refusetofight | For @messageforyou

Thetis notes Leon’s continued distress and smooths the water with an effortless sweep of her hand. In the midst of the waves, Leon has his own unnaturally calm pool to practice. Or at least stop panicking. It’s barely a foot deep!

She leaves the pup to conquer his fear and takes a seat next to her granddaughter. Her himation drags back and forth with the waves, lacy with the bubbling white foam. This close, one can almost see the ichor running in meandering gold lines under her pale skin.

“Your father is a very trusting man. He thinks everyone is as honest as he is.” Unfortunately. And it seems Lyra’s inherited some of that tendency. “Did you find adequate proof for your brother?”

Leon is dying, oh no, oh cruel world, he's being consumed by the terrible salty lava, how could it end like this, remember him fondly mistress--

It takes him a second to realize that his paws can touch the ground, and his head is still above the water. The very, very still water.

Leon contemplates this. As a very intelligent breed, perhaps he has it in him to be a little embarrassed. Then he curiously paws at the surface of the water, looking at how it ripples, how the larger body doesn't disturb his little pool.

Lyra, on the other hand, wastes no time. She leans against Nona, letting the side of her head rest against her cool skin, her eyes tracing the soft gold lines. Lyra has no trouble assuming affection from gods.

"Yep. I stole a champion belt from Theseus. I was glad, because Theseus is a jerk. The stories make him sound like one, and Daddy and Pat said they're true and he is a jerk. My foster parents were scared because they thought I'd bring the wrath of the gods on us all, but really, I think gods probably have more to worry about than dead jerk heroes being upset over belts."

The goddess waves her long, graceful fingers and a few tiny fish break from their school to zip around Leon’s legs and leap from the water, teasing.

She stiffens, though, when she feels Lyra’s weight. Thetis remembers the same shock holding her squalling son, new and warm and fragile, the stuff of the world, made to live and grow, die and rot. If only she could burn all of that mortal weakness away and leave him fully divine …

Her short, breathy laugh sounds like water rushing into tide pools. “Indeed they do. Gods have little interest in heroes once they’ve died.”

With the unfortunate exception of Achilles, who keeps getting roped into divine business. A part of her wishes Hermes had let him be. Can’t her son finally enjoy some peace?

Thetis’ eyes land on Lyra’s shell bracelet and her head tilts. She taps the shells with her nails. “This is a more interesting treasure. Tell me about this, child.”

Leon snaps playfully at the fish that jump before him, his tail beginning to wag, spraying seawater into the air. Oh, this is a fun game. Look at the little creatures! Little fun creatures! Leon starts to jump in circles to catch them, every big splash he makes causing him to wag harder.

Lyra looks down at her bracelet. Her face softens, fingering one of the shells. "Pyrrhus made this for me. He didn't know it was for me. But he did anyway. He made one for Daddy, too."

She doesn't think she needs to explain Pyrrhus' name to Nona, though everyone else knows him by Neoptolemus. She holds her hand out for Nona to examine the bracelet closer. "Someone taught him how to make them in the war. And now he likes to make them for fun. He made one for Daddy, too."

Lyra is correct to assume the name needs no explanation. Thetis’ lips press flat and white at Pyrrhus’ mention and her hand pulls back from the bracelet as if burned.

She only knows his life from brief, painful glimpses. His mother’s mortal blood tainted him, she decided. It made him cold and brutal. A perfect tool for idiot kings and their petty wars. If the Fates were kind, they would cut his life short.

The water ripples around her. The fish twitch at restless angles. This child needs to stay far from her brother. Does Achilles know that? He should know that. Surely Hermes does.

“Pyrrhus … You’ve met him?”

Leon, oblivious, keeps trying to chase the little fish, forgetting that he's supposed to be scared of the water. No, no, the urge to chase is too great, he can brave the salt to splash and snap for the little fishies.

Lyra, on the other hand, lets her smile fall. She fingers the shells around her wrist.

"You don't like him. That makes me very sad for him. Daddy and Grandpa didn't like him either, even though Daddy never met him."

Lyra knows she can't grasp everything the grownups can. She doesn't understand why certain things hurt grownups so bad, or why things aren't as simple for them as for kids. But even so, her heart aches for her brother.

"I wanted to meet him really badly. So Daddy met him first. And Daddy said that he was hurt, and Prometheus said he was hit really hard up here--" Lyra taps the side of her head, "--so I couldn't meet him before the grownups said I could. But I was very sad for him. It seems awful for so much of your family to give up on you because of what other people say."

She avoids answering her Nona's question directly. It's sad and painful to talk about. He was so nice, but she knows most people will only remember the part where he was scary.

Thetis idly stirs her hand in the water and Leon’s pool begins to deepen. He’ll have to figure out how to move his little legs if he wants to keep up.

