Hermes needs no encouragement. He cries out with every thrust, gasping and keening as he digs his nails hard into Achilles’ back, ankle wings fluttering spasmodically like he might be flying if Achilles didn’t have such a good grip on him.
Hermes remembers that night in the tent. He remembers the lead up—gods arguing in Olympus. Apollo furious, slamming his hand on the table and demanding that Hector be returned at once. Hector’s shade was forced to linger at the Styx without funeral rites to allow him to move on, and if his body was allowed to rot without the rites, he’d wander the earth forever. It was sacrilegious, and Apollo wasn’t about to allow one of his favored to be abused like that. Aphrodite, of all people, Ares, and Athena all pushed back when Apollo declared he’d smite Achilles there and then if he didn’t give back the body. Aphrodite because she wanted grace to be given to a grieving lover, Ares because he delighted in the violence Achilles had been feeding him, and Athena because she’s Athena. Athena was the one to ask Hermes to find a way to stop Achilles’ rampage, because she knew he was beyond her wisdom’s reach and she didn’t want to see her favored put down like a rabid dog. Hermes cooled tempers in Olympus, confidently declaring the body would be returned that night.
Hermes never doubted for a moment that Priam’s grief would penetrate the fog of Achilles’. Hermes remembered the over-confident and passionate boy, and he knew he was still there, just hurting so badly that he couldn’t appreciate the pain of others.
Hermes remembers the tent. It smelled of blood and sweat and overwhelming grief. He remembers standing aside, separate from the action as Priam collapses at Achilles’ feet. He sees Achilles, somehow looking less human at first in the light, almost glowing with violence, but all of it seeming to bleed out in the face of Priam’s tears.
Hermes stayed politely to the side, knowing that the enormity of both men’s grief would never be adequately salved by this, but maybe it would stop festering. And he didn’t want to distract from that by being a god in their presence.
no subject
Hermes remembers that night in the tent. He remembers the lead up—gods arguing in Olympus. Apollo furious, slamming his hand on the table and demanding that Hector be returned at once. Hector’s shade was forced to linger at the Styx without funeral rites to allow him to move on, and if his body was allowed to rot without the rites, he’d wander the earth forever. It was sacrilegious, and Apollo wasn’t about to allow one of his favored to be abused like that. Aphrodite, of all people, Ares, and Athena all pushed back when Apollo declared he’d smite Achilles there and then if he didn’t give back the body. Aphrodite because she wanted grace to be given to a grieving lover, Ares because he delighted in the violence Achilles had been feeding him, and Athena because she’s Athena. Athena was the one to ask Hermes to find a way to stop Achilles’ rampage, because she knew he was beyond her wisdom’s reach and she didn’t want to see her favored put down like a rabid dog. Hermes cooled tempers in Olympus, confidently declaring the body would be returned that night.
Hermes never doubted for a moment that Priam’s grief would penetrate the fog of Achilles’. Hermes remembered the over-confident and passionate boy, and he knew he was still there, just hurting so badly that he couldn’t appreciate the pain of others.
Hermes remembers the tent. It smelled of blood and sweat and overwhelming grief. He remembers standing aside, separate from the action as Priam collapses at Achilles’ feet. He sees Achilles, somehow looking less human at first in the light, almost glowing with violence, but all of it seeming to bleed out in the face of Priam’s tears.
Hermes stayed politely to the side, knowing that the enormity of both men’s grief would never be adequately salved by this, but maybe it would stop festering. And he didn’t want to distract from that by being a god in their presence.