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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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?”

Pyrrhus hums in thought, looking at nothing in particular as he thinks, tapping his fingers on his arm.

"If I make an individual gift for everyone, we'll be here forever. Literally, possibly, with the way this place is. So perhaps one thing people could share."

He hums again, rocking back on the balls of his feet.

"...You know, I was taught this amazing means of knotting yarn in very flexible ways. The technique can be used to turn string into anything from a pair of gloves to a soft plush toy. They call it crochet." He looks to his father. "Many of the people here need comfort in dark moments. I could make a big, soft blanket to share."

“Mm. The children would particularly appreciate that.” His mind particularly goes to the likes of Stab, who like to stay hidden.

“You know, during my time on Skyros, your mother taught me to weave,” Achilles says with a note of pride. He wasn’t particularly great at it, and the women unraveled most of his work as ‘a shameful waste of good yarn,’ but by the gods, he tried. “If you would teach me this crochet, I could lend you a hand.”

This is absolute hubris, albeit a relatively harmless expression of it. Achilles genuinely believes he can learn to do most anything at a passable level of competence.

An amused smile tugs on Pyrrhus' lips, the corners of his eyes crinkling. He's pretty sure that his father is not going to find crochet as easily picked up as combat, but still... "I would love to teach you, Dad."

Even if his father can't help him crochet, he'd just like to have the chance to teach him something. Or, at least, try to teach him something.

"Oh!" As if just thinking of something, Pyrrhus digs through his bag, pulling his book out again and flipping it open, taking out his fountain pen and balancing the book precariously on his arm. One of the many advantages of books and pens is that they're MUCH easier to write with on the go. "I want to make sure I remember: when I return to Epirus, I want honeyguide birds to be made into a symbol of honor and courage. Commission mosaics and pottery and the like."

Honey and Birdy are unlikely to ever be truly recognized for their glory and heroism because of their sex and early death. But thousands of years before they're born, Pyrrhus wants to honor them, even if he's the only one who understands the symbol. Maybe one day, in one of Honey's many tomes of history, she'll find traces of his gratitude.

At this point, Achilles will happily take any excuse to learn about something his son enjoys. Particularly while time is somewhat pliable. Maybe if he remembers even half the technique, he can teach it to Lyra in turn.

“Honeyguide? I’m not familiar with it.” Achilles is beginning to think both of his children have surpassed him in knowledge. Quite a change from Zagreus, who required so much tutoring (by no fault of his own). “Seems a fine choice by name alone.”

He looks back down at Nephos expectantly, arms on his hips. “Will you fetch your master the supplies for this crochet?”

"Really? They're birds that merchants from the south and the east will often bring when they pass through Epirus," Pyrrhus says. "They're birds that have learned that, if they lead humans to beehives, the humans will break them open and deal with the bees so the birds can pick at leftovers. Very helpful creatures."

Nephos, meanwhile, looks at Achilles when he's addressed. Then his tail stops wagging. He does not respond to Achilles' request.

"Please, Nephos?" Pyrrhus tries.

Nephos starts wagging his tail again, barking before chasing his tail in a circle and then running off. Pyrrhus laughs, shaking his head before stepping up to Honey's door and knocking. "Hopefully, Honey won't begrudge me a chance to work at her kitchen table one last time."

“Very clever creatures.” All the more appropriate for the likes of Honey and Birdy. Perhaps one of Prometheus’ designs.

Speaking of clever creatures …

“If you return quickly, I promise you a choice morsel from Honey’s pantry,” Achilles calls after the industrious fluffball. He’s determined to earn Nephos’ forgiveness before they part ways.

“I doubt she’ll turn you away, but … should Birdy threaten us with more of her special libations, let’s politely decline?” he suggests with a wince. Maybe a united front will help preserve their pride. “Perhaps she can be persuaded to drink wine instead.”