She doesn’t try to deny Lyra’s assertion. She doesn’t like to lie, unless it’s to people she doesn’t like. Gods and men who want to hear certain words, whether they’re true or not.

“No, I don’t like him,” she says evenly, matter-of-factly. “It’s true. Mortals like nothing better than fighting and killing one another. Divine blood makes them all the better at it. The gods delight in their struggle.”

She stirs a nail in the water. Foam and sand twists and shifts into a memory of Troy: a crush of armored bodies, frothing horses, flashing weapons, thick plumes of smoke from funeral pyres. “War makes mortal men into rabid beasts. Your father and your brother both succumbed to its poison.”

Leon doesn't quite notice at first that he's paddling. He's too busy snapping at fish. But eventually he notices that his paws aren't touching the ground anymore, and he has a little whiny panic before he remembers he can still breathe and he's floating. Huh. This is a strange turn of events for little Leon. He experimentally paddles his paws, awkwardly trying to move through the pool.

Lyra frowns as she watches the vision her grandmother shows. She knows that it's real, and she knows it's bad, but it doesn't feel real. It's just so far away from her life.

"So you don't like Daddy either? Because he went to war?" Lyra looks up at Nona's face, eyes wide and curious. "Pat said you love Daddy a lot."

And the two notions don't match in her head. It seems strange to love someone you don't like, or to like one person who goes to war but dislike the other.

Thetis doesn’t offer the pup more assistance—he needs to learn how to keep himself afloat—but she keeps the waves at bay a while longer. The fish make swimming look smooth and effortless compared to Leon’s clumsy dog paddle.

“I didn’t like what the war made him. I didn’t like that he valued fighting another man’s war over a long, happy life.” It’s selfish, she knows, but she feels entitled to that selfishness after a life subject to the whims of others. “If he’d come home, your brother might have known a different life.”

She still likes to blame Patroclus for this decision. Maybe if the fool hadn’t gone and died, Achilles would have had a chance. As fast and strong as Achilles was, Patroclus was always his weakness.

Now that Leon is (mostly) confident he'll be able to keep breathing, he's able to focus more on his paddling. Every movement is awkward, a beast of land attempting to adapt to water, but he grows more confident, more willing to try to chase the fish that dart around him.

"He doesn't like what the war made him, either," Lyra says. "Daddy, I mean. I don't know how Pyrrhus feels about it. But Daddy really wishes he hadn't gone to war, and I know he's sad that Pyrrhus thought that Daddy would want him to go too."

Lyra fingers Nona's himation. It feels like no human material she's ever handled before.

"I did meet Pyrrhus. I didn't tell him who I was. I just wanted to get to know him. He was nice. He didn't mind that I asked lots of questions, or that I wanted to see his things." Lyra gestures to her palm, making a little crescent shape. "He has a scar here. I asked him about it. He told me a very funny story about losing a battle with a mighty stylus when he was half asleep writing one day. He said it very seriously, even though I know he was being silly. It made me laugh."

Finally the silly beast is getting the idea. There’s still hope for a worthy guard dog. Thetis isn’t about to slow down the lesson, though; she releases the enchanted stillness around Leon, allowing the waves to tumble back into his space.

“It was very wise not to tell him who you are,” Thetis says with a note of relief. “And your fathers were right to keep you from him.”

Thetis is quick to dismiss her mortal granddaughter’s generous perception as simple naïveté. The goddess has known enough gods and mortal men who mete out heaps of cruelty between crumbs of kindness. “Neoptolemus is a volatile, unpredictable man. Even if he showed you a moment’s goodness, that can change quickly, child.”

AH NO THE SALTY LAVA IT IS BACK Leon whimpers and whines as he's suddenly struck by ~~a little bit of sea foam~~ a terrible tidal wave threatening life and limb. It takes him a moment again to remember once more that he can still breathe. His awkward paw flails are still keeping him near mistress! Yes, good, the salty lava can be conquered!

Lyra decides to avoid mentioning the fact that Pyrrhus figured out her identity on his own. She's not sure it'd be very good if Nona knew that.

"Prometheus said that. He said that Pyrrhus' head was hurt during the war in a way that makes him unpredictable. I guess that can happen if you hit your head really hard." She hadn't ever thought that a whack to the head could hurt someone for so long, but if anyone knew, it'd be the one who created the first humans.

But even so, it doesn't sit well with Lyra that another family member is writing off Pyrrhus. It seems so sad, to still be getting the attention that he deserves to have too.

"Has he ever done anything scary to you?" Lyra asks instead. "Or mean?"

Why did Prometheus make mortals so delicate, Thetis wonders, if he cares so deeply for them? She’s never fully understood the Titan’s motives.

She shakes her head slowly. “No. Very few things frighten me, child, and I’m well-acquainted with mortal cruelty.”

