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 think it will—if I know my patron goddess, she will rule with wisdom and honor.” There’s really no other god more suited to rule Olympus, at least through his mortal eyes. If anything, Athena might be too rigid … but that’s exactly what she has Hermes for.

Achilles gives his foot-wings a gentle tug. “And she has an exceptionally kind and insightful advisor.”

Yes, he’ll keep laying the praise on thick; Maia needs to know exactly how good her son is. Hermes might put on a facade of bravado, but he’s far too modest when it comes to his most important accomplishments. Like ushering in an era of peace on Olympus.

Hermes flushes gold, but he smiles, fluttering his foot wings in Achilles' hands. "Well, her advisor does his best."

Throughout the conversation, it's clear that Maia likes Achilles a lot. It's an achievement, considering her skepticism of men, and warrior men particularly. But Achilles clearly adores Hermes, and Hermes adores him, and she can't help but be happy that her son has that.

And before she knows it, the dawn light starts to kiss the horizon. She looks to the sky, already the scant light making her star-strung form fade.

"I should return to my sisters," she says softly before looking to Achilles with a warm smile. "It made me very happy to meet you, Achilles. I would like to meet Lyra soon, too."

Achilles admires the blush of dawn for a moment—it’s a rare sight for a shade. It brings to mind new beginnings, new adventures, fresh starts. None of which he ever expected death to provide.

“I’m eager for you to meet your granddaughter. We must arrange it. She’s so like Hermes.” He laughs and gives Hermes a teasing pinch on the calf. “For better or worse.”

But his smile turns soft and he bows his head respectfully. “It was an honor to finally meet you, goddess. I hope to see you again before you make your journey back to the sky.”

Hermes snickers. "But she gets her nerve all from you, love."

Maia, still smiling, pulls her son into her arms and gives him a hug so tight that he makes a playful 'ack!' noise, hugging her back and fluffing his feathers.

"Goodbye, Mum. I'll make sure to introduce you to Lyra soon."

"Good." Maia pulls away, patting Hermes' cheeks softly before taking Achilles by the arms. "Thank you for meeting me, Achilles. This was lovely."

She leans in and places a soft kiss to Achilles' cheek, then another to his other cheek, patting his arm affectionately before she starts to fade. Already, she's going to her sisters. And yet even in her diminished state, even her soft kisses are like the kisses of stars. "I'll visit again soon enough."

There’s a lingering, gentle warmth where Maia’s starry lips and diaphanous hands touch his shade, as if they are made of like stuff; the bare essence of a god meets that of a mortal.

“Be well, Lady Maia,” Achilles says softly as she disappears into the dawn with the rest of the night’s fading stars. Orange creeps into the horizon, heralding the start of Helios’ journey.

Achilles exhales and looks to Hermes. He didn’t realize how much his nerves were thrumming that whole time. Meeting Zeus was easier somehow. “I dare say that went well.”

Hermes smiles wistfully as his mother disappears. He wishes that she could stay for longer periods of time, but he chooses to be grateful for all the time he has with her that he never expected.

"She likes you. Like I knew she would." Hermes shimmies to move his seat, sitting down finally on Achilles' side of the border between the surface and the Underworld. He loops an arm around his lover's side, pressing a soft kiss to the space where Achilles' jaw meets his ear.

"Thank you." For meeting her. For keeping the peace with Pat earlier. For being so supportive while Hermes struggles to navigate family relationships that don't require he walk on eggshells at all times. "You were wonderful."

“No need to thank me, my dear. It was a pleasure. She’s lovely …” Achilles shifts to face Hermes and cup his face in a calloused hand. He admires the way the dawn light plays in his eyes. “Just like you.”

He traces Hermes’ cheekbone. It’s a shape he’s committed to memory, but there was something special about recognizing its match in his mother’s face. “It’s a terrible thing—that the two of you were apart for so long.”

Achilles leans in and presses a kiss to the center of Hermes’ forehead. The place where his brows once furrowed in worry over opening a simple letter. “But it’s clear to see how much she loves you. How much she’s always loved you.”

Hermes smiles, closing his eyes to better memorize the feeling of Achilles' fingers on his face, the brush of lips on his head.

