messageforyou | For refusetofight

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.

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Reflexes immediately kick in; Achilles drops the stone and grabs the dog-thing by the scruff to pull it from Pyrrhus’ arms. His first instinct is to kill the thing—if it can indeed be killed by mortal hands …

But he distinctly remembers the rattlesnake in the desert land across the sea—the one he tried to kill without a second thought. The creature was only trying to protect itself.

Achilles stays his hand, but the trickery—especially with his son—still unnerves him. He gives the monster a threatening shake. “Drop your guise, beast.”

Pyrrhus starts as his dog is suddenly pried from his arms. And Nephos screams, yelping over and over like he's been seized by the jaws of a wolf, twisting in Achilles' grip.

Pyrrhus doesn't have enough time to process what is happening. All he sees is that his dog is afraid.

"What are you doing?" He jerks forward, cupping his hands under Nephos' haunches, supporting him so he's not held only by his scruff. His hackles rise, wires crossed in his head--if anyone else had grabbed Nephos like this, he would have crushed their head, but this is his father, he doesn't want to hurt his father. "You're hurting him, let him go!"

“This is no pup, and I must be certain that he means you no harm.” Achilles twists the dog away from Pyrrhus’ reach, but supports Nephos’ bottom with his second hand—if only to make the creature stop crying.

“Look through the stone, lad.” With a foot, Achilles scoots the river stone toward Pyrrhus. “Behold his true shape.”

He addresses Nephos again, which must look absurd: a demigod hero making harsh demands of a tiny, fluffy dog. “If you have words, creature, I compel you to speak. Explain yourself. Swear that you have no ill intent.”

"What has gotten into you?" Pyrrhus briefly considers tackling his father and taking his dog back by force, but then remembers that he would rather not attack his dad. Also, that such a conflict would more than likely hurt Nephos more.

He picks up the stone, but doesn't look through it immediately, not quite understanding its significance. Nephos stops screaming, but instead he starts snapping at Achilles' fingers, squirming to get out of his grasp.

Thump. Thump. Thump. The porch door opens.

"I hear commotion." Ember stands at the threshold, leaning on her bone can and narrowing her single eye. It seems that the wayward father is... bellowing at the Pomeranian? "Does something need shooting?"

"No, no, nothing needs shooting--" Pyrrhus raises the rock to look through it, and immediately his face grows utterly baffled. "Nephos?"

“Lady Ember.” Achilles is grateful for her arrival; the creature either can’t speak, or won’t speak. “You’ve knowledge of the fae. What manner of creature is this? Is it dangerous?”

He presents the dog to her for inspection. The vision through the stone is burned into his mind, but he realizes that Ember only sees the tiny, innocent canine—that she’s probably accustomed to Nephos following Pyrrhus around—and he adds, “It’s taken the guise of a pup, but the stone reveals the truth.”

Ember grunts, gesturing for Pyrrhus to pass her the stone. Pyrrhus does, a little too confused to really know how to proceed. Nephos stops thrashing and snapping. Instead, he turns his head to look at Achilles' face. He growls deep and low, his lips curling back to bare his teeth.

"I know that whatever he is, he will become dangerous if you keep manhandling him," Ember says dryly as she brings the stone up to her eye. She hums sucking on her teeth.

"Let me confirm with my notes before I say," she says, lowering the stone and gesturing behind her. The shadow that follows her slips away to get whatever it is she's asked for. "I recommend putting him down. He's giving you a fairer warning than most fae would."

Achilles relents, kneeling to place Nephos back on the ground. Not with as much gentleness as he would a normal dog. He dusts off his hands, as if he finished touching something unpleasant, then turns to Pyrrhus, “Apologies, lad. Now you understand why I was startled?”

His eyes flick back to Nephos. “If he’s proved a gentle and loyal, and if his heart is true, I am not opposed to his companionship. But I’ve no reason to believe the fae are particularly concerned with mortal wellbeing.”

He particularly doesn’t like the idea of Pyrrhus setting out in a strange land with naught but this odd creature by his side.

Nephos runs away from Achilles, crying to Pyrrhus and jumping on his hind legs to press his front paws on his knees, whimpering pleas to his master. Pyrrhus hesitates only for a moment before bending down, picking up Nephos again and gently rubbing his head. Nephos buries his little head against Pyrrhus' chest.

"Whatever he is, he's been a good friend to me," Pyrrhus says, looking to his father. He understands why his father was startled--Pyrrhus would have reacted worse if he'd seen such a creature in Molossus' arms without warning--but the strange visage through the stone isn't enough to make Pyrrhus forget how much comfort and companionship this not-dog has provided him.

Ember is given a leather-bound book. She opens it, leafing through the pages and humming to herself. It takes a moment before she finds the page she wants.

"Ah. As I thought." She turns the book to show them, but everything in the book is written in a language that no ancient Grecian would know. As she remembers this, Ember shakes her head and closes the book. "I believe he's a brownie. A kind of fae that usually helps humans around their homes in exchange for food and appreciation."

