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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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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."

Hestia courteously inclines her head towards Charon, taking Achilles' arm with a smile. "Good day to you, Charon. It's been too long."

Hestia allows Achilles to help her onto the boat. The shades part around her, even as much it squeezes them together. Hestia takes a seat, smoothing her skirts. Her cozy aura fills the Temple of Styx, warm and loving and nostalgic.

She skims her gaze along the shades staring at her in awe (and some fear.) She focuses on a wiry slip of a woman, clearly a slave in life.

"Berenike." Hestia smiles warmly at the shade, who freezes at her attention. "Thank you for that last offering of bread. You really are an amazing baker."

The shade opens and closes her mouth, speechless as she searches for words of appropriate gratitude and tears spring to her eyes. Hestia pats the woman's hand gently, her cozy aura growing ever warmer as she turns her attention to another shade. She knows all of them by name. And she has something kind to say to each one, until the warmth she has brought into the Underworld is more than just divine, but in the hearts of the shades.

Charon mirrors the gesture with a tip of his hat, then glides to his position at the stern. He seems genuinely unbothered by the extra passengers; Hestia's presence certainly makes the shades more agreeable.

Achilles finds a place perched on the bow and listens to Hestia's gentle words for the shades. He can't help but note how alike she and Hermes are, at least where it comes to kindness and love for mortals. He gives a small smile. These shades are lucky to enjoy such a special ride.

As the boat sails downriver towards Elysium, it's as Achilles guessed: they pass a checkpoint manned by militant shades in armor from different kingdoms and ages. Among them, Achilles picks out a handful of Argives, a Myrmidon, and a pair of Trojans. The champions acknowledge the passing ferry and the visiting Olympian with salutes.

Achilles gives them a nod and turns back to the goddess. "If I may ask, how long has it been, Lady Hestia? Since you've seen your brother?"

There's a reason why Hestia is Hermes' favorite aunt, and that reason is made very clear any time one watches her speak to someone 'beneath her station.' Hermes is more upbeat and energetic, preferring to cheer people with laughter and breezy joie de vivre, while Hestia is far more soft-spoken and nurturing, but they're both very kind gods.

She hums softly at the question, leaning back with a sad smile tugging her lips. "Oh, far too long. The trouble with getting along with each other, I think." She shakes her head gently, the fiery glow of her hair flickering around her shoulders. "We didn't speak after he cut off Olympus, because he could hardly make an exception for just one Olympian if he wanted to get away from the family. But we never had a quarrel, so there was no need to invite me here to settle disputes. And one can hardly expect him to call upon someone merely because he enjoys their presence."

She breathes out slowly. With her breath, it seems like the whole Styx begins to glow with cozy warmth. If Hades is paying attention to his realm, he undoubtedly knows his sister is coming. "It will be nice to see him. As awful as this business is, it's nice to have an excuse to invite myself here."

"Would that you could visit under better circumstances." Maybe this won't go as poorly as Achilles expects; his master may not, in fact, berate him for delivering his estranged sister at the height of a crisis. Maybe she's one Olympian he'd entrust with his son.

Charon is no Hermes, but the boat moves along at a fast clip. He's plied these waters long enough to know where the river hides its fastest currents. The ferryman scarcely moves, but to occasionally shift the angle of his oar in the Styx.

Half-way through Elysium, the sound of distant barking grows louder until a familiar ghost dog appears on the riverbank, bounding back and forth, tongue lolling and tail wagging. Charon silently reaches into a sleeve, pulls out a morsel, and tosses it to Méli. She fails to snap it out of the air and has to hunt for her treat among the rocks and rushes.

Achilles sighs. "Charon, please, she already gets enough scraps from the feasts."

The ferryman shrugs. It's not like a canine shade can get fat and wheezy like a living dog. "Hhhhhhrrrnnnn ...."

Edited 2023-01-10 19:39 (UTC)

Hestia chuckles softly, smiling at the dog. “What a little darling. I always thought the Underworld would be happier if my brother allowed animals in.”

She laughs as the dog fumbles for her treat. Pristine hunting dog, she is not, but Hestia has never been the type enamored with hunting.

As they reach Asphodel and the Phlegethon, her smile fades to a thoughtful frown. “Oh, looks like the fields have flooded. I’m sure Hephaestus could fix that in a moment if my brother cared to ask.” She tsks softly. “Maybe it’s worth offering after this is all over. As recompense for the trouble.”

Hestia knows her brother well enough that he’s too proud to ask for or accept help from those outside his realm. But service offered as apology for Olympian drama affecting the Underworld? That would be easier for him to accept.

"Kindly avoid mentioning this particular animal. A generous smuggler brought her down and the shades have grown attached to her." Hades must know about the dog by now, but bringing her up might break his unspoken lenience.

"Asphodel has been this way for some time now. At least by my mortal's reckoning." The air shimmers with oppressive heat as the boat slides into molten waters. Achilles twists the haft of his spear in his hand as he considers the past decades. "Lord Hades has been processing a long backlog of shades."

