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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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Hestia's aura is a great help in itself. Somewhere, Hades himself is chagrined to find he's more relaxed.

Achilles takes a seat on one of the fore thwarts, giving Hestia and Zagreus space to chat. It fills him with a different kind of warmth to see the prince cared for by family; he wishes it was something the lad could have enjoyed through his childhood, as Achilles had once basked in the attention of his many Nereid aunts, or looked forward to boyhood visits with his cousins, Ajax and Teucer.

That's not to say that Nyx and her children were a poor surrogate family to Zagreus, but Hades cast a long shadow over his realm and those in it; he didn't tolerate his son being coddled. Warm embraces and kind words ended up being clandestine gestures.

Zagreus has a few false starts—clearly full to bursting with questions—before he finally settles on the most pertinent one: "What exactly is happening up there? In Olympus? Will Lord Zeus actually be removed from power? And ... Do you really think my cousins will go to war over this?"

Hestia rests a warm hand on Zagreus' knee, a small affectionate gesture for a young man she already cares for but doesn't want to overwhelm. She sighs through her nose. "That's a very complicated story, one with tangents I don't imagine everyone involved would like me to share. But I want you to understand what you're getting into, so I will tell you everything."

Which also means telling Achilles everything (and Charon, though Charon already knows most of this). But Hestia isn't worried about gossip or maintaining appearances.

"Our family has a terrible legacy of children usurping their fathers. That is what we did to our father, and that is what our father did to his. Zeus heard many prophecies from the fates that a son he had by this or that woman would grow to overthrow him. He never had a son with any of the prophesied women, but it made him very wary of the sons he did have."

She folds her hands in her lap, eyes growing sad. "I love my little brother. But Zeus wasn't always a good father. With his sons especially, he was sensitive to any sign of disloyalty, and cruel if he thought he saw it. He was especially sensitive about Hermes, because Hermes is clever, adored by his siblings, prone to trickery, knowledgeable of all of Zeus' secrets, and happens to be closely related to enemies of Olympus on his mother's side. Of all his children, Hermes was best equipped to perform a coup, though he was the least likely to do it because the boy is loyal and prefers the work he has over leadership."

Hestia shakes her head, turning to look for a moment at the Styx, at its rolling red waters. "That changed, at least in Zeus' mind, when he discovered Hermes was in touch with his mother's side of the family. Knowing him, I expect he just wanted to reconnect with his mother much like you did, Zagreus. But Zeus could only see his cleverest son speaking in secret with his enemies, and he ordered Hermes banished and punished in a cruel way that would disable him from ever speaking to anyone again. The entire family was furious. Hermes somehow escaped without our knowledge--I don't know how--and conspired with Athena to remove Zeus and Hera from the throne and replace them with her instead. In his paranoia and mercilessness, my little brother created the exact scenario he always feared."

Hestia speaks grimly. It's the grim certainty of a woman who's seen this exact thing happen with people she loved, and was powerless as she watched it happen again. One would think that the eldest daughter of Kronos could do something, but no. Her brother didn't listen when she warned him.

"This has taken much of the family by surprise, and it's laid open wounds that were hidden by Zeus' shadow. They might go to war, yes. Some believe that they're more worthy of the throne than Athena, or that Zeus is still the rightful king and Hermes and Athena were wrong to even attempt a coup. Tempers would cool more if Hermes could join them in Olympus, but he is supervising Zeus and Hera, who are at the moment trapped in a net until they swear on the Styx to relinquish all rights to the throne of Olympus."

Achilles can see the cogs turning in Zagreus' head as Hestia explains the bloody family history. Is he worried his own father shares Zeus' paranoia? Maybe it explains Hades' harsh treatment over the years? If those are the prince's thoughts, he doesn't express them.

He does shoot Achilles a look when Hestia mentions Hermes' escape from his punishment. Zagreus saw the heroic rescue—with Hypnos and Nyx and Achilles—as the Underworld looking after its own, but now he's beginning to see it in a new light. Hermes and his mentor are connected by more than a few incidents now.