Pyrrhus gives a wince of his own. "Oh no, they've ruined wine too. Everyone drinks it straight in the future. My theory is that medicine has come so far that no one has any respect for their liver anymore."

It is the only explanation he can think of that so many people would drink poison for fun.

"I'll ask Honey if we can sample 'beer' instead. Beer is a drink that doesn't hit as hard, and her homeland is known for it, so she's very proud to serve it to people unfamiliar."

There are footsteps behind the door. As a final thought, Pyrrhus leans to his dad and says with a conspiratorial wink, "Nephos' favorite snack is cheese. And he can tell the difference between fine and subpar cheese." How does he know that? Because Nephos is the world's most spoiled little cloud dog, is how.

The door opens up. There's Birdy, immediately grinning when she sees who it is. "Lamb! Glad you came back, I would've had to hunt you down in the past if you left without a goodbye."

“A discerning creature,” he laughs at the insight about Nephos’ tastes. Quite the contrast to Méli, who will eat most anything regardless of whether it is, in fact, food.

When Birdy greets them at the door, he hums and says, “Please, Night Witch, keep the silent metal wings in your own time.”

He slings an affectionate arm around Pyrrhus’ shoulders. “My trial here has ended, but Lamb’s will begin anew once he leaves this place. Fortunately we’re in no great hurry if you’ll have us for one last visit.”

Achilles squeezes his son close. “He should leave with the joy of friendship in his heart.”

"Lucky for you, friendship is something we have in great supply," Birdy says, grinning and affectionately clapping her hands on Achilles' and Pyrrhus's shoulders. Then she pauses, frowning.

"...An eye switched places," she says, squinting.

"Bring them in, Birdy!" Honey calls from the kitchen. "Don't leave them just out in the cold!"

In the house, there's the sound of giggling, roughhousing children. They're nowhere visible from the door, nor in the kitchen, but there's the definite sound of kids wrestling each other.

Achilles raises a hand to the dressing on his eye, as if he’d already forgotten about the exchange. He shrugs, as if this was as normal as lending him a useful tool. “Lamb has greater need of it than I.”

But he still smiles and winks at Birdy as he steps into the house. “I think he looks quite striking with the mismatched set, don’t you?”

In the kitchen, he gives Honey a respectful nod in greeting and peers into the adjacent rooms for the roughhousing boys. “Seems your lads are full of energy. Shall I take them outside for a bit of play before they destroy your lovely home?”

Birdy looks at Pyrrhus as he steps in, holding him in place for a moment to squint at his eyes. The difference between the brown and blue is, indeed, striking. She gives an approving nod before releasing him.

Honey, meanwhile, is midway through kneading bread dough when Achilles arrives, wearing an apron covered with a generous dusting of flour. Her face lights up as Achilles walks in, faltering only a moment when she notices his eye.

"Oh, that would be wonderful. They have so much energy. More kids came to say goodbye to Lamb, and--"

"I BEAT YOU!" And then a bundle of child crashes into the kitchen. A girl bright red braids has pinned Gavroche on the ground, grinning wide enough to show she's missing a tooth.

"Not yet you haven't!" Gavroche twists and licks her arm. The girl immediately recoils, jumping off him.

"EWWW! No fair!"

Gavroche laughs and grins at Achilles, waving at him. "Hi again!"

In the other room, there's the sound of Scout pleading with more kids to please be more careful, but from the sound of screaming and wrestling, no one's listening to him.

“Cerberus is better behaved than these pups,” Achilles laughs, hauling Gavroche up to his feet.

This isn’t the first time he’s entertained the rowdy shades of children and he knows exactly what will tire them out.

He claps his hands on the boy’s shoulders. “Young Gavroche, shall we give Lamb a proper Greek sendoff? Gather up your friends and we’ll hold a pentathlon outside. The winner will enjoy a place of honor next to him at the feast.”

A quick glance at Honey and he adds at a whisper, “And perhaps a second helping of sweets.”

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