"I try not to dwell on how much time we lost." If Hermes allowed himself to dwell on all the tragedies of his life, he'd drown in them. And he'd take all the mortals who need his power down with him. "It's much better to think about all that I have now."

Hermes opens his eyes with a smile, leaning in to nudge his nose against Achilles'. "Now, I have my mother, I have a daughter, and I have a wonderful man to raise her with. That's worth celebrating, I think."

“That’s wise,” Achilles hums. He knows that trap: dwelling on what was lost, what could have been and ignoring all the many good things in front of him. And Achilles only had a short, mortal life. How much grief can an immortal life collect?

He slips his hand under Hermes’ chin and guides him into a kiss—soft, then probing, savoring the bright taste of his lips. Something about it makes him think of not-apples. Cheerful, tart.

Achilles breaks the kiss and runs the back of his knuckles down Hermes’ arm. “And how would you like to celebrate?”

Hermes hums softly into the kiss, smiling as Achilles parts their lips and strokes his arm. For a moment, in the soft dawn light giving Achilles a pink hue, it's easy to be overwhelmed by how much he loves this man.

He takes his favorite seat in the world--straddling Achilles' lap. And he allows Achilles in, letting him feel that love so bright it might burst from his chest.

"I can think of some ways," Hermes murmurs as he leans in to kiss Achilles again. It's slower than his usual kisses, more intent on savoring the feeling of Achilles' lips and drawing the experience out. The last couple days have been emotional--between finding out he has a daughter, having one of his rare fights with Achilles, trying to adjust to the idea of fatherhood--and he'd really like a chance to just resettle himself physically with one of the people he loves the most.

Achilles loops arms around Hermes’ waist to draw him close. He knows how exposed they are, but the secrecy of their relationship has worn so thin, he can’t be bothered to care.

It’s rare for Hermes to be so unhurried with his affection. So often his kisses are hungry. Needy. But this is a nice change and Achilles isn’t in any rush to part their lips.

When he finally comes up for air, Achilles smiles and runs a thumb over Hermes’ brow. “Depending on the ways you have in mind, this isn’t the best place. … As handsome as you look in the dawn.”

Hermes smiles at Achilles, for once happy to just take a moment and memorize his face. It's not the first time he's tried to capture a moment to affix in his mind, and he hopes it's not the last. For a moment, he's unbelievably, overwhelmingly grateful for his role as a psychopomp allowing him to have his lover beyond death.

"Alright. If you insist." But Achilles is right. Besides, so close to the Styx, it's likely that Charon will come and it's just rude to have sex with one lover where another will likely see. Hermes cups Achilles' cheeks, running his thumbs along his cheekbones.

"Would you like to go back to the grove that looks like Phthia? The grove with the statue? Or is there somewhere new you'd like to show me?"

Achilles looks past Hermes at the world beyond—so tantalizingly close. He thinks of the bustle of Athens just beyond Medea’s window. And further in memory, there’s the starry mountaintop, the beach …

He swallows and meets Hermes’ eyes again. “If it isn’t too much to ask, could you take me somewhere? Anywhere at all ...

“It need not be for long,” he adds quickly, feeling a little like a child asking for a treat. Or maybe a shade from a tragic song, begging his lover to bend the rules of life and death—perhaps to their mutual ruin.

“I miss this.” He nods his head at the sky, at Greece stretching beneath it.

Hermes should say no. It's against the rules for a reason, to let shades in and out of the Underworld willy-nilly. It was cruel to keep on dangling life on the surface in front of their faces, just to take them back home in the dark.

But the yearning in Achilles' eyes is so clear as he looks out at the sun. How can Hermes say no? How can he deny one of the loves of his life, one who stood up to Zeus to him, anything he asks for?

"Helios is a snitch." Hermes smooths Achilles' hair out of his face. "But I can take you somewhere he doesn't look. Someplace beautiful that looks like nothing any mortal in Greece would see." He lets his hands rest on Achilles' shoulders. "Pick a color, love. Green, black, or pink."

For a minute, Achilles isn’t sure how Hermes will respond. He knows his lover can’t resist a bit of mischief, but maybe it’s too much of a risk right now? Maybe he’s asked too much.

