messageforyou | For refusetofight

For refusetofight

Hermes is very tempted to dub this the most exhausting time of his life. And considering how long he's been alive, that's saying something.

He'd pulled off his most daring trick yet. He found the prettiest nymph he could and asked her to loudly tell her river god father that she would touch no man, no mortal nor god. Hermes knows his father well, and his father can never resist something he wants that someone else says he can't have.

Of course Zeus stole away to the surface to have his way with the nymph. And Hermes tipped off Hera without giving himself away--it was easy just by telling a peacock and letting the bird decide on its own that it wanted full credit for discovering the imminent infidelity and telling its mistress. Hera came roaring down from Olympus to find her philandering husband, and with the nymph as bait, Hermes sprung his trap.

The net that Hephaestus made for his wife, golden and impossible to break or escape from, sprung on Zeus and Hera together as they argued on the top of the mountain Hermes lured them to. Hermes spirited the nymph away with greatest gratitude and the sort of boon usually reserved for children of Olympians for her trouble.

That was when Hermes and Athena revealed themselves. The rage of the king and queen of Olympus was legendary. Hermes hadn't expected that Zeus and Hera could still hurt them, but some of the things said got under his skin like a thorn, and clearly did for Athena as well.

But nonetheless, they laid out their demands. Predictably, both Zeus and Hera refused. Hermes settled in to watch over the net and wait them out and Athena went to Olympus to grab control before the other Olympians had a chance to learn of what happened and possibly react negatively.

As Hermes predicted, they had the implicit support of Hephaestus, Hestia, Poseidon, and Dionysus. Ares, Demeter, and Apollo were angry and gearing to challenge Athena's authority, Artemis pulled awkwardly between Apollo and everyone else. Aphrodite cleverly abstained from declaring allegiance to anyone.

Olympus could have gone to war if Athena hadn't sent Apollo to speak to Hermes. With the wrath of their parents as distant background noise, Hermes grimly pointed out that their family had a terrible history of sons violently deposing fathers. As long as Apollo held power, he'd fear his children. Athena would never have children, and was the only hope to end this terrible family tradition.

Apollo didn't quite support Hermes' decision, but at least he laid down thoughts of declaring war on their sister. Hermes could only hope that Hestia would have the same success with Demeter, and Ares would languish without any conflict but his own.

So now, Hermes can only wait. The sky over the mountain is dark and stormy, almost nighttime at noon. The wind is cold and the ground shakes with the rage of two gods held together by netting. Hermes sits out of seeing range, tired of being the subject of verbal abuse for now and happy to let them torture each other with their shrieking.

It'll be worth it, he's sure. The hard part is over. He just has to wait them out, however long it takes.

So now hovers in the air, zipping in circles to burn energy, fighting the ever-present threat of being bored waiting for his father and foster mother to exhaust themselves.

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Between mentor and student, ash spear and stygian blade, the hydra is quickly dispatched and leaves behind nothing but its snarling, fanged skull. It plunges into the shimmering water and Zagreus quickly grasps it before it can sink into the cold depths of Lake Lerna. Apparently the monster longed for its native waters as dearly as shades for their ancestral homes.

“Sorry, Lernie. Back to Asphodel with you,” the prince mutters as he drags the bleached white bone to the shallows where Achilles waits. The shades and the lesser monsters hemorrhaging from the Underworld were but a small matter compared to the hydra. Luckily, few mortals dared visit the lake at Lerna—probably because it's (accurately) presumed to be the entrance to the Underworld. Or at least, near it.

"Do you see that, sir?" Zagreus asks, lifting his chin at the boiling storm on the horizon. “What is it? Is that normal surface weather?”

“No. Only your lord uncle could muster a storm like that.” Achilles already noted it in the heat of battle, tried not to let it distract him, but now he takes in the grim sight. The peak is far off—some hundred miles by his estimation, but even from here, the dark clouds are clear to see. He sighs and turns back to Zagreus. "Back to the Underworld, lad. Get that skull to Asphodel before it can reform. Then inform your mother and father that Olympus is in upheaval.”

