Achilles, Best of the Greeks (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
refusetofight) wrote2025-02-08 09:11 am
refusetofight) wrote2025-02-08 09:11 am
For @messageforyou
Thetis wings slow circles above the shore in the shape of a humble gull. Of all the many shapes she could take, this is the most unremarkable to mortals. They’re a common nuisance, curious and daring.
This isn’t the first time Thetis has watched her unexpected granddaughter play on the shore. She’s been a seal, watching from the safety of the surf, a keen-eyed osprey roosting at the top of a tree. In animal shape, her emotions are no less turbulent.
The girl’s hair shines like flax in the sun as she delights in the waves and warm sand. Thetis might as well be watching a memory: those peaceful, lazy days with her son, bookended by the pain of his conception and the grief of his death.
Every time she visits, she promises herself that this will be the last. The same as she did with Neoptolemus. But she finds herself gripped by guilt. She could have saved her grandson from the vile mortals who would use him like they used Achilles. She could have hidden him away again, perhaps this time in her father’s realm. But what would be the use? They would still find him. Neoptolemus is still mortal. He would still die.
What do the Fates have planned for this child? Lord Hermes’ divinity shines bright within her. She’ll be coveted by mortals, yes, but not as a weapon—as a beautiful lover and mother to powerful sons. Thetis knows the special agony of that life.
But for now, Lyra is a happy child, delighting in a beautiful day. Thetis pulls her wings in to stoop lower until she can hear the girl’s laughter on the breeze. Lower still and she can see her smile. Against her better judgement, the aching protest of her old wounds, she finally lights on the sand a few yards away.
This isn’t the first time Thetis has watched her unexpected granddaughter play on the shore. She’s been a seal, watching from the safety of the surf, a keen-eyed osprey roosting at the top of a tree. In animal shape, her emotions are no less turbulent.
The girl’s hair shines like flax in the sun as she delights in the waves and warm sand. Thetis might as well be watching a memory: those peaceful, lazy days with her son, bookended by the pain of his conception and the grief of his death.
Every time she visits, she promises herself that this will be the last. The same as she did with Neoptolemus. But she finds herself gripped by guilt. She could have saved her grandson from the vile mortals who would use him like they used Achilles. She could have hidden him away again, perhaps this time in her father’s realm. But what would be the use? They would still find him. Neoptolemus is still mortal. He would still die.
What do the Fates have planned for this child? Lord Hermes’ divinity shines bright within her. She’ll be coveted by mortals, yes, but not as a weapon—as a beautiful lover and mother to powerful sons. Thetis knows the special agony of that life.
But for now, Lyra is a happy child, delighting in a beautiful day. Thetis pulls her wings in to stoop lower until she can hear the girl’s laughter on the breeze. Lower still and she can see her smile. Against her better judgement, the aching protest of her old wounds, she finally lights on the sand a few yards away.
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Meanwhile, Patroclus feels like he’s been flayed alive. “Are you quite done? Or are you going to whittle me down to my bones?”
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Finally, he’s dressed in everything but his cloak—presumably still being enjoyed by Kelly. Which reminds him to check for the special knife she gifted him in return.
“Where will we find our guides?” Thetis asks the crow fae, though she has exactly zero expectations for a useful verbal answer.
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“Neoptolemus cannot return to Greece. The Fates will not allow it,” Thetis adds matter-of-factly, more concerned about the danger this presents to the divine world than one lowly mortal and his family. “It will place the future of Greece and Olympus at risk.”
“He can’t return while his son still lives,” Patroclus corrects. Of course Thetis glossed over the caveats. “Predictably, Achilles wasn’t satisfied with that. He’s undertaking a trial to secure Neoptolemus’ freedom. He might yet be given the chance to rejoin his wife and daughter.”
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“If he fails, he may never come back to Tír na nÓg and he must inform Neoptolemus’ wife that her husband will not return,” Thetis adds. The first part is no great loss, but Achilles doesn’t handle failure well. It will be difficult to face Ophelia.
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“He might return to his family before then, but the Fates will strike him dead,” Pat clarifies. He still doesn’t have high hopes that Neoptolemus would survive until Molossus’ death; he’s more likely to die by his own hand or by breaking his exile.
Patroclus worries at his lip and looks to Hermes and Lugh. “Is there anything you can do? Can you at least sense if Achilles is safe?”
He’s also not confident that Achilles will remember all of the idiosyncratic fae rules, particularly in moments of anger.
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He shouldn’t worry too much. The Morrígan will release Achilles regardless of whether he fails or succeeds. All he has to do is not give his name to the fae, eat their food, or bind himself with a strange contract. Easy.
However …
Pat scrubs his face. Achilles might come back safely, but not unscathed. If he fails his trial and Neoptolemus remains here, his shame and regret will only double.
Thetis’ mind goes to the same place, though she wishes her son would forgive himself. Men have done far worse to their sons—beat them, kill them, devour their flesh … to name but a few. Achilles should focus on Lyra and beginning fatherhood anew.
She looks expectantly at the lone mortal—the only one among them who might object to Lugh’s question. He shakes his head, but agrees. “Yes, let’s return.”