Hermes (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
messageforyou) wrote2025-06-15 01:56 pm
messageforyou) wrote2025-06-15 01:56 pm
For refusetofight
Through the smoky miasma, thick and smelling of conflict and heat and pressure, on the other side is a forest. This one is less garish, less saturated than the rest of Tír na nÓg. Two fae creatures, odd feathered humanoids that resemble crows with cracked and broken beaks, sit at the rocks around a steaming hot spring, soap and strigils beside them.
The fae are seemingly mute, but won't allow Achilles to leave without a thorough wash. The sort that practically scrapes a whole layer of skin off, the sort where they insist on his hair to be cleaned and his nail beds scrubbed. His white tunic is whisked off to be burned, and only once he is deemed fit by the fae attendants to be properly cleaned of the remnants of the Morrígan does one bring the clothes he left behind with Hermes. They're neatly folded, but Hermes' scarf sits on top like a nest, holding Achilles' ring, his bracelet, and the stone with a hole in the middle. The scarf smells distinctly of Hermes, like cleverness and courage and Greece. Almost like Hermes is trying to give Achilles his blessing and support, even when they can't see each other before his trial.
After he's clean and dressed, the bath attendants point in the direction he's meant to walk, a plunge into the dark woods. There's the soft giggling of children within.
In the woods, children from all across time and the world huddle together. A boy holds a fist of straws, and each of the children draw a straw at once. They mumble amongst themselves, checking the straws, and three boys have the shortest one.
"Seems unfair to make him convince Stab," says a girl with messy red braids and two missing teeth.
"If you want a mulligan, you gotta give up treats until the next hunt," a blond boy with gray eyes and a short straw says, waving it in her face. She wrinkles her nose.
"I didn't say I want a mulligan!"
"Then shoo!"
As Achilles approaches, the children with longer straws scatter into the woods, some laughing. Three boys remain. One boy, with pale skin, ragged dirty blond hair and crooked teeth, wearing an oversized sweater and shorts and no shoes and a canvas bag big enough on him to almost drag on the ground. A second boy, skin dark as jet and head shaved, a pair of binoculars dangling from his neck, wearing loose sweatpants and an old linen button-down with sneakers with a check drawn on. A third boy, the smallest of them, maybe close to Lyra's age, looking like one of the people from the far east but with a permanent glower in his face, sitting on the ground and looking a little like he's drowning in the adult-sized jacket draped around him.
The blond boy jumps up on a tree stump to greet Achilles at eye level, putting his hands on his hips and smirking. "Hello, grownup! Here starts your trials! I call being the judge."
"Don't be silly. It's not a court trial." The boy in the button down approaches, holding an aluminum can colored bright red. He pops the tab, a sickly sweet smell rising in the air as the liquid inside hisses, and he holds the can out to Achilles. "My dad said men welcome each other with a beer, but if you get to Birdy she's going to make you drink a lot, so here's a coke instead."
The boy in the button down strategically stands between Achilles and the smallest boy. The smallest boy makes no movement to greet Achilles, instead staying on the ground, glowering at him with dark eyes.
The fae are seemingly mute, but won't allow Achilles to leave without a thorough wash. The sort that practically scrapes a whole layer of skin off, the sort where they insist on his hair to be cleaned and his nail beds scrubbed. His white tunic is whisked off to be burned, and only once he is deemed fit by the fae attendants to be properly cleaned of the remnants of the Morrígan does one bring the clothes he left behind with Hermes. They're neatly folded, but Hermes' scarf sits on top like a nest, holding Achilles' ring, his bracelet, and the stone with a hole in the middle. The scarf smells distinctly of Hermes, like cleverness and courage and Greece. Almost like Hermes is trying to give Achilles his blessing and support, even when they can't see each other before his trial.
After he's clean and dressed, the bath attendants point in the direction he's meant to walk, a plunge into the dark woods. There's the soft giggling of children within.
In the woods, children from all across time and the world huddle together. A boy holds a fist of straws, and each of the children draw a straw at once. They mumble amongst themselves, checking the straws, and three boys have the shortest one.
"Seems unfair to make him convince Stab," says a girl with messy red braids and two missing teeth.
"If you want a mulligan, you gotta give up treats until the next hunt," a blond boy with gray eyes and a short straw says, waving it in her face. She wrinkles her nose.
"I didn't say I want a mulligan!"
"Then shoo!"