As if they wouldn’t feel it already, or easily guess that Athena and Hermes’ plans are in flight.

Zagreus frowns. The water has finally stopped steaming on his molten feet, but the occasional drip plunges from his soaked chiton and hisses as it hits a toe. “Is this what all those hushed conversations were about? What my cousins didn’t want me to know?”

Achilles exhales and leans on his spear. No point in keeping it from him any longer.

“It is. And the best thing you can do to help everyone right now is keep your father’s realm secure. Protect both shades and mortals from harm.” Achilles claps a hand on his student’s shoulder, meets his mismatched eyes, and addresses him in a low, fatherly tone, “I’m counting on you, Zagreus.”

“And you? You look like you have a plan.”

“I’ll carry word to your cousins—warn them of the crisis here. I know the surface well, and have means to travel quickly.”

The dark clouds in the distance flash with furious lightning. A few moments later, a low rumble reaches them at the lake. Zagreus opens his mouth to object, but can’t bring himself to rebel against Achilles’ request like he would his own father. He shakes his head and relents. “Be careful, Achilles, sir.”

“Not to worry, lad. If anything happens, I’ll end up in the Styx again eventually.” Assuming he doesn’t get vaporized by Zeus, but he’s not going to say that. Instead, he gives the prince an encouraging nudge. “Off you go. Make haste.”

Once Zagreus is well out of sight, Achilles looks out across the lake, rippled by a sharp breeze—no doubt from the ragged edges of Zeus’ storm. He pretends he stands—not on a freshwater shore but by the sea—and calls to his mother as he once used to. Please, I need your help.

Achilles watched Zagreus reunite with Persephone, heard Hermes talk about Maia, and he often found his thoughts wandering to his own mother—wishing he could have a long conversation with her on the shore, their voices nearly carried away on the wind and salty sea spray.

She must have known he was on the surface, so quickly does he hear chittering from above. An osprey wings overhead before alighting on a tree felled by the furious bone hydra. A last flap of wide wings and she is Thetis, standing gracefully and nearly as tall as her mortal son.

They both freeze for a moment, knowing this is an impossible reunion. A forbidden one. Worried that maybe this will only cause them fresh pain. But love quickly usurps fear and they embrace tightly. She’s no simulacra this time, woven from his subconscious by a dream being. She's solid and humming with divinity. And he is as cold as the corpse she helped prepare for the pyre.

“Mother,” he breathes into her hair, exhaling all their years apart.

“Achilles.” The syllables catch as if she hasn’t spoken them in a very long time. “Tell me what you need, and I’ll do it.”

“Please. Take me to Lord Hermes. He’ll be there, in the middle of Zeus’ fury.”

She pulls away, face taut, taken aback. “No. That’s no place for a mortal.”

“I need to deliver word to Lord Hermes. The Underworld is—”

“I will carry your message. Return to your master.”

“No. I must see him.”

Her brow furrows, detecting the familiar, sharp stubbornness in her son’s voice. She knows he won’t be swayed, and that there’s more to this than a simple message. Thetis grasps his hand. “I’ll take you. But you will speak to me on the way. Tell me everything.”

Sped along by the latent boon in Hermes’ gifted feather, Thetis carries her son through the realms of water—cold lakes to streams, to rushing rivers, to the familiar sea with its bays and straits, then back up through the fresh cascades fed by mountain springs and snowy runoff. It’s a journey he could never make in life, but as a shade, it’s no trouble. In moments of pause, Achilles explains what he knows: about the Underworld, the Olympians, and what’s likely happening now. He does not explain how he knows so much about sensitive divine matters, but Thetis is no fool, and she begins to guess at what her son has left unsaid.

As they draw closer, the mountain streams turn to roaring cataracts, fed by rainfall and tumbled over with landslides. They pass resident naiads sheltering with their equally anxious dryad cousins. Finally, even the trees thin and they reach the end of the watery road at a sulfurous, bubbling spring.

Thetis holds her himation close against the ferocious winds and scans the surroundings, grimacing against Zeus (and Hera’s) oppressive, enraged auras. Raising her voice above the storm, she points up to the next rise and says, “That way. He’s not far.”