Achilles worries about his pupil's powers of deduction, but carefully keeps his face neutral. Fortunately, the young god is quickly distracted by anger and frustration.

"That's all so absurd. I mean— Hermes has never struck me as hungry for power. Doesn't Zeus know his own family?" Zagreus rubs a hand over his jaw and shakes his head. "But that explains what happened with Poseidon's son. Poor fellow."

The prince watches Tartarus give way to Asphodel's seething inferno. Even against the Styx's current, it's far easier traversing the realms by boat than on foot. "But you think I can persuade my cousins to set aside thoughts of war simply by showing up and asking for help?"

When said like that, it does strike Achilles as a little simplistic, if not foolhardy. The most power-hungry of the lot—the likes of Apollo and Ares—might ignore the distraction in favor of keeping their eyes firmly on Athena and the throne. Best case, they'll let their siblings and aunts and uncles worry about their baby cousin and the Underworld. Worst case, they might use the situation as a bargaining chip: they'll lend aid if the Underworld backs them as the new lord of Olympus.

Some of these worries are written in the furrow of his brow as Achilles looks to Hestia. She's been around much longer than himself, Zagreus ... even Hermes; who better to know the right way forward?

"Paranoia and fear makes it very easy to misunderstand even your own children," Hestia says. "Thinking of Olympus as a nation to be ruled rather than a family to guide was his downfall."

She hums at his question, looking out at Asphodel. Under her gaze, the churning lava seems to cool.

"I can't guarantee anything," she says. "But I think you can remind them that there is more at stake than their own ambitions and feelings. And I think you make them want to behave like better people. Your opinion matters more to them than you know."

She looks at Zagreus, smiling sadly as she pats his knee. "You won't understand for a while, I expect. But you're reflected differently when you look at yourself through the eyes of a child--and apologies, I know you're a young man, but you're a child to them. They want that reflection to be kind. They're afraid of seeing themselves as you see them, and not liking who they are. Not that they realize that's what they're thinking, of course."

She folds her hands in her lap against once more, gaze gentle. "That's the mixed blessing of being the youngest of the family. I don't expect they'll put thoughts of war aside entirely, but I think that you can convince them to put it aside long enough to help the Underworld. And should Athena prove herself a fair and capable leader, as I expect her to, then most of them will lay down their arms and accept her leadership. Those that do not... well, I don't see them getting too far."

Really, she could only see Ares of all of them not laying down their arms. Apollo may bitterly feel like he is the rightful successor and miss his father, but Hermes is his dearest brother and he can accept the situation knowing his brother is safe and that he doesn't have to deal with the management of Olympus. Ares, on the other hand, may rage forevermore that his mother was usurped. But Ares' siblings know how to deal with him.

There's a passing, kneejerk grimace at being called a child, but Zagreus knows it to be true. Compared to elder gods like Hestia, he's a baby. And his "child" status is made all the worse for how long he's been shut away in the Underworld. There's so little he knows and so much he takes for granted: that gods should use their power to help others, that mortals are to be protected, that mistakes and failure are the necessary steps towards anything worthwhile.

"Shame them into a bit of selflessness? Hah. I suppose I can do that much." Zagreus spots a few more champion shades as they slip into Elysium. "We desperately need their help, as much as my father won't admit it. To be honest, we could have used it even before now."

He frowns deeply and turns back to his aunt. "Has he always been this way? I know there was ... um, all that business with my mother, but ... before that? Or does ruling over a place like this slowly turn you into a grouchy bastard?"

Hestia huffs out a soft laugh. "He's always been grouchy, yes. But he has his reasons, Zagreus."

Her smile fades. She promised to be truthful, and she has a feeling that no one has dared to tell him the full truth of their childhood.