Achilles gives a rumbling hum and fiddles with one of the wings on Hermes’ ankle as he considers this unusual response. What could each color imply? A lush grove? He’s seen plenty of those in Elysium. A dark cave? That might as well be half of the Underworld.

Ultimately, only one option really piques his curiosity. He smiles at this curious game and finally says, “I choose … pink.”

Hermes smiles. "Hold on tight. Close your eyes."

He embraces Achilles tightly, staying in his lap and pressing a kiss to his lips, and then there's the dizzying rush of movement. The moment of racing, rushing air, the smell of salt and grass and sea, over in a blink before there's a chance to process anything in the transition.

And now they sit somewhere no mortal in Greece could have ever naturally seen. They sit on a bizarre rock formation that juts from the ground and towers over a rolling, endless expanse of sand and hills made of solid rock, striped pink and white and orange.

The sun is bright and harsh here, pulling out all the individual colors of the striped rocks. The air is dry--perhaps drier than anywhere in Greece, save for perhaps over a fire. From this perch, one can see some strange not-quite-wolf stalking across the sand, head low. On the rock near them, a viper with spiked scales and a strange tail coils and draws its head back, shaking its tail. The tail makes a rattling sound, almost like angry rain.

Hermes leans back a little bit to allow Achilles a better view of the rolling, alien landscape.

"Humans live here, too," he says, smiling out at the desert. "But the land isn't as giving as it is in Greece. They have to be very clever and resourceful to survive. It's very impressive, in my opinion."

Edited 2024-02-08 06:10 (UTC)

It’s almost like falling sideways. Achilles holds Hermes tight through the vertigo. He doesn’t let go, even once they’ve arrived—his hands remain clenched around the back of Hermes’ tunic as he blinks his eyes against the blazing sun. It’s almost as bright as Apollo in a rage.

The landscape around him brings to mind beaches and cliff faces swept by wind and sea … but there’s no ocean in sight. No water at all.

Achilles doesn’t have time to wonder at this oddity, though. There’s a threat at hand and he acts with the speed granted by half-divinity: his hand finds a stone and slings it with uncanny accuracy at the rearing rattlesnake.

On the rare chance that the rock misses, Achilles twists Hermes away, shielding him with his own body. His instincts are still accustomed to mortal lovers who need his protection.

Hermes starts in surprise. The rock hits the snake's body, and it rears back, rattling louder as it... slithers to the side? Unlike most snakes, instead of moving forward to strike or turning back to slither away, it strafes, baring its fangs as blood oozes from its collapsed belly.

"Darling--"

Ah, but Achilles is putting himself in between Hermes and the snake. It's sweet, if a little silly. "Darling. I'm a god. You're dead. The poor thing can't hurt us."

The viper seems to be trying to make a great show of being able to hurt them, keeping its long fangs bared and its rattle ringing loud as it strafes further and further away. Likely to go lick its wounds somewhere, or perhaps to die.

"They're called rattlesnakes. They make that noise when they're frightened to warn people off." Hermes shifts in Achilles' lap, offering his hand to the snake. It pauses its rattling and its strafing, withdrawing its fangs, like it knows it's in the presence of divinity. "There, there, little creature. My love was just frightened too. Let me fix that injury for you, hmmm?"

So far away from Olympus, Hermes isn't as self-conscious showing that his kindness and mercy extends to animals as well. It seems a sorry thing, for a little creature to die for the crime of being small and having teeth.

Edited 2024-02-09 04:51 (UTC)

Hermes indulged his request and brought him some unfathomable distance to show him this new, amazing place. The explanation, Hermes’ tenderness towards the snake brings a flush to Achilles’ face. Even after he’s dead, his body’s instinct is to lash out, no different from a beast himself.

“Ah. Forgive me, that was— … It was cruel,” he stammers. “I wasn’t thinking.”

Achilles watches the snake relax under the gentle kindness in Hermes’ gaze. This is why he loves him, though; Hermes can see the beauty in anything. Even a strange, scaly beast.

"It wasn't cruel. It was protective. Just as this little creature would have bitten you because it was afraid and wanted to defend itself. All creatures lash out when they feel afraid and vulnerable."