Achilles breathes his thanks and leans into a step, but his mother grabs his wrist. She keeps him close to say, “The songs say your heel was your weakness, but I know the truth. Love is what drives you to foolishness. To madness. Be careful. Among gods, you’ll suffer a fate much worse than death.”

A deafening peal of thunder rips through the mountaintop. Achilles waits for the air to stop ringing, eyes fixed on his mother's, then gently removes her hand. “This time will be different.”

She doesn't look convinced, but she doesn't stop Achilles' progress up the rocky scree, head bowed against the gusts of wind. He hikes until he rounds a cliffside and spies the orange glow of familiar wings, bright as torchlight in the semi-darkness.

"Hermes!"

Only a god or a shade could stay in a storm like this for long and survive. The rage in the air and wind is electric, charging the ground, striking trees with lightning and cracking them open, burning through the rain. There's good reason Hermes chose to handle this far away from any people.

Hermes, for his part, is a little worse for wear. Not hurt, no--his trickery was good enough to catch the king and queen without violence. But oh, is he tired. A part of him still loves them, and as much as this needs to happen, it gives him no joy to be the traitor his father always feared he'd one day be.

But he's just fluttering, zipping to and fro, when a familiar voice calls to him. Hermes snaps his head to look towards the sound, his brow furrowing. Impossible. It can't be what he thinks.

"...Achilles?" he calls anyway, because he'd recognize that voice anywhere.

He zips forward, trying to squint through the rain and wind. It’s hard to see in a storm so fierce, especially for someone glowing bright enough to make it hard to peer through gloom. “That’s not you, is it?”

Edited 2023-01-07 09:49 (UTC)

And here, yet another of Zeus' fears is made manifest—after a fashion, anyway. Weakened as he is by his father's mortal blood, Achilles still has a hand in Zeus' downfall, if only as a counsellor and confidant to his traitorous son. Sometimes the Fates weave a winding thread. They connect frayed and weakened fibers.

Achilles closes the gap; it's much easier for him to see Hermes, bright as a beacon. He reaches for his hand, urging him to join him on the ground. "Thank the Fates. You're safe."

In his relief, Achilles abandons all caution and moves his hand to cup Hermes' face, notes the exhaustion in his eyes. "All of this mayhem ... I could only imagine the worst had come to pass."

That maybe he would find Hermes defeated and broken at Zeus' feet. That he would then face the Lord of Olympus with nothing but an ash spear, and his mother would be right.

"It is you!"

Hermes sees him now in the gloom, illuminated by Hermes' own light fighting against the stormy darkness. He alights on the ground, guided by Achilles' hand, and he takes a moment to just marvel at Achilles' face.

"No, darling, no, I'm safe, I'm okay," Hermes murmurs, not bothering to worry about who would be fool enough to try to brave the storm and witness their reunion. Hermes wraps his arms around Achilles' waist, pulling him in for a relieved kiss. Somehow, it tastes sweeter on the surface. "They're trapped. This is just their tantrum."

Then Hermes leans back, his brow furrowed. "But... how are you here?"

As happy as Hermes is to see his beloved, it can't be a good sign that Achilles is on the surface.

Achilles returns the embrace, spear still clutched tight in one hand, as if it has any use here. His kiss is hurried, but still grateful. He keeps close to better speak over the storm.

"The borders of the Underworld have dissolved. Shades roam free. Fiends escape to terrorize the surface. I came to tell you as much." A small, haggard smile tugs at his otherwise grim expression. "And make sure you were in a fit state to receive the message at all."

He looks up at the roiling sky. "It's all because of this, surely."

The smile fades. He hates to ask—to heap one more burden on Hermes' shoulders—but Achilles still has his duties. "How much longer? Lord Hades' realm suffers with each passing hour."

"The borders are gone?" Hermes pins his wings tight against his head. He glances down the mountain, as if he can really see anything below through the storm. The air shifts, just a little, like a limb is moving that can't be seen or touched.

Then Hermes grimaces, rubbing his mouth with his palm. He's reached out to try to feel the world around him, and it doesn't feel very good.