"Our father, Kronos, was a very cruel man," she says gravely. As she speaks of it, it's almost like the light in Elysium dims, and her eyes, like embers, are the greatest source of light. "From when we were born, we were rivals to his power, and he disposed of us as permanently as he could when we're immortal. We all dealt with it differently. Zeus and Hera--I don't think they ever really learned how to have normal connections with other people." She sighs through her nose. She smells of smoke. She keeps her voice low, because beyond maintaining appearances, this is just deeply personal information she's sharing. She knows that her siblings would be very unhappy to have this dredged up to anyone, even family. Perhaps especially family.

"Your father learned to never let on to how he was feeling. He never showed that he was happy, because that would make the source of his happiness a target for our father to destroy. He never showed he was hurt, either, because then he'd teach our father what tools could hurt him. Anger was the only thing he could show, so now that's the only way he knows to show anything."

Hestia's gaze softens. She pats Zagreus' knee, making sure he looks her in the eye before she says, "But I have to say, and I know we only just met: he's never snapped at me like that before when I asked for something. He loves and cherishes you deeply, and he's afraid of you being hurt by our family as he's been. I'm sure he's not been very good at showing it, but you should know."

Zagreus dips his head a little, abashed by the honesty. It's still a novel concept, after a life wrapped in lies. Albeit, lies meant to protect him, but still.

"It's strange to say it, but it's refreshing to hear all of this explained without having to dig and pry. It's truly more helpful than you know." He cracks one of his genuine smiles; the kind he inherited from his mother. "Thanks, Auntie."

Terrible as the surrounding situation is, Achilles is glad that it's brought Hestia to the Underworld. He's done his best to teach the prince; yes, he knows some of the Olympian history from Hermes, Thetis, and the myths passed to mortals, but it's much better for Zagreus to hear such things from family. Someone who was there.

The Temple of the Styx looms near and the prince hisses in frustration. "Damn, there's so much more to talk about! Once things settle down a bit—when we're not in a rush—I'm going to need to know more. Everything you can tell me, Aunt Hestia."

Hestia smiles warmly at Zagreus. She has the sort of face that doesn't seem to ever quite reach cheerful, but there's so much love in there that it's easy to miss.

"I will tell you everything, dear nephew." Hestia squeezes his hand. "Just bully my brother into inviting me properly for a visit, hmm?"

She gives a playful wink before Charon stops the boat. Hestia rests a grateful hand on the boatman's arm, bowing her head in thanks before stepping onto solid land again. Outside, the mountain that holds Zeus and Hera at its peak has a heavy churning black cloud around it, the tempest only growing fiercer with rage. Hestia's smile fades at the sight, shaking her head.

"This could have been avoided," she sighs, eyes sad. It's necessary, as she said to Hermes and Hades. But it still pains her.

But she shakes it off, looking to Achilles. "Will you be able to get to the mountain? I imagine Hermes is using his own power to contain their tantrum, but the terrain will be treacherous there."

Although she supposes someone who's already dead doesn't have to worry so much about that.

"I think all of the House will be bullying my father to have you back," Zagreus assures as he helps his aunt disembark.

Meanwhile, Hestia's gratitude gets another mysterious groan from the ferryman and a parting tip of his hat. Zagreus gets a shorter grunt from Charon, which, if one squints, could maybe pass for friendly ribbing.

"Thanks for the lift, mate," the prince says as he joins his aunt on shore. "With any luck, things will calm down before long, and Hermes will be along to help get the shade situation in order."

"Hrnnn ... Hhohhhhhhhh ..." Charon breathes in cryptic agreement before tossing the mooring line to the house guard. Achilles catches it easily. As he secures the rope to a tree, he looks up to say:

"Don't fret, Lady Hestia. I'll find my way back to Lord Hermes unscathed. Please, focus on getting the prince an audience with his cousins."

Hestia dips her head to Achilles. "Then go with my blessing. And may the chill of my siblings' anger not reach you."

And with that, she has blessed him. Her cozy warmth infuses his shade, creating a protective barrier against the elements, divine and mundane. She turns to Zagreus, smiling as she takes him by the hand.

"Hold on tight, Zagreus. I'll bring you to Olympus."