It’s easy to see her granddaughter is trying to make a case for her brother, to excuse his defects. She sees the beauty in imperfect things, just as Achilles did. How often did Achilles try to persuade her of Patroclus’ worthiness?

“Your brother is nothing unusual.” She lifts her chin, eyes focused on a distant point over the sea. “I simply have no desire to involve myself in such things any longer.”

Lyra might have assumed that this is just how gods are, turning coldly from mortals who displease them. Maybe this is how gods are. Lyra isn't so sure, though. Papa seems to like mortals more. But also, Papa is very good at pretending, and Lyra isn't always confident she can tell the difference between Papa being sincere and Papa pretending.

"That's sad for him." Lyra leans her head against Nona's side. "If I hit my head really hard, will you never come back? Do you think Papa would never come back?"

It doesn't escape Lyra that she has more in common with her brother than she does with her divine father and grandmother. She'll grow old and frail and die. She doesn't mind the thought, really, but it seems sad that love may hinge on how long her body stays whole.

Leon tries to dive after one of the fish. His wet tail sticks up out of the water, wagging and spraying droplets of sea spray.

“You’re still very young,” she says with a hint of breathy amusement. Achilles asked her plenty of difficult questions, but none quite like this. “Lord Hermes may have given you a clever mind, but you have much to learn.”

Lyra’s easy trust and stubborn affection definitely come from Achilles. Thetis allows herself to delicately adjust her granddaughter’s damp curls. “Your father would never abandon you. I’m certain of that.”

Her eyes wander back to Leon, happy and rambunctious in spite of the conversation. “And if I don’t return, know that it’s not your fault, child.”

Lyra listens with wide, curious eyes. And she nods at her Nona's answer. Even though Nona denies it, Lyra thinks it must be very sad for her to know that her grandchildren will die. Lyra would be sad in her sandals, at least.

"Okay." Lyra leans her cheek against Nona's side, looking up at her pretty face curiously. She tries to memorize it, just in case Nona never comes back. "What was Daddy like when he was my age?"

Lyra hopes that Nona comes back, but if she doesn't, then Lyra wants to hear as many stories about her father and their family as she can.

“Your father was fearless and trusting. He was well-loved. Your grandfather doted on him—he was proud to have a son who surpassed him.” As much as she resents Peleus, at least he was a loving father to her son and didn’t see him as a threat. Thetis knows if she bore a son for Zeus, the child would suffer an eternity under his violent paranoia.

“Like you, Achilles loved the sea.” She stirs her hand through the water again and the resulting vision could easily be mistaken for a Lyra’s own reflection: a child with unruly blond curls and an easy, confident smile. “Swimming, fishing, diving. He took to it much faster than your pup.”

The vision swirls and the boy is plucking out notes on a lyre, deep in concentration. A slight shift, and the strings of the lyre turn to the stems of flowers. The boy is examining them closely under the patient instruction of a massive centaur. The flowers turn to a stylus gripped in his hand as he carves letters into a wax tablet. “Achilles was made for war, but he was capable of so much more.”

Lyra watches, smiling at the image of her father at her age. "Daddy is very good at the lyre. He's played it for me before. Papa gave him one to play in Elysium."

Lyra snuggles up against her grandmother, perfectly happy to freely take as much affection as she's allowed. Leon paddles closer, until his paws touch the sand. He shakes the water off of his coat, which isn't all that effective because he's still half submerged, but he wags his cheer anyway.

"He doesn't write much. He says that Pyrrhus likes to write a lot." Lyra fingers the shells at her wrist. "I'm learning my letters and numbers. Mistress Medea says I'm learning very fast, which she already expected. Would you mind if I send you letters, Nona?"

A smile plays across Thetis’ features, pleased to know Achilles can enjoy his old passions, even in death. She wonders if death wasn’t a good thing for her son. It freed him from the call to war and the heavy burden of heroism.

Thetis offers a hand to Leon, more comfortable showing affection to animals than her own granddaughter.

“No, letters were never your father’s strong suit. He hadn’t the patience for it.” But Thetis arches a brow, surprised that her grandson is so proficient. She didn’t take him for a scholar or a scribe.

“If you leave your letters on the shore here, they will find me,” she says, careful to make no promises to write back. “Take care with your words, though, child. Most of divinity still believes your father is Lord Apollo.”

Leon, having decided that water lady is good actually, licks Thetis' hand, tail wagging. Mmmm yes water lady is salty, salty like salty lava, but better than salty lava, yes good Mistress seems to like her excellent excellent lick snuffle is she going to give some more of those ear scratches??

Lyra nods, smiling. She can hear the lack of promise to write back, but that's okay. She doesn't need Nona to write back. "I understand. Papa said that I should tell people Lord Apollo is my dad because people are a lot more scared of him, even gods. Papa says he's just grumpy, though, and soft inside."