"I don't know," he admits, almost like it pains him to say. "Pop and Lady Hera are trapped in a net together. They'll crack eventually because they can't stand to be that close together for too long, but they're both very stubborn people. I don't know how long it'll take."

And it goes without saying, but he's past the point of no return now. If Zeus and Hera are released without their sworn oath, then Hermes, Athena, and any god that sided with them would be gone.

But now the pressure to make this go faster is on, and Hermes does not like the sound of that. If the king and queen get even a hint that he's on a time crunch, they'll work together to dig in their heels until Hades himself lumbers up to release them just to put a stop to it. Hades had given his word not to interfere, and Hades' word is good, but Hermes can't say if his word is good enough to withstand the destruction of his realm.

Hermes takes a steadying breath, then looks at Achilles with a determined frown. "What does it look like down there? Are shades and monsters flooding out, or have my Uncle's forces been able to somewhat hold the line?"

"Weakened, at any rate. Or maybe your uncle's own power has been compromised. I can't say for certain. I only observe the results."

Achilles sighs at Hermes' uncertain response. But he knows equally well that there's no going back now. They can only wait and endure.

"Lord Hades has been focused on the security of Tartarus itself. Between the prince, Lady Nyx and her children, we've contained much of the rest of the realm. As we speak, Theseus will be mustering the champions of Elysium to fill in the gaps." Including Patroclus and other veterans of the Troad. No doubt many of them will be grateful for a battle with real stakes, and new stories to share at the feast table.

"But fresh shades flood in. Monsters slip through the cracks." He meets Hermes' eyes, imploring. "I dare not ask on my master's behalf, but you could petition for aid among your brethren."

Hades is too proud to ask for help from his family; he and his subjects can weather any storm, including this one. But this has spilled beyond his neatly-controlled realm. What of the mortals—haunted by their lost loved ones or tormented by pestilent chthonic vermin? What terrors could steal away to take up residence in the deepest parts of Poseidon's kingdom?

"Uncle Hades wouldn't ask for our help even if Kronos woke up and strung him up in Tartarus." Hermes' wings start to flutter again as he thinks. The wind pulls at his feathers uncomfortably. "But this is past his jurisdiction if the monsters and shades have escaped. We can say that we're just looking out for the surface like we're supposed to."

Lightning cracks, hitting a nearby tree and splitting it open, the inside burning bright despite the wind and rain. Hermes winces, grimacing. "But I can't leave here while they're trapped. Who knows what could happen. Athena can't leave Olympus either, because not all our relatives are happy to fall in line with her."

Hermes snaps his fingers, his glow brightening with a thought. "But I know who everyone would listen to, and who'd come if I called. Aunt Hestia. She's the only one on the mountain that I think everyone respects and likes. She could make everyone calm down long enough for 'Thena to organize them and get control of this mess."

Achilles hasn't formally met the goddess, even as respect for her hearth was a constant in his life: from his father's house to his shelter at Troy, at quiet meals with Patroclus, or at lavish feasts. It makes sense that, in lieu of Hermes' silver tongue, the gods would have no quarrel with Hestia's warmth.

"Perhaps the effort would distract them all from this." He gives his spear an encompassing wave at the blazing tree and the tempest surrounding them. Smoke and embers swirl in their direction, and Achilles raises one side of his rain-damp cloak to cover Hermes. "Let's find some shelter—if there's any at all to be had—and summon your aunt."

Even in the midst of all this chaos, there's something that's just so heart-flutteringly charming about Achilles raising his cloak to protect Hermes from the smoke and embers. Like his instincts to protect the one he loves overrides his knowledge that Hermes is far sturdier than nearly anyone else in the world.

Hermes' glow warms, taking Achilles' hand in his. "This mountain is one of Artemis' favored spots to hunt. I know where she goes when her hunters need rest."

Hermes tucks Achilles through the tempest, shielding his eyes from the rain as he squints through the dark. Finally they come to a cave, clearly frequented by hunters--pelts are laid out on the stones, making the space almost cozy, and the smell of bowstring wax, dead leaves, and leather linger there. There's the remains of a campfire long gone cold, and Hermes takes a moment after walking inside to shake himself off. His wings stretch and fluff as he shakes the water from his feathers, resembling a tropical bird for a moment.