“I see. If that’s all it truly desires … ” Those motives don’t sound terribly far from those of the typical dog. He sighs and shrugs. “I leave it to you then, lad, to decide if you’ll keep him at your side.”

Achilles does wonder how the brownie arrived at the shape of the happy cloud. Perhaps it intuited Pyrrhus’ fondness for the dream canine?

He crosses his arms and the focus of his eye drills into Nephos again. “Your master will face many challenges. Do you promise to help him, brownie?”

Nephos flips his head to look at Achilles, and he promptly growls at him.

"My father is sorry that he scared you, Nephos," Pyrrhus says, bouncing the little dog (/brownie) in his arms. It seems a little more strange now that he knows that this dog is actually a faerie, but he'd always figured that Nephos wasn't a normal dog.

"But he's right that I'll be facing many challenges. I would like you to come with me, but I won't take you without your leave."

Nephos turns towards Pyrrhus again and licks his cheek, tail wagging once more. Pyrrhus smiles, scratching the dog behind the ears.

“Indeed. My apologies, Nephos, for questioning your motives, but you must understand that my son is precious to me.” Achilles pockets the stone again. Just in case.

“Serve him well. Keep his implements to hand.” Achilles allows himself some optimism; maybe a faerie will be more clever and attentive than a simple dog?

Then he turns to Ember. “And thank you, for your insight. As you can surely guess, Lamb has chosen to leave with his memories intact. Neither of us are likely to see you again.”

Nephos doesn't growl again at Achilles, but his tail stops wagging when he looks upon him. Clearly, forgiveness will require a little more than an apology. Maybe a good scratch. Or a piece of roast chicken. Mmmmm chicken.

Ember nods her head. "As I thought."

She looks to Pyrrhus, leaning on her cane. "Lamb, you will always have a home among us. Go to Honey's home to say goodbye to everyone. I sent Scout with word, and they would like to give you gifts before you go."

She raises an arm. "Now, here."

Pyrrhus smiles, putting Nephos down on the ground before embracing Ember. He has to bend to hug her, short as she is, but she's still able to give the impression of giving a full bear hug before kissing both his cheeks.

"Go on and live your life well, boy," she says as she pulls away, smiling as she pats his face. She looks to Achilles next, still smiling, though her smile for him isn't as wide. "Good on you, hero, for fighting for him."

It warms Achilles to see his son shown such affection—the sort he should have been given all through his thirty years. Most of the living won’t show him this much grace and acceptance, but hopefully he’ll carry the memory of this place.

He returns Ember’s smile, wrinkling the dressing on his missing eye.

“He’s fought for many years. It’s long past time I shouldered the burden and fought for him in turn.” He extends an arm in invitation. “Come, lad. Come, Nephos. Let’s not keep the rest waiting.”

Pyrrhus smiles at his father, then kisses Ember's knuckles. "Thank you for everything, ma'am."

She opens her palm, showing a shiny steel lighter. "For the road."

Pyrrhus clearly recognizes what she's offering, even if his father doesn't. He bows his head, taking the lighter. "Thank you. I won't forget you."

And then he takes his father's invitation. He walks with him around the house. Where once there was thick jungle, now there's a wide, clear-cut path through the trees, leading directly to the distant stone building that Honey and Birdy live in.

"I guess she's going easier on me," Pyrrhus says with an amused smile. Nephos weaves between his feet, barking in glee.

Achilles gives Ember a grateful parting bow before they circle around the house.

“Easier on me as well,” he laughs upon seeing the clear path. After spending so much time in Elysium, the drastic change in the jungle isn’t shocking, but it is appreciated, of course. Who knows how long it would take to find their way back without Scout?

While they walk, Achilles bumps shoulders with Pyrrhus. There’s a lot to be curious about when it comes to Ember. “If I may ask, what manner of token did she give you?”

Pyrrhus smiles at his father, holding up the lighter. "She gave me fire."

With a practiced motion (that he may or may not have learned from Birdy to look cool), he flicks the top open and presses the trigger down. A small, controlled flame rises immediately, as steady as a candle in a marble home even in the wind and elements of walking down through a damp jungle.

"It runs on oil. And even if I run out of oil, it makes sparks that could be used to set other fires." Pyrrhus flips the lighter closed again. "It'll be very helpful, wherever I am."

Also give him an unfair edge over others in their time, but hey, his divine blood already did that.

He admires the strong little flame and the ingenuity of the device. Ember must have used it to light those pungent sticks she smokes.

“A fine and clever gift.” It brings to mind the pocket knife Kelly gave Patroclus. The future is full of tiny conveniences that he could never begin to imagine. “Appropriate, given her name.”

Or, at least, the one she uses among the fae. Achilles briefly wonders what Ember’s real name was. As they approach Honey and Birdy’s house, he muses, “I’ve not met anyone quite like Lady Ember. There are few warriors who live to see her age. Fewer still are women.”

