra smiles at Patroclus, squeezing his hand. She at least has the tact not to bring up their conversation they had when they were alone.

"I'll be good. You be good too." Lyra presses Patroclus' hand to her cheek before she lets him go, scratching Méli's head. "You be good too, Méli."

"I don't know if Méli can be anything but good," Hermes says, adjusting his grip on Lyra. "Say goodbye, little bird. We'll be back to your home before you know it."

“I make no promises for myself,” Pat jokes. “But Méli will do her best.”

Right now, Méli’s best is to enthusiastically lick Lyra’s hand before it moves back out of reach.

Achilles soaks up this moment. Savors it like a ripe fig. He wishes he could capture it forever, crystallized in amber. Lyra, Hermes, Patroclus: three of the people he loves most, all together, surrounded by divine warmth. He never would have expected this from his afterlife.

His hand strokes Lyra’s cheek one last time. “Farewell for now, my dear. We’ll meet again soon.”

Lyra giggles at Pat's joke before wrapping her arms around Hermes' neck. "Yeah. I'll see you again soon."

And then they're gone.

It's dark outside when Hermes flutters down in the woods just near Lyra's home, the glow of the fire in her cottage glowing through the windows. He's about to say goodbye when she clings harder to his neck.

"Don't go yet," she says. "I can stay awake. Just to talk a little. I still have questions."

Hermes isn't so sure how he feels about spending time with her as a person without Achilles around to reassure him, but he remembers all the times he wished Zeus would stay with him a little longer, and he can't deny her. He sits on the forest floor, settling her on his lap. "What do you want to ask about?"

"About everything." Lyra presses her cheek to his shoulder, watching him with wide eyes. "Were you born before humans were made? Do you have a favorite color? Did you really kill the giant Argos? Did Lady Hera really take his eyes and put them on peacock feathers?"

Even at the best of times, Hermes has a weakness for the curious. And it's easier to answer straight forward questions and tell stories than to deal with his feelings. He sits there too long, talking to Lyra, held in place by her questions and sincere desire to spend time with him.

He'll be late to meeting Achilles at the mouth of the Temple. Maia will make it there before him, taking a seat on a stump and waiting patiently for her son. It's like a piece of the night sky has stepped onto the earth and draped itself in a shawl of darkness, waiting for him.

Once they’ve disappeared, Achilles releases a long sigh and leans against Patroclus’ shoulder. Pat can hear two distinct notes in that breath: contented, but wistful.

“She’s a good child.” Patroclus pets Achilles’ curls. “I’m sorry you can’t be with her.”

“Mm,” Achilles agrees with a solemn nod. Then, after a moment, he cups either side of Pat’s face. “Thank you. For your understanding and patience.”

“She makes you happy.” Pat dips his head, swallows. “Hermes makes you happy.”

“And you make me happy,” Achilles adds quickly. He continues holding Patroclus’ face and simply admires his steady, dark eyes before he pulls him into a kiss. Méli, meanwhile dances around them and barks her displeasure at being left out of all of this ongoing affection.

“Fine,” Achilles laughs, reaching down to ruffle her ears. “You make me happy, too, pup.”

They spend another another hour or two walking Elysium’s glades, and for once, their conversation is more about the future than the past. Pat still grumbles about Medea and Apollo’s advice, but it doesn’t give way to bickering. His mood doesn’t sour, even when Achilles finally has to take his leave again.

Just shy of the Temple, Achilles dusts the dirt from his chiton (left by Méli’s eager paws) and checks his reflection in a glassy pool of water. He tries to tame back his hair, only for his curls to resume their rugged cascade down his shoulders. He frowns. Goddesses can be very opinionated about the lovers their only son takes.

He’s glad he tried to clean up, because he didn’t expect Hermes to be late to such an important meeting. Maia is already here and he’ll have her full focus. Achilles rarely ever feels nervous—it’s not something a hero is usually capable of—but he does now.

Not for himself, he realizes, but for Hermes.

Achilles clears his throat softly before breaking the silence. “Lady Maia?”

Maia is tall, but within the bounds of how tall a human is. But her shadow is long, far longer than it ought to be, just as Prometheus' was. And there's a quiet about her, like the earth no longer knows her and doesn't quite know what to do with her presence.

And it's clear why the earth doesn't know her. Where Hermes showed the stars that make him as a treat to Achilles, Maia seems to only be stars now with only the faintest outline of what she used to be. She turns her head to look at Achilles, and her eyes are burning stars. But if one squints, tries to make out the features that faintly remain between points of light, she looks much like Hermes. The same clever, narrow eyes. The same pert nose, the same soft, feminine curve of the jaw, the same upturned mouth, the same wet sand skin, the same long dark lashes and hair. Stars cling to the end of her lashes, framing the light of her eyes.

She's the most beautiful of the Pleiades, and it's clear who Hermes took after.

"You know me." Her voice seems not quite of this world either. Like it might have been warm and present once, but now it seems like it comes from somewhere far away and unknown.

"Keep your distance. I'm waiting for someone." She says it firmly, skeptical of any man she doesn't recognize knowing her name. She's had enough of heroes pursuing her.

His eyes are accustomed to the dim, subterranean light, and Hermes’ features are so indelibly stamped in his memory, he can find their familiar shape in the space suggested by stars. This is to whom Hermes owes his clever beauty.

Achilles easily sees Hermes in Maia, but he also sees Thetis—a nymph, beautiful and formidable, but ill-used by gods and men. Her cold mistrust doesn’t come as a surprise; he’s seen his mother show mortals the same, and worse.

“Goddess, I cannot cross the border of this realm. I can come no closer,” Achilles assures in the even, formal tone he’s learned to address the gods. He bows. “I am Achilles, son of Thetis, once called Greatest of the Greeks. I was summoned here by your son, Hermes.”

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