"Oh, that's much better. Aunt Hestia's never liked being out in rain much."

Achilles, as ever, has little to give a god besides his kindness—be it caring words or chivalrous gestures like these. Even if Hermes pointed out how silly, how pointless it is, Achilles would never bring himself to stop.

Thunder jostles the earth around them, loosening tiny tumbles of dust from the cave's roof, but as he steps inside and looks around, Achilles is struck by potent nostalgia. He inhales a lungful of the comforting scents and almost expects to hear Chiron bid him welcome in his sonorous voice.

His waterlogged cloak is removed and spread out to one side to dry. As he shakes the wet, wind-tousled heap of his curls into order, his eyes light on a neatly-stacked pile of dry wood. Artemis and her hunters provide.

"It would be poor manners to summon her without a proper fire, wouldn't it?" Achilles wastes no time assembling kindling in the crudely dug pit, already charred and thick with old ash. He strikes iron and flint until a tiny flame takes purchase in the nest of tinder and guards it like a mother hen against marauding drafts.

Maybe Hermes could do this faster—snap his fingers and produce a flame—but Achilles enjoys building a fire up from nothing. When he was a child, he thought it was like bringing a hungry creature to life.

Now, as he feeds it with his gentle breaths and dried leaves, he sees it as another small gift for Hermes; it's not as if his shade suffers from the cold and damp.

Hermes sighs in relief as the fire starts. He's a god, yes, and he can really survive the worst the natural world has to offer... but there's a particular chill to his father and foster-mother's rage, and the fire helps banish it.

He sits next to the fire as Achilles builds it, unwilling to ruin his lover's fun by snapping his fingers and setting it himself. "She's always preferred people to pray to her by a fire they build with love, more than anything."

And this is building it with love, as far as Hermes is concerned. Without a care for modesty (and really, why would he have it given present company), he unclasps his chiton and wrings the water from it away from the fire before hanging it on a rack clearly meant for stretching pelts. It leaves him only in a perizoma, but he just puts a pelt on his lap in anticipation of calling upon his aunt.

"She might pick up on what you are to me. But she's not a gossip. She's probably the most trustworthy person on that mountain." And Hermes is including even people like Athena or Hephaestus on that list. Hestia is the only Olympian who seems to be an uncomplicated good person

Once the fire is happily nibbling on the undersides of the larger kindling, Achilles rocks his weight back with the kind of soft grunt befitting an old man. If Hermes spent any time with his father, he might recognize the inherited mannerism.

"Arousing her suspicion is a small price to pay for Olympian assistance." Achilles crosses his legs, rocking back and forth on his sit bones until he's comfortable, and continues fiddling with the stick he's enlisted as a poker.

The tally of those who know about his relationship with Hermes is growing longer than he'd like: most of them are Olympians, few of which he knows well enough to fully trust (and one of which he trusts not at all). But he can only put his faith in Hermes' judgement.

Hermes similarly doesn't like how long the list of people knowing about their relationship has grown. All the more reason to finesse things so he can openly be with Achilles as soon as all this is over.

"Alright." With the fire burning now, Hermes rubs his hands over the flames to warm them. One might expect a formal or involved process in summoning one of the oldest and most revered Olympians, but Hermes just looks up at the cave ceiling and says, "Auntie? Auntie, we've got a situation."

There's no clap of thunder or splash of sea or blizzard breeze to announce her coming. It's far subtler than that. The air just shifts a little bit. It becomes warmer, cozier. Like instead of a makeshift shelter, the cave is instead a planned camping trip together, and the air vibrates with the laughter and glowing energy of people who love each other huddled around a fire.

And then she's there. Sitting opposite of Achilles. The shadow she throws on the wall is just as large as Hades' or Zeus', but her form is small, human. Deliberately so. Cozier.

Her hair is brilliant glowing red, her eyes glowing like embers against dark coal-colored skin. But there's crows feet in the corners of her eyes, and smile lines in her face, and everything about her radiates motherhood as she tosses another stick on the fire.