She looks up at her nona again, smiling. "Daddy said he has lots of aunties. What are they like?"

“Indeed. Lord Apollo is both powerful and temperamental.” Much like his father, Thetis thinks grimly. She isn’t in a position to critique the Olympians, but she still holds a grudge on Achilles’ behalf. “However, it’s also true that he can be reasoned with.”

Thetis idly scratches Leon’s cheek and ear. It’s the only reward she has to give for a good swimming lesson. She hums, the same way Achilles does.

“My sisters are all very different. Galatea is beautiful and proud. Amphitrite is retiring.” And rather grateful that Poseidon is so easily distracted by other dalliances, leaving her mostly alone. “Psamathe is stubborn.” And still sore about Thetis’ marriage to Peleus. As if Thetis had any say in the matter.

Thetis sighs. “Though one thing they share is a penchant for gossip.”

Which is another risk she’s taking; if her sisters discover she was visiting Lord Apollo’s daughter, they might begin to wonder. It wouldn’t be long before wild rumors would begin to spread among the nymphs.

Leon's tail wags harder as he gets the coveted ear scratches. Yes, yes, right there, right under the ear, yessssssssss--

Lyra picks up what Nona is putting down. She can't talk to her aunties, not right now, when she's still so little. It's a sorry thing, but she can't be too sad because she already has such a big family she can see.

"Maybe I can meet them one day. When I'm not so small," she says wistfully. "I think I met my uncle Dionysus. At least, that's what Papa seems to think. Sometimes I'm visited by a purple talking cricket who shows me where the sweetest grapes are, and he tells me funny stories while I eat them. And I met Auntie Hestia--she watched me for a bit, but didn't say why. She's very nice. And makes the room warm. In a good way, not a bad way."

Lyra leans her head against her Nona's chest. Even if Nona doesn't reciprocate, Lyra, doesn't mind taking the affection she can.

"Did Pyrrhus ever meet our aunties?" Lyra asks.

“He never met my sisters, no, but you may yet meet them,” Thetis says noncommittally. As a girl child, Lyra’s chances are slightly improved, anyway. “Many of my sisters keep to our father’s realm—they’ve seen enough of their number married off or taken forcefully by other gods when they stray too far.”

Thetis pauses Leon’s scratches to gingerly rest a hand on Lyra’s head. She’s positive this hunger for affection comes entirely from Achilles. By her observations, Lord Hermes is perfectly friendly but he maintains a diplomatic distance from most people.

She plucks a tiny ribbon of seaweed from Lyra’s hair. “Why are you so interested in your brother?”

Mortals place a strange value on blood relations that she’s never quite understood.

Lyra smiles when Nona puts a hand on her head. But her smile fades at the question.

"Because I want a big brother," she says honestly. "And because I'm very sad for him, and I think things are more unfair for him than they are for me, and I want to make them more fair."

Lyra hugs her knees and looks over the horizon wistfully. She wonders what her brother is doing now. She wonders if Daddy was lying, if Pyrrhus really does hate her for existing.

"A bad thing happened to him when he was little. He wanted to make Daddy proud, and a lot of people came and told him how he could, so he worked really hard to do it. But then people got scared of him, and all his family decided they didn't like him or want to talk to him ever, even the members who hadn't even met him, like Daddy. Everyone who should've loved him decided he wasn't worth giving a chance before he was all grown up." Lyra tightens her hug around her legs. "And if it happened to him, it can happen to me too."

And that's scary. Lyra is smart enough to know that she can't see the future. The nebulous possibility that maybe something bad could happen, maybe she makes a mistake without knowing it's a mistake, and everyone decides she's too awful to love is a prospect too awful to contemplate. So she must defend her big brother against the judgment of the grownups, must convince them of his worthiness of familial love, because if she doesn't, then no one will.

But then there's a scent of adventure in the air. Lyra perks, instantly recognizing it. And in a moment, Hermes, dressed in foreign clothes but resplendent as ever, alights on the beach. "Papa!"

Thetis wants to tell her a lot of things: That brothers and male family aren’t always a blessing. Not among gods or mortals. That the Fates don’t deal in fairness. The sooner she learns that, the better off she’ll be. That sometimes people are so deeply hurt as to be beyond help.

But Thetis can only bring herself to pet Lyra’s hair for a long moment. She won’t burden her granddaughter with harsh truths, but she still can’t bring herself to lie. Lyra deserves honesty from her. “You can’t know the future, child. Nor can you change the past.”

Thetis feels Hermes’ approach well before he appears. Olympians still put her on edge, even under Athena’s new leadership; they’re capable of sowing great turmoil even without Zeus. She rises to her feet to greet the more powerful god with a deferential bow of her head. “Lord Hermes.”

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