There's the sound of a crackling fire suddenly starting at her feet, and it grows in a blink, consuming her and Zagreus before it disappears just as fast, taking them with it. All that's left are the scorch marks on the grass.

And in the distance, the barely contained storm flashes with lightning, and thunder rumbles audibly even from the Underworld.

Achilles considers his options for return: call on his mother once again, or send a quick prayer to Hermes? Ultimately, though, he decides to travel on his own power; time on the surface is a rare luxury, even while it's in such bitter turmoil.

And he moves fast. His token feather is spent from his last trip, but he still has the poultice from Hermes' plucking months ago. It doesn't take more than an hour to reach a small port town with a dozen moored ships. Most of them are smaller fishing vessels bobbing in the harbor, but one larger galley stands out, grand and laden with cargo.

Hestia's blessing imparts a lively warmth that negates anything unsettling about Achilles' presence among the living. The sailors and fishermen gathered at the docks don't notice anything is off with the newcomer. In fact, they're quite ready to fold the him into their idle conversation.

"You're looking for passage north? Nobody's keen on sailing that way right now, stranger. Not with the storm," says a bearded old man repairing a net. He doesn't even need to indicate which storm at this point.

"Not just that. Everything's been off for weeks. Months, even," a sailor adds, his skin dark and wrinkled by a life of sun and salt. "Ships lost at sea, fields gone fallow. A whole villages taken by plagues."

A third, younger man, chimes in, "It's not all bad now, is it? Alkaios' daughter finally returned after all these years."

The other men give him a sidelong look and the old man counters, "She disappeared twenty years ago and when she turns up, she's not aged a day? That's not good fortune, boy, that's an ill omen."

The men continue chatting—speculating as to what could have caused the gods such offense and about how the priests make daily sacrifices at the temples in hopes of appeasing them. Maybe, they reason, this is the end of the mortal world as they know it.

Achilles listens somberly, until a fourth man strides up. His brightly-dyed linen robes are a shock against the drab, threadbare tunics the first three wear and he's distinctly better-smelling. He addresses Achilles, "Are you looking for work? I desperately need a replacement oarsman, but all of these superstitious bumpkins are afraid to go to sea! Even with the promise of good pay!"

The tanned sailor sneers at the merchant. "What good are riches when you're dead? The boatman only needs one obol for his fare."

"Maybe the boatman likes a bit of gratuity," he snaps.

"I'll happily row," Achilles says quickly, ignoring the shocked looks from the dock workers. "You can keep your coin. I only ask for passage north."

"Finally, a brave man among you!" The merchant declares with a broad smile, and claps a hand on Achilles' shoulder. "Right this way, friend."

And so the Greatest of the Greeks joins the merchant's men at their oars, and once underway, finds joy in the grueling work: the spray of the sea, the passing squalls, the songs the men sing—both old and new. During rare moments of rest, the men commiserate about the dire state of the land. They argue over the cause of wars brewing between city states, lament the wild beasts decimating herds, or their poor luck in love—far less grievous, perhaps, but still deeply frustrating for the crew of mostly young men.

For their sake—for all mortals' sake—Achilles hopes Zagreus and Hestia are successful, and that Hermes can finally persuade Zeus and Hera to abdicate the throne. Accordingly, Achilles keeps watch on the storm-obscured mountaintop. It remains unchanged, like a dark bruise upon the sky.

As the ship draws nearer, rowing becomes all but impossible against a powerful headwind and the vessel is forced to drop anchor in a sheltered bay while the merchant argues furiously with the ship captain. Achilles judges that he's reached the end of his sea voyage and quietly slips over the side of the boat to swim ashore and finish the journey afoot.

Somehow the wilderness is torn even more asunder and Achilles has to pick his way over the snarls of landslides and scramble over boulders that threaten to give way under his weight. But between Hestia and Hermes' blessings, Achilles is still warm and exceptionally nimble.

Night is falling when Achilles finally approaches the cave. After the journey and in the middle of this storm, the humble shelter looks as inviting as any palace. He stoops to peer inside, calling: "Hermes?"