"Is the situation that you let your family think you were at the bottom of the sea for months, my dear nephew?" There isn't malice or reproach, but dry observation. Hermes winces like a chastened child. "You worried us quite a lot, you know."

"Sorry, Auntie," he says sheepishly. "Wasn't trying to upset you all, honest."

Hestia hums softly. "I know, my dear." She leans towards him without looking away from the fire, favoring him with a gentle pat on the cheek. She looks up from the fire directly at Achilles. The weight of her attention is far different from Hades' or Zeus'--rather than heavy, her gaze feels warm and safe. Like walking into one's own door after a long day.

"I hope you don't find this rude," she says gently. "But you seem a little too dead to be with us right now."

As a shade, Achilles is all but numb to mundane heat. Divine warmth, though, is different. If Hermes' warmth is comfortable, Hestia's is a kind of coziness he hasn't felt in a very long time; not since the cold winter nights he spent heaped under furs next to Chiron's hearth, listening to the centaur's even snoring, or rainy days at camp eating figs and playing dice with Pat.

What a lovely thing it must be, he thinks, to reign over such a thing.

Achilles' first instinct is to rise to his feet at the goddess' arrival—she's a daughter of Titans, after all—but her presence settles heavy like a thick blanket draped around his shoulders, bidding him to stay seated. More casually, he places palms on his knees and bows forward at the waist.

"I am Achilles, son of Peleus, guard of the House of Hades, and I take no offense at the truth, Lady Hestia." He straightens his back. "That shades like myself roam free on the surface is another grim facet of this situation."

Hestia inclines her head with a small smile. As Achilles guessed, she prefers the more casual but still polite greeting. "I know who you are, Achilles. I know who everyone is who has ever warmed themselves by a fire."

She looks to Hermes for an explanation, and he sets his mouth in a grim line. "I don't know what it is, but our trouble has weakened the borders of the Underworld. Achilles came to tell us that shades and monsters are escaping. Uncle Hades' forces aren't enough to catch them after they're gone while holding back the rest."

Hestia hums. Her smile fades in thought. "I was worried this might happen."

Hermes furrows his brow. "You saw this coming?"

"Your father and uncles worked old magic to assign themselves realms to rule, and bind them to their will. And it seems that pact is falling apart now, with your father's role under threat." Hestia folds her hands in her lap. Hermes flushes gold.

"I didn't know that this would--"

"Of course you didn't. You wanted to do this with as few people getting hurt as possible, I know." Hestia pats Hermes' knee. There's something distinctly maternal about how she does it, like she's soothing a child who accidentally broke a prized heirloom. "Don't blame yourself. Changes in power are always messy, no matter how carefully you try to make them."

She sighs softly. She stares at the fire, her face taking on melancholy. "I tried to remind your father that it wasn't fate that made us overthrow our parents, or made them overthrow their parents. We did it because they were cruel to us, and they were cruel to us because they were afraid we'd grow to overtake them. But he didn't listen to me. Don't be sorry for doing what you must, just as we did."

Hermes' wings press against his head, his eyes averting and focusing on the fire. Guilt was exactly what had been going through his mind. Hestia has a way of just knowing what he's thinking.

Hestia looks to Achilles again. "I take it my brother didn't send you for help? I can't imagine he's quelled his stubbornness enough to."

As immortal aunt and nephew speak, Achilles feels distinctly out of place. Here, he doesn't have his duty to lean on. He can't disappear among the shadows and columns of the House of Hades while gods deliberate. So he does what a mortal is obliged to do for the goddess of the hearth: he adjusts the settled kindling until the fire blooms and crackles anew in gratitude.

In spite of all the chaos—the storm still seething outside—Hestia seems perfectly at ease. And why wouldn't she, ancient as she is? To her, Hermes must still be a child, and on that scale, a mortal might as well be a mayfly. She's watched kingdoms and civilizations rise and fall. She's survived the Titanomachy. By now, Achilles assumes, she and her siblings must clearly see the repeat patterns emerging in the Fates' tapestry.

