refusetofight | For @messageforyou

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.”

Lyra gathers Leon into her arms and rises too, running with reckless abandon at her divine father. "Papa!"

Hermes crouches, feathers fluffing as he catches Lyra in his arms. "There you are, little bird!"

"Papa, Mistress gave me a puppy! His name is Leon!"

"Leon, hmm?" Hermes picks up Lyra and the puppy with little effort, giving the wagging dog a playful up and down look. "Hmmm. You're sure this one is a good one?"

"Yes, yes, he is!" Lyra says, hugging her puppy. "He's very good! And tried to protect me from a seabird! Even though I was safe the whole time, he just got scared of the bird."

"What a brave dog indeed. Yes, I suppose he's worthy of you." Hermes ruffles her hair, then turns his eyes to Thetis. He's smiling, as always, but his eyes are opaque. He gives a playful bow to her, still holding Lyra and Leon. "And greetings to you, Lady Thetis. Long time, no see."

He crouches again setting Lyra and Leon on the ground, and Hermes tucks the girl's curls behind her ears. "I need to talk to your grandmother in private for a moment, darling. Would you go find her a pretty seashell to bring underwater to remember you by?"

Lyra's smile falls. "Did something bad happen?"

Hermes still smiles, and his eyes are still completely opaque, even to his daughter. "Yes. But it's something for the grownups to worry about fixing, not you. Go find a pretty shell, would you?"

Thetis silently appraises the exchange between father and daughter. Most gods tend to ignore their mortal offspring—particularly if they happen to be girls. She’s surprised to see Hermes’ genuine fondness, but she wonders if it’s born of novelty. Once Lyra’s grown older, he could well abandon her. What could a mortal daughter hope to do to keep his interest?

She feels her hackles raise preemptively and the sea foam forms pensive swirls around her feet. Fates, is she already growing protective of this girl? Or is she only worried on Achilles’ behalf; her son can’t raise this child from the Underworld.

… She can’t get tangled up in this. She needs to go. Besides, Hermes clearly wants time with his child.

Thetis is half-turned to disappear into the surf when she’s addressed. She pauses stiffly at Lyra’s question and the answer to it. It’s Achilles, she thinks. Very little can harm his shade, but he could still be banished to the depths of Tartarus or reduced to the stuff of primordial chaos.

She keeps her voice and expression even. “Heed your father, child. You’ll find the best shells in the next cove.”

Thetis waves to a sheltered stretch of sand a short distance up the beach.

Lyra casts a concerned look between her father and grandmother, hugging her puppy. Leon, seeming to sense her discomfort, licks her face. Yes, he can battle bad feelings too, just let him at them, let him at them and he'll lick them to death.

"It's nothing that can't be mended, little bird. Go on," Hermes says, nodding towards the cove.

Reluctantly, Lyra nods. "Okay. But stay long enough so I can give Nona the shell."

She turns away and walks up the shore with her puppy still licking her face. Hermes watches her go, and waits until she's out of sight before his smile falls into a more serious expression, turning his gaze to Thetis. His business is serious enough that he's not being his usual glib self.

"Neoptolemus has disappeared," he says bluntly. No reason to beat around the bush on this one. "And there's reason to suspect the Morrígan took him."

He doubts Thetis has ever had cause to meet the Morrígan. Hermes is a diplomat, and he's only ever seen her split into three pieces. And he's always been uncomfortable around her, mainly because her aspects take the faces of Pandora, Maia, and Hera to him, and it's hard to keep track of what she's saying when she's speaking through three different mouths intermittently.

But somehow, she's been the queen of the Tuatha Dé Danann since before either of them were born. Since before Gaia was born, if some of the stories are to be believed, but Hermes has always been skeptical. Gods are prone to exaggerating their own legends, and the Tuatha Dé have always had an interesting relationship with the truth.

"Before you ask, I don't know why she would," Hermes says. "But Achilles is asking for your help to protect his family left behind."

Edited 2025-03-05 07:01 (UTC)

Thetis watches her granddaughter march across the sand with her puppy in tow. She looks so small against the sea and the surrounding bluffs.

She relaxes at the first half of the news. Achilles’ shade is safe. At the second half, her lips purse in confusion more than distress. Indeed, she doesn’t know why any gods would be interested in her grandson, broken as he is.