The storm strains to burst out and sweep over the countryside, but it's held back, almost as if by a thousand invisible strings. There's a hard boundary where the storm stops, and within, it rages with impunity.

Hermes is exhausted. Physically and emotionally exhausted. He knows that the best thing he can do right now is wait and just contain the storm until his father and foster-mother have run out of energy, but it's a lot for one relatively young god to restrain the power of two children of Kronos.

But Hermes is an Olympian. He committed to this already. He knows he'll win. He just has to wait and endure. He endures by keeping the fire going in the cave, letting it keep him warm as his glow diminishes with all the effort he's putting into just containing the storm.

But, embarrassingly, he almost wants to cry from relief when he hears Achilles. Hestia was frustratingly right. Hermes could really use some company.

But he does his best to put on a brave face as he stands to greet his lover. "Achilles! I'm still here."

He smiles as he walks to the mouth of the cave, taking his lover by the hand. "Come in, you're soaked. What happened in the Underworld?"

In the firelight, Achilles sees the stark depth of Hermes' exhaustion. His brow furrows with concern and he gathers him into an instinctive embrace. Even after the rinse of rain, the smell of the sea still clings in his curls and the folds of his cloak.

But Hermes is right; he is soaked and the tender hug comes with an incongruous squish. Achilles pulls back and straightens Hermes' chiton, now stamped with damp marks. He breathes a soft, "Sorry, love."

As he unfastens his cloak and tosses it over the tanning rack, he answers Hermes' question. "It went about as well as it could have. Your uncle was displeased, but relented. Grudgingly."

He pauses to squeeze the worst of the rain from his hair. "Lady Hestia and Prince Zagreus will be on Olympus by now."

Despite the water, it’s still comforting to be pulled into this arms. And the squish followed by the sheepish apology even squeezes a giggle from him, his nose wrinkling in amusement.

“Felt like sharing the rain, darling? How generous.”

Hermes shakes himself off, but otherwise just draws Achilles close to the fire once he’s done wringing out his hair.

“Really? I didn’t know anyone but Persephone could convince him of anything. But Aunt Hestia’s always been hard to say no to.” Hermes looks up at the ceiling, like maybe he could see Olympus. “The rest is up to them, now. I hope everyone can get it together up there.”

He takes a seat by the fire, rubbing his arms to get the warmth back in them. His own divine warmth is withering with all the power he’s exerting, making his skin look sallow without its usual glowing undertone.

The toll this is taking on Hermes makes Achilles' heart ache. He peels one of the softer hides from the crude bed, shakes off the dust and dead leaves, and wraps it snug around Hermes. Only then does he settle in beside him, scooting close to share what remains of Hestia's warm blessing.

"She knows her brother's heart. You did well to send her." He finds Hermes' hand and threads their fingers together, tight and reassuring.

"You know, you're very much like her." Achilles strokes his knuckles with a thumb and watches the firelight play over Hermes' face. "So protective of your family."

Hermes lets out a soft, relieved sigh at the soft, warm weight of the pelt, drawing it closer around his shoulders. He squeezes Achilles' hand, leaning against him and savoring the press of his skin more than the lingering blessing on him.

A smile pulls at the corners of his mouth. "Aunt Hestia's always been my favorite aunt. Don't tell the others." He fluffs his feathers before settling his wings comfortably in place, loose against his head and ankles. "Her and Uncle Poseidon--I think they both decided they wanted to be softer because of what happened to them, not harder. But Aunt Hestia's better at the follow through."

Hermes has love for his ocean-ruling uncle--possibly more love than most of his brethren--but he's a mercurial man whose moods sometimes swing as hard as the sea's. Hestia isn't prone to the same fits of temper as all the rest of her siblings.

Hermes' wings twitch. He turns his head so his nose rests against Achilles' shoulder. "Is that the ointment from my feathers? You still had that?"