Partly thanks to Achilles himself. Little did he know how much work a death creates. "And then there was the unfortunate matter of the other flood, its damage to the Underworld and its mortal casualties ... Followed by this extraordinary matter with Zeus."

He can well understand Hades' sense of pride. It's humbling to ask for help, especially as someone in power—someone who should have everything under control. "Truly, your brother could use some assistance, regardless of whether he's willing to admit it. Or accept it."

Hestia smiles, miming locking her mouth and throwing away the key when asked to be quiet about the dog. She's very familiar with the practice of selectively not bringing up things to keep the peace.

"If I've learned nothing else in life, it's that pride is overrated by far." Hestia sighs through her nose with the air of someone who's tried to say this many times, but has learned that other people won't listen to her about it. "Hopefully, this mess will end with more agreeable relationships across the family."

She won't say much about exactly what's happening in mixed company. The shades of the Underworld don't need the mass panic of knowing that there's a coup going on in the sky. But Hestia, as much as she loves everyone in her family, knows that Zeus' brash and self-centered manner is a major source of conflict among them. Maybe if he and Hera aren't instigating so much drama, Hades will actually return their letters again. Maybe he'd even let Zagreus visit for a holiday. Wouldn't that be nice?

Hestia hums softly as she overlooks the scenery, the gloomy but peaceful Underworld. Her smile turns into one of mild amusement. "And maybe I can talk my brother into making this place a little more cozy. But that may take until the next eon."

Achilles simply nods his grim agreement at her stance on pride. It goes without saying that he learned the same lesson and paid dearly for it. But as they pull into the stone dock at the House, Achilles opts to pursue the lighter topic.

"Where it comes to the House, the prince and Lady Persephone have made some progress on that front—as you'll soon see. It's much more comfortable than in years past." He gracefully hops off the prow and Charon throws him a line to wrap around a mooring bollard (carved, of course, to look like a leering skull). Achilles continues as he reels in the vessel: "The queen has even managed a thriving garden. A testament to her power, given how hostile this realm is to any kind of life."

He extends a hand to help the other passengers off the boat, and once everyone has piled out, Achilles turns to the psychopomp. "Thank you, Charon. Had I an obol, it would be yours."

"Nnnnrrhhhhhnnnn ..." The ferryman slowly shakes his head and makes a grasping motion for the tow line, ready to be underway again. Achilles smiles and obliges, tossing him the rope back and giving the prow a gentle push away from the dock.

Then his attention turns back to Hestia, beckoning her to follow. "Please. This way, my lady."

Hestia dips her head to Charon, resting her hand on his arm in thanks before stepping off the boat.

“I hope to see the garden before I leave, then. It does my heart well to know that things grow here.”

As she approached the towering door leading to the House of Hades, she shimmers, almost like her aura is fire itself and heat obscures the details of her visage for a moment.

“I hope you don’t mind, Achilles, but it will be easier to speak with my brother at my natural height.”

And then she grows. She grows like fire, sudden and brilliant, and then she’s every bit the great height of Hades. Maybe even a hair greater. She is his elder, and that sort of thing matters with gods.

She smiles apologetically at Achilles. “Please don’t feel you have to meet my eyes to speak. I wouldn’t want you to hurt your neck.”

At her full size, Hestia strikes Achilles as less intimidating and more like a benevolent and watchful adult to his now child-like stature.

Very few things hurt anymore, he's inclined to say, thinking of Zeus' lightning and the moment when Hermes snapped his neck. Instead he says, "It's no trouble."

Past the doors, the antechamber looks like nothing so much as a packed marketplace—wall-to-wall with shades, some newly arrived, others recaptured from an escape to the surface. Achilles uses his best authoritative voice and firm, strategic nudges to part the throng ahead of Hestia. Some shades jostle away in a daze while others cling to the hem of her robes and beg the goddess for mercy, as if she might have it in her power to return them to life.

Beyond, in the main hall, the crowd of shades gives two towering figures wide berth: one of which is Hades himself, the other is a massive giant with innumerable heads and arms. Achilles rarely sees any of the three Hecatoncheires outside of their post; it's vital that what remains of the defeated Titans remains perpetually guarded.

Hades' focus, however, is on a smaller figure. "You've been using Titan Blood to anoint those weapons of yours, boy? Fool. No more. Not while this—"

Hades stops at Hestia's arrival. He harrumphs, entirely unsurprised to see her. There's clear annoyance in his voice, but it sounds different to Achilles' ear. More like a byproduct of stress, and perhaps embarrassment at being seen with his realm in such disarray. "Of all the times to pay a visit, sister. As you can see, I have absolutely no time to quaff wine and chat by the fire."

Zagreus' shock, meanwhile, is palpable. In all this upheaval, he didn't expect to meet a new relative. "Sister? Exactly how many aunts and uncles do I have, father?"

"Quiet, boy. As I said, we've no time for this." Hades shoots Hestia a look, red irises flashing in his black sclera. To the untrained eye, it might look like a threat, but beneath the posturing, there's an underlying plea to it.

For refusetofight

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