But the gods of the northern isles are strange and their motives are not always straightforward. She’s only ever personally encountered Fomorian raiders some centuries ago who coveted her sisters as brides. The monsters were quickly expelled by her father.

He will be in likeminded company, Thetis thinks, then remembers Lyra’s stubborn defense of her brother and feels a pang of guilt.

“His family in Epirus?” Thetis adjusts her himation and crosses her arms. “He has a son, yes? With the Trojan woman?”

"Yes, a little boy named Molossus. You may have heard rumor of two other boys, but they perished in infancy," Hermes says. His tone is factual, but not unkind. He doesn't imagine that Thetis is too invested in the lives of her great-grandchildren, but he doubts she'll rejoice at news they died either.

"Their mother--the Trojan woman, Andromache--he released her months ago and she's long gone from Epirus, so we don't have to worry about her. But he recently married a woman named Ophelia." Hermes crosses his arms, and he allows himself a sigh through his nose. "I just came back from blessing them on Achilles' request, and I believe that Ophelia is pregnant."

Hermes isn't as sensitive to this sort of thing as gods more aligned with children and childbirth, but he still sensed it. And it just adds another layer of tragedy to the whole thing that he dreads informing Achilles of.

"Achilles recently got in touch with Neoptolemus through dreams, and he's been wracked with guilt for leaving him as an infant. He'll be inconsolable if any further harm comes to Neoptolemus' family." More than inconsolable. Devastated. Achilles only just started forgiving himself for the mistakes he made at Troy when Lyra pointed out this glaring consequence of his ambition, and even if Neoptolemus hadn't disappeared, Hermes isn't sure that Achilles would ever forgive himself for leaving his son. But he's focused more on giving Thetis all the facts and relaying his lover's plea than impressing upon her how her son suffers from guilt and remorse.

She heard the stories, yes, whispered by the sisters who still had an interest in watching her mortal lineage play out. Mortal lives move so fast and they’re so full of drama—tantalizing entertainment for long-lived nypmphs. Thetis only half-listened to the rumors. What could she be expected to do about them?

Her son has a softer heart, though. That was his lasting weakness—not some proverbial heel.

“This is why Lord Hades is so adamant about maintaining his borders,” she says quietly. “Achilles should not be so troubled by the affairs of the living. He should be at rest.”

There’s the hint of an accusation there. She would never say such a thing outright. Not to an Olympian. But who else is responsible for keeping her son tied to the surface? She certainly can’t blame Patroclus for this.

In this respect, gods are easier to deal with than mortals. Hermes would never harm his lover's mother, and Hephaestus would break his hands if he did, but the difference in rank still allows for this civility that he can rarely manage with Patroclus.

The corner of Hermes' mouth rises, but his eyes betray nothing. "Has passive rest ever suited him?"

He hears the veiled accusation, but he has no intention to invite the conversation. He has his own guilt keeping Achilles so tied to the world of the living, but he also recognizes that Achilles has been significantly happier since he did. Achilles died young, after all, and he hasn't had enough time and experience to grow weary enough to rest.

"Neoptolemus' servant excused his absence by claiming you took him. Achilles asks that you make an appearance in Epirus to lend credence to the lie. His enemies will be slow to screw the courage to harm his family if they believe they're under your protection." Hermes crosses his arms. "He also asks that you request that Hephaestus give them a boon so that they may protect themselves."

Hermes can ask himself, and he will if Thetis refuses, but he knows that Hephaestus will do anything Thetis asks him to. He watches the goddess carefully, gauging her reaction, and her openness to the idea of doing anything for her grandson.

Hermes is right; Achilles was never content to remain idle. It was her hope that his duties as Lord Hades’ guard would keep him well occupied, but it seems even that wasn’t enough.

“A bold lie from a lowly servant.” Her brows twitch into a frown at her mention being uttered as some kind of protective talisman. It irks her that nymphs are invoked with such nonchalance. Would mortals have the gall to tell the same lie, but about Lady Athena or Lord Apollo? She thinks not.

The servant is fortunate that her beloved son put in this request, or she might have made an appearance for a different reason. “I believe I can manage a simple visit, and deliver Hephaestus’ boon.”

Thetis sighs. It’s a quiet, but forceful sound like distant waves cresting. “But that will only keep them safe for a time. I’ve no doubt that Neoptolemus is lost. Whatever the Morrígan’s designs are, she and her people are not known to relinquish stolen mortals.”

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