Achilles' nostrils flare as he sniffs. The residue does smell like Hermes—dust raised by footraces and crowns of fresh laurel, packed markets and billowing sailcloth. "I'd squirreled it away for an emergency. If this doesn't qualify, I don't know what does."

He looks down at his crossed legs—his feet, greaves, and the skirt of his tunic are still spattered with drying mud. But it won't be there long; his shade's form will slowly reject all debris from the surface to resume his eternal state.

"I took the long way back to walk among the living." He doesn't want to heap more worry on Hermes, so he adds, "Mortals are made of sturdy stuff. Merchants are still keen to sell their wares. Oarsmen sing songs for a safe journey. They'll weather the storm."

That news does relax Hermes, even if only a little. It's good to know that his efforts to keep the mortals from being brutalized by their fighting mean something.

"I'm glad you got a chance to wander among them again." Hermes sighs softly, ignoring Achilles' damp clothes and shuffling closer to rest his cheek on his lover's shoulder. "I know why shades miss the surface. It's brighter here. I wish I could talk my uncle into making the Underworld more cheerful. Maybe my cousin will, one day."

It's nice to think about a better future right now, when he's struggling to get past the hard part of just waiting for his father and foster-mothers' energy to be spent. He doesn't know how long it'll take. But he knows he's the grandson of Atlas, and if he has to dig in his heels and do this indefinitely, then he will. Endurance is his birthright.

"Maybe a light source that isn't an eternally tormented demigod on fire would be a good start."

"Mortals need the threat of the Underworld as it is. It motivates us to make the most of our lives—to appreciate the surface and do what little good we can while we still walk upon it." Then his mouth twists, equivocating, as he remembers the villagers and the rumor of the young shade returned to her home. She didn't escape to reclaim fame and earthly riches; she was only grasping for the comfort of her family. "But maybe an exception could be made for those who didn't live long enough—the children who pass through the gates deserve a bit of light and cheer."

Achilles rests his cheek against the crown of Hermes' head and breaks their clasped hands to run a palm over his back in warming circles. "You look exhausted, my dear."

The storm rages outside the cave, rattling the mountain to its very foundations. The shelter feels small and precarious. Achilles runs fingers through Hermes' hair and guides short locks gingerly around a wing. He worries about his lover's own light and cheer. "Can I help you bear this weight?"

Hermes closes his eyes, focusing on the feeling of his lover's hands. To him, just that feeling is louder than the crash of thunder outside.

"You already are," he says, resting a hand on Achilles' knee. "Keeping me company means a lot right now."

Hermes had expected this to be a grueling process. He hadn't realized how lonely it'd be, though.

"I'm lucky. Hephaestus' net stops them from escaping without me letting them go. All I have to worry about is their temper tantrum spilling off the mountain. I just have to keep it contained until they exhaust themselves." Hermes takes a deep breath, then lets it go, putting on a smile. It's one of his trademark smug smiles, but it doesn't have the same effect when his skin is so dun. "You know, I never really liked thinking about all the titans on my mum's side of the family. It was always an awkward open secret we all danced around. But now it's pretty comforting to know I'm Atlas' grandson. If he can carry the sky for eons, then I can surely manage this until they're sick of stomping their feet."

Hermes takes more after his great-uncle Prometheus and aunt Hestia, with his kindness and trickster streak, but he's still the grandson of the strongest and most enduring Titan, and he's going to pull on that legacy for all its worth.

To think, months ago Hermes was filled with trepidation about opening a letter from his mother. And now? He holds his father and Hera captive, armed with pride and strength from his mother's family. An adoring smile pulls at his lips and he presses a kiss to Hermes' forehead.

Achilles' years spent in death haven't completely wiped away his hero's sensibilities; simply being present for Hermes still doesn't feel like enough. He wishes he had the power to hold the storm himself—even for an hour—or that he posed enough of a threat to pressure Zeus and Hera to give up. He wants to end this, so Hermes doesn't have to toil like his grandfather.