"I doubt either of us ever will meet someone like her again, at least while I still live." Pyrrhus will be leaving this place with a newfound and deeply held respect for the power women can wield that won't blend in well in his own time and place. But maybe it's okay he doesn't blend in. He never has before, after all. "The medicine of her time prolonged her life."

Pyrrhus huffs a soft chuckle to himself. "You know her cane? The one with a human bone?" He gestures to his hip, where the bone must have been taken from some hapless soul. "It's her own. The joint wore down with age and the physicians of her time sawed off the worn part and replaced it with metal. Now she uses it to walk because it's intimidating."

He's pretty sure she doesn't actually need a cane, but it's hard to pass up the spectacle of using a human bone casually day to day. Never let anyone say Lady Ember has no sense of theatrics.

Achilles has some knowledge of medicine and surgery—maybe not near as much as Machaon and Podalirius, but enough to be impressed by this revelation. Hips are complicated joints, close to important veins and organs. He can’t even begin to fathom how one grafts metal to bone.

“Gods, the future is strange, isn’t it?” Achilles huffs with a shake of his head. “Miss Birdy told me how she and her fellow witches flew into battle with great, metal wings.”

He clasps his hands behind his back and frowns. “We mortals are capable of such wonders, but it seems we never overcome our hunger for war.”

"Birdy flew me in one of her planes," Pyrrhus says. His smile is fond when he talks about her. He clearly considers her a friend. "It was breathtaking. Like seeing the majesty of the world for the first time. And then it was utterly terrifying when she showed me what she'd do in her war."

He laughs, shaking his head ruefully. "It's as mad as running into battle fully naked. And yet somehow winning the fight."

He easily ranks Birdy among the greatest warriors he's met. He doesn't think any of the people he met at Troy would have the nerve to do what she does.

Pyrrhus sighs through his nose as Honey's house grows larger the closer they get. "I'll miss her. I'll miss them all."

Achilles has technically experienced flight, but the context is awkward. Namely: once in the clutches of a massive buzzard and another time as a mouse, kidnapped by a trickster god. In fairness, this is every bit as wild as riding in a massive machine with a woman who effectively drinks poison for fun, but still. Stories for another time.

“They’re fine warriors, all, even if they didn’t wish to be.” Their reluctance makes them even more impressive; it was necessity, not pride and ego that drove them to war.

“They spoke very fondly of you too, lad. Perhaps you should leave them a token as well?”

Pyrrhus gives a soft smile at the news they spoke fondly of him. There's a touch of bittersweet in it. He really will miss these people, this place full of friends who understand and accept him. But he cares more about being there for his wife and children than he cares about his comfort.

"You're right, I should." Pyrrhus hesitates as they approach the house. Nephos, sensing his master's conflict, rubs against his leg before standing up and placing his paws firmly on Pyrrhus' shin, grounding him in the moment.

"What do you think it could be?" Pyrrhus asks, eyes distant. "What could I give that's worthy of these people who've been so good to me?"

The children who sought his company, the young adults who were his friends, the old woman who cared for him and welcomed him as one of her own.

Achilles pauses beside his son. He considers the question and rubs his jaw, looking up at the house. Making shell bracelets could take most of a day, but Pyrrhus has other skills …

“Your letters are well-practiced. You could write your thanks?” The time spent here seems to have helped Pyrrhus open up about his feelings, but this will still require some careful thought.

“What do you think of that idea, little Nephos?” he asks the brownie-dog, in a not-so-subtle bid to win back his favor.

Nephos looks at Achilles. And immediately, his tail stops wagging.

Pyrrhus huffs a laugh. "He said sorry, Nephos," he says, but Nephos' tail doesn't start wagging again.

He looks to his father with a small, amused smile. "I think you'll need to give him treats. I'm sure Honey has something."

Nephos' forgiveness will not come cheap. He requires treats in this deal.

But Pyrrhus' smile turns to a thoughtful frown as he crosses his arms and considers Achilles' suggestion.

"I could. But Honey is the only one who can read our language, and it's difficult for her." He rubs his beard, furrowing his brow. "Whenever we leave this place won't affect when we arrive to our destination. Would you mind waiting a bit for me to make something?"

He's sure Honey would be happy to host his father in the meantime, but he doesn't want to press his father to stay in this strange world longer than necessary.

Fickle beast. He resists a frown. Achilles is more accustomed to Méli’s unconditional happiness. Then again, she’s an actual dog, not a fae imposter.

“I suppose there’s no harm in lingering. It seems time behaves differently here.” He mostly worries about Pat and Hermes—they’ll be anxious to have him back—but Pyrrhus may never see his friends again and his son has precious few of those. This shouldn’t be rushed.

Achilles clasps his hand behind his back and cocks his head. “What do you have in mind, lad? And may I help?”

For refusetofight

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