Achilles shakes his head and spreads the skirt of his tunic to better dry by the fire. "No, I came here of my own volition."

His eyes flick from Hestia to Hermes and back again. He chooses his words carefully and keeps his tone formal: "Lord Hermes has long provided valuable service to the Underworld. I thought he should know of our struggle, and that I might petition him for aid."

Hestia hums softly. "And I've been called because...?"

"Because I can't leave the mountain right now," Hermes says, eyes big and imploring. "And the surface needs us, Auntie. Everyone would listen to you."

Hestia sighs through her nose. "You're giving me a lot of credit, Hermes."

If she has picked up on the relationship between Hermes and Achilles, she doesn't let on to it. She rises from her seat, walking around the fire with thoughtful, though not restless energy. She looks to Achilles, giving off the impression that she's looking at him rather than over him. It's an impression that only Hermes and somewhat Hephaestus and Athena give.

"If you know about what is happening on this mountain," she starts, "then you probably know that our family is in conflict. Ares sounds the drums of war. Apollo and my own sister are nearly sounding them as well. Athena will meet any challenge head on, and won't give up a claim to power without a dearly fought battle. You have the dubious benefit of seeing the worst of us, when we don't care to behave in front of mortals."

She says it smoothly and without reproach. Hestia, much like Hermes, is a god of humble things that allows her to see humble truths. And a humble truth is that servants tend to have more insight into masters and gods than anyone would like to admit.

"Do you think anyone could rally this family to help the surface?"

Achilles watches the embers in the bed of the fire pulse as if breathing. This may be the lad's chance to shine in a safe way; the crisis with the Underworld is decidedly apolitical. "Prince Zagreus."

"He's well-loved by your family. While the pact remains compromised, he's free to move about the other realms and visit his cousins. And he'll be glad to do it—maybe with your help, Lady Hestia?"

He hums and adds a more substantial log to the fire. Flames immediately begin devouring the crisp bark.

"It's only a matter of reaching him without his father's notice." He looks askance at the gods. "Perhaps Lady Iris? She may not be the most discreet, but Lord Hades won't find her presence in his realm unusual, and his attention will be focused elsewhere."

Hermes brightens at the thought. Hestia hums softly before gathering her skirts and sitting down next to Achilles so she can better talk to him. This close, she glows with the nostalgic feeling of being a child, loved and protected by a guardian by the fire.

"My family has been talking about our newest member. All of them dearly want to be on their best behavior around him." Hestia watches the fire consume the log, her face glowing with its light. "I think he reminds them of what kind of family they want to be."

She shifts to glance outside at the tempest just beyond the cave's borders. Thunder cracks. "But Lady Iris, before she's a messenger, is my sister, Hera's messenger. I think you'll find that she'll be decidedly against helping anyone standing against her mistress at the moment."

"There are others who can move messages in the Underworld," Hermes says. "People who Uncle Hades wouldn't question. If we just pass along a message--"

"I think..." Hestia is very soft spoken in comparison to Hermes, her voice a gentle echo against his zippy speech, but he immediately quiets when she speaks nonetheless, "that your tendency towards clever schemes has made you forget something."

Hermes frowns in confusion, his wings fluffing. Hestia gives a soft, amused huff at his face. "Direct communication, Hermes. I can just ask my brother if I could borrow Zagreus."

Hermes' feathers stand on end. "Are you sure that's a good idea, Auntie? I don't think he'd like that."

Hestia hums again, still smiling as she crosses her wrists over her knee. "My brother is very stubborn and set in his ways. But he knows I do not ask for much, and what little I do ask for is in good faith. I trust I can talk to him."

Hestia sounds completely sure of herself. Hermes still doesn't look convinced, and he glances at Achilles to see his reaction. Hermes admittedly doesn't know his uncle in the same way his aunt does, but he finds it hard to believe Hades would ever acquiesce to an Olympian request.

Sitting so close, Achilles can feel the size of Hestia's divine essence, compacted though it may be. All of the sons and daughters of Kronos seem to have a unique and indescribable magnitude that shakes him to his mortal core. At least Hestia's is comforting, unlike Poseidon's roiling currents or Hades' sepulchral chill.