"You're certain? I could bring you food? Drink?" As soon as he says it, he realizes it's a silly offer. Not only for how mundane it is, but given the state of the mountain and its distance from even the smallest town. Still, he could flush out some cowering game or gather fresh rain water. "Something to bolster your strength?"

Hermes huffs a soft, amused noise. "I'll be alright, darling. No need to fuss."

Really, the Greatest of the Greeks has a strong fussy streak over the people he loves. Hermes would tease him more about it if he felt up to it. Although, Hermes supposes that it's cruel to tell a hero to just sit and wait while his lover endures hardship.

Hermes shifts his head to nuzzle against Achilles' neck. "Food and drink wouldn't go amiss. I'm sure the hunting is good here, if my sister likes it. But don't trouble yourself if all the game is hiding."

Glancing at the fire, Hermes tuts softly. "...Might want to bring in some firewood so it has a chance to dry before we need it."

Hermes doesn't want to admit it, but all the exertion is making him cold. He will be extra miserable if the fire goes out. Luckily, there's still a stash of wood that will keep them going for a while from his sister.

(If they do get game, Hermes ought to sacrifice a cut of it to Artemis. She'll be a lot less grumpy about him taking over one of her hunting spots if he does.)

The words have barely left Hermes' mouth and Achilles is already energized with purpose. He pulls Hermes into a proper kiss, tugs the pelt tighter around him and says with resolve: "I'll bring you a feast."

After some snooping around, the cave provides all the tools he needs; Achilles transforms from house guard into a well-outfitted hunter with a serviceable bow, arrows, a water skin and a length of rope. He leans down to give Hermes another quick peck on the cheek, like a husband leaving for a day's work. "I won't be gone long."

If Achilles were offered a return to life, he'd like to spend more of it deep in the wilderness, far from kings and battlefields. Sometimes he daydreams about what it might be like to recreate those years on Mount Pelion, welcoming fresh pupils to share his knowledge.

He finds a side of the mountain sheltered from the worst of the storm to do his foraging. It only takes a moment to recall the forest's secrets: where grouse and pheasants roost, which plants are safe to eat, the wood that burns best and longest. He breathes a quick thanks to Chiron, for his patient lessons so long ago.

Not more than two hours pass before he returns to the cave with his bounty: a pheasant, a bundle of firewood, a full water skin and an armload of foraged plants. He's soaked to the bone, but smiling and unbothered; clearly happy for the chance to contribute to Hermes' comfort.

Achilles' naked joy at being given something he can do to help is infectious. Hermes finds himself grinning into the kiss, and waving like a happy wife as Achilles leaves.

And perhaps a task beyond 'endure' and 'wait' is something they both need. Hermes forces himself to his feet, holding his pelt tight around him as he pokes around Artemis' hideout for cooking equipment. He finds a few lovely knives, a spitroast, and a pot alongside a small but generous sack of salt. It's been a while since Hermes has cooked anything, but he's always believed that one should learn all the skills one can, especially the mundane ones.

He has the spit set up when Achilles returns. And his lover just looks so pleased, so proud that he could take care of his lover in his time of need, that there's a moment when Hermes forgets about the stress of the world and he just grins. And in that moment, the glow of his skin returns like a candle flicker.

"What took you so long?" he jokes, because frankly he doesn't think anyone but a hero or a god could find game in this weather. He reaches out his arms to take the skin and the firewood. "Let me help, love. If we fletch some arrows with the feathers, that could be a fine gift to leave for Artemis."

"Your feather balm must have worn off," he quips back as he hands over the requested items. "I'll need a fresh batch."

In the meantime, he dries off as best he can and begins processing his foraged plants by the fire—ironwort for tea, a few morels, wild apricots and chestnuts—before dressing the pheasant. The quiet domesticity of it all keeps a small smile on his face while he works.

When it comes time to pluck the bird, he discreetly turns away before he begins; he vividly remembers how painful it was, ripping out Hermes' ruined feathers. It's probably not something he wants to be reminded of.

"I didn't realize how much I missed this," he says with a contented sigh. "Simple things. Making a fire and a meal."

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