As Achilles approaches, the children with longer straws scatter into the woods, some laughing. Three boys remain. One boy, with pale skin, ragged dirty blond hair and crooked teeth, wearing an oversized sweater and shorts and no shoes and a canvas bag big enough on him to almost drag on the ground. A second boy, skin dark as jet and head shaved, a pair of binoculars dangling from his neck, wearing loose sweatpants and an old linen button-down with sneakers with a check drawn on. A third boy, the smallest of them, maybe close to Lyra's age, looking like one of the people from the far east but with a permanent glower in his face, sitting on the ground and looking a little like he's drowning in the adult-sized jacket draped around him.
The blond boy jumps up on a tree stump to greet Achilles at eye level, putting his hands on his hips and smirking. "Hello, grownup! Here starts your trials! I call being the judge."
"Don't be silly. It's not a court trial." The boy in the button down approaches, holding an aluminum can colored bright red. He pops the tab, a sickly sweet smell rising in the air as the liquid inside hisses, and he holds the can out to Achilles. "My dad said men welcome each other with a beer, but if you get to Birdy she's going to make you drink a lot, so here's a coke instead."
The boy in the button down strategically stands between Achilles and the smallest boy. The smallest boy makes no movement to greet Achilles, instead staying on the ground, glowering at him with dark eyes.
no subject
“It sounds very much like where I spend my eternity. Warriors fight endlessly in the fields of Elysium.” Along with an occasional godling on security duty. “That’s how they spent their lives, and they can’t imagine an afterlife doing anything else. Those other groups must be the same.”
Though Achilles still can’t imagine any skill or challenge in shooting one’s eternal opponents with a guns.
He watches Scout’s stick carve figures in the dust and thinks of Pyrrhus’ wax tablets. “There is something I don’t understand: Lamb is not already dead. He doesn’t belong here among shades. His mortal body cannot reform, can it?”
no subject
There’s a nearly imperceptible tug at the knot on his wrist and Hermes’ scarf stirs of its own accord. … come back safe. The words are a murmur, as if traveling through water. Achilles runs the end of the fabric through his hands, comforted by its sunny warmth.
“My task is not to win your favor. I only seek Lamb’s freedom to return home and live out the rest of his mortal years, should he choose.” He emphasizes that last part after what Gavroche said about bossing children around. “His shade may return to this land someday, or he may join his sons and mother in the Underworld. I suppose the gods will decide.”
no subject
Achilles doesn’t flinch from Scout’s glare. His own eyes are soft and earnest, the same way he speaks to Zagreus in his moments of turmoil—how he would have liked to speak to Pyrrhus when he was Scout’s age.
“It’s not Lamb’s nature to be nice but he is kind, which is laudable. He was shown so little kindness in his thirty years—it was something he had to learn much later, and he worked hard for it.” He looks down at Stab’s scowl in the sand. “Here in Miss Ember’s service, it seems he has little cause to be kind.”
no subject
But Scout needs specifics. “Lamb loves and protects those in his household. He saved his servant’s daughter who fell down a cliff face. He protected his serving woman from her old master, a bully who wounded her many times. He pauses his important work as a king to enjoy the clay frogs his young son makes.”
Achilles pauses for a moment, eyes still trained on Scout. “Many men become bullies and remain that way, I agree, lad. But I ask that you please grant my son the grace he’s due—Lamb has worked hard to become a better man than me, and against much greater odds.”
no subject
But clever Gavroche has provided some valuable evidence. The happy cloud. Achilles has no idea how it emerged from the dream to follow Pyrrhus here, but he’s grateful for it.
“Indeed. Dogs can detect a man’s intentions—sometimes better than other people can.” This is something Achilles learned well from Pat and his canine collection. Sensing something in the way certain men move or smell, the mutts curled a lip at or gave certain Greeks wide berth. More often than not, the were an accurate bellwether. “Bad men often hurt weaker creatures.”
Not just animals. Slaves and servants, children, women.
“I admit, Lamb expressed concern about keeping a dog in his palace, as much as his boy wanted one. Loud sounds cause his head to ache and his temper to flare.” He hopes this is more evidence of Pyrrhus’ goodness. “He’s learned his weaknesses—unlike many men who are helpless to contain their rage.”
no subject
Achilles looks down at his hands and thinks of Prometheus forming humans, or Molossus with his frogs. “People begin as round, perfect lumps of clay. From the moment they draw their first breath, the world begins to dig in its fingers and shape them. One side of a person’s form might appear beautiful and perfect, while another is twisted, scarred.”
The boys are frustrated by one thing in particular. “The longer a person lives, the more they change into something complicated and confusing. Like Lamb.”
His fingertips return to the shell bracelet. “With enough work—with help from others—we can shape ourselves in new ways. But it takes time and patience. The world’s influence is strong.”