Hermes gathers the wounded viper in his hands. It's an imposing snake, almost three feet long, and its eyes have flared scales atop them that give it a horned appearance. But Hermes allows the snake to settle in the crook of his elbow, and he rubs the injured belly, oozing blood and bone visible. Under his fingers, the skin begins to knit itself back together, the bones rediscovering their proper places.

"This snake is the fastest one on sand. Faster than any snake can manage on sand anywhere else in the world." And of course, Hermes has a soft spot for the fastest of any category. "Sometimes I'll turn into one here, if I just want to enjoy the sun for a while but don't want to attract attention of any extended family who live here."

Off in the distance, the not-wolf glances in their direction. It keeps walking.

Achilles reaches out and strokes the now-docile snake’s scaly hide with the pad of a finger. He sighs. “This isn’t the first time. Pat would chide me when I killed the wayward snakes that came into our shelter. Only looking for rodents, no doubt.”

Yet another thing Hermes and Pat have in common: this respect for all life, human and animal. “He knew just how to handle the snakes so he could carry them to the grass at the edge of the camp.”

But Hermes probably doesn’t want to hear about Patroclus, so he quickly changes the topic. “There are gods here? Some of your kin? What is this place called?”

One thing Hermes has always liked about Pat is his respect and care for animals. He has a soft spot for people who choose to be kind to creatures much weaker than them. He relates well to it.

But he doesn't really want to talk about Pat right now. He's still touchy about last night--just because he chose to put his feelings aside about it, doesn't mean he's not still smarting.

So he latches on to the other questions. Hermes turns his head to look out at the rolling expanse of rock and sand.

"The land itself is called Turtle Island, and it's oceans away from Greece, but this place specifically?" Hermes smiles, continuing to lightly stroke the viper now relaxing on his arm. "It has many names, but Apollo calls it Death Valley, and I find that catchy. This place can go a whole year without rain, and in the summer it can be the hottest place on all the surface, so only the most resourceful survive."

Little creatures like this rattlesnake, so cleverly created just for a harsh and beautiful place like this.

"There are gods here, but we're only distantly related through Gaia herself. They aren't organized like Olympians are, but they have their understandings. Coyote is one of the most powerful, and one of the most likely to talk to people who wander through."

“Coyote …” Achilles says, testing the syllables that feel as foreign as the land itself. He wonders if the god has worshippers. He sees no sign of civilization—no roads, no rising smoke from distant settlements, but he asks anyway: “Are there humans—mortals in this Death Valley?”

Achilles knows the land is hot&mash;he can see it—but the heat doesn’t reach his shade. He remembers the time the Greek fleet spent stranded without wind in miserable heat, but at least they had the sea to provide some respite.

“Or is it only the domain of creatures like this?” He gingerly touches the end of the snake’s tail, testing the rattle. How strange, the way an otherwise familiar creature is shaped into something different. Unique. Had Hermes not invited it closer, Achilles might never had appreciated those differences.

The rattle of the snake is made of little hardened beads that grow from the tail, just articulated enough to easily rattle against each other and make a loud noise when done so. Hermes runs his finger against the viper's head as the last of its wounds knits together.

"There are humans here," Hermes confirms. "But you wouldn't recognize their way of life. They don't build cities, make roads, till fields, or conquer new lands. The land is hostile enough that they have to migrate seasonally like birds, and they leave few traces of themselves when they do. There are more people in more hospitable places on Turtle Island, but the cities and roads are south, and they worship different gods, like the Tezcatlipocas."

Hermes allows the hand holding the viper to rest on the ground. It strafes back onto the rock, but it's not in a major hurry to leave.

"Coyote isn't always very kind, but the Texcatlipocas are demanding, and Coyote isn't. I see why many mortals choose to live in his land and forgo the cities in the south."

With all apparent threats neutralized or explained away, Achilles properly relaxes into the space. He adjusts his seat on the stone and contentedly wraps his arms back around Hermes’ middle.

His hunger for knowledge went dormant during his time at Troy, but since his violent purpose has receded, he enjoys hearing Hermes’ tales about the world beyond Greece. He absorbs it as best he can—for Zagreus and Lyra, or whoever else might benefit from his tutelage.

“Coyote … what is he the god of? What is his domain?” That’s how Achilles understands the divine—as it relates to mortal experience. War, the home, crafts, and concepts like love and heroism.

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