Achilles is similarly skeptical of her suggestion; he's observed some of his master's long-suffering manner around Poseidon, Zeus, and Demeter, but never Hestia. She seems more personable and steady than her siblings, but that doesn't always guarantee Hades' favor. Still ...

"There's no harm in asking." He shrugs. "And if Lord Hades forbids it while the prince is within earshot, the lad will sprint directly to Olympus himself."

This much Achilles is sure of.

Hestia chuckles. Her laugh is warm and full, and it fills the air with cozy nostalgia. "He takes after his father, though my brother would never admit it."

She stands, brushing off her skirts. "Hermes, would you dress and escort us to the mouth of the Underworld, please?"

Hermes rises to put his (mostly dry) chiton back on, brows still furrowed as he clasps it and cinches his belt. "I can't be away from the mountain, Auntie."

"With your swift feet, delivering us would only take a moment, and then you can return here," she says, voice still warm and easy. She dips her head towards Achilles. "And Achilles, if you would be so kind, can take care of delivering me directly to my brother and introducing me to my nephew."

A smile tugs her lips once more. "And after, Achilles, if you're not too busy doing heroic deeds and tending to my brother, would you return to this mountain? I fear Hermes might be terribly bored and lonely if he has to keep vigil alone."

Hermes' cheeks burn gold. Mainly because that was exactly what he was thinking when Hestia suggested taking Achilles away, but his aunt doesn't need to know that. "Auntie, I'm okay."

Hestia hums cheerfully, ignoring what Hermes has to say. Does she recognize the importance of Achilles to Hermes? Hard to say.

Achilles rises to his feet beside Hestia and dips his head. "Yes, it would be an honor, my lady. The prince will be excited to meet another of his aunts."

At her second suggestion, his formality gives way to a twinge of embarrassment. He tries to hide it by adding more logs to the fire—it should be well fed in his absence—but his movements are stiff and awkward. He clears his throat.

"I'll return as soon as I can." He gives Hermes an apologetic glance as he clasps his still-damp cloak around his shoulders. "If the situation below is sufficiently stable."

One shade won't make much difference in the current chaos, but he still feels the tug of heroic responsibility and fealty to his king and queen.

If she notices his embarrassment--if she even notices that they're more than friends--she doesn't show it. She just offers her hand to Hermes, who takes it with a soft grumble.

"Do what you must, my dear shade. My aunt is just being fussy over me."

Hestia hums cheerfully again. "It's my right as an aunt, I think."

With his free hand, Hermes takes Achilles' arm. "Hold on tight. And maybe close your eyes."

And then they're off. Zipping with the force of Hermes' divine speed, with the speed he delivers the dead. And just like that, they're at the mouth of the Underworld. In the split moment between Hermes setting them down and zipping back to the mountain, he squeezes Achilles' hand--and then he's gone, leaving only the smell of grass underfoot and the sun on one's face.

Hestia, for her part, doesn't even seem rattled by the sudden journey. "It'll be nice to see my brother again. It's been too long."

Achilles doesn't need to be told; he remembers this process well enough. Even so, on arrival he needs a moment to lean against his spear and wait for his dizziness to pass.

"I'm afraid Lord Hades may not be in the best mood for a reunion," he manages to say.

As if he's ever in a good mood for anything.

When Achilles looks up, Hermes is gone, but in a stroke of good fortune, Charon's barge is moored on the riverside. Nearby the psychopomp himself is herding stray shades, using his oar as a makeshift shepherd's crook. Achilles strides closer and waves him down.

"Lord Charon, might Lady Hestia and I trouble you for passage back to Tartarus?"

The boatman turns to the two with a nearly imperceptible flicker of surprise in his glowing eyes. After a long, inscrutable pause, he finally gives a hhhhhhhhhhhaaaaaaaahhh of confirmation and beckons them over with a sweep of his bony arm. As overfull as his ferry is, he can hardly say no to a coworker and Hades' sister.

"Thank you, my friend," Achilles says with a genuine smile, then turns to their guest, offering his hand to help her aboard the vessel. "This way, Lady Hestia."

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