Chapter Text
“I think you’ve changed.”
They were sitting on that log together, Mimir between them, watching but not saying anything. Father wouldn’t look at him, instead staring off over the cliff. His jaw was tense, and it looked like he was clasping his hands in his lap to hide they were shaking. Atreus was clutching the book to his chest again, but that was mostly so that he could hold onto something.
“You’re not a monster. Not to me.”
Father grimaced. It looked like his arms had started bleeding again. “Atreus…” But that was all he could say for a long moment. Atreus had to clutch the book more tightly to avoid interrupting. “…I did terrible things, boy.”
“I know, but…”
“No. I did terrible things, and they were terrible regardless of the why or the but. I don’t want…” Father took a deep breath. “…I need to remember that I am capable of these things. Otherwise I will make the same mistakes again.”
He had a point. But…
“But you won’t move forward if you stay scared of yourself and keep thinking you’re just a bad person. You have to believe you can do the right thing, right?” Atreus wasn’t sure he was saying it right, but fortunately, he remembered something that made more sense. “You will fail. How you deal with it is what makes you stronger. You told me that.”
Father finally looked at Atreus. The fear in his eyes faded as he did, replaced by something...like pride? Was he proud of Atreus? Did I say the right thing? “You speak wisely,” Father said quietly. “But…it is not so simple. I do not know if I will ever be able to forgive myself.” He finally unclasped his hands, carefully running them over the bandages on his arms. “I don’t know if it is truly possible to do so.”
Atreus kind of understood. There were a lot of things he was still mad at himself for, even little things. “I can remind you,” he said, “when you can’t remember. I’ll remind you that you can be good.”
“…thank you, son.”
Atreus tried to smile. He didn’t really feel like it, because there was still so much in his head, but he felt like he should. Atreus re-opened the book and turned to the first page about Deimos. “I’m glad you told me about them. I’m sad I won’t ever get to meet them, but…” He rested his fingers over the name carefully. “…Mother always said our ancestors watch over us and send us wisdom. So now that I know…”
He felt strangely safer. It wasn’t just mother and her family now; it was Deimos and Calliope and Callisto. Lysandra too, even if she wasn’t his blood, because she was his sister’s mother, and Father had loved her so much. And maybe even Orkos and Pandora. Friends could count as family. Atreus definitely counted Mimir, and they weren’t related either.
“Do not ask Deimos for spear advice,” Father said suddenly. “He was adept with a sword, but I had the better aim, even if he claimed otherwise.”
Atreus laughed. Even Father smiled a little. “Okay. I won’t.” Atreus looked down at the pages and suddenly thought of something. “…I have an idea, but…we have to go home, if you’re ready.”
Father nodded and stood. “The weather looks as if it will worsen. I think it’s for the best.”
He wasn’t wrong; the snow started getting worse when they were near the house, going from a slight flurry to a steady snowfall. That was okay, though. They needed a fire for Atreus’s idea anyway.
Mother had burned his first notebook. It was just for practice, she said, learning how to form the letters and make sentences and how best to put down his thoughts. Once that practice notebook was done, he could write for real. What Father had written was too serious to be practice, but…they shouldn’t hold onto it, either. Atreus knew the truth now. He didn’t have to hold onto it forever.
Father didn’t either. He must have felt the same, because he agreed to burn the pages immediately.
Atreus removed the pages and threw them into the fire individually. He would’ve thrown the whole thing in the fire, but the cover was still good, and they could definitely still use it. Besides…there were some parts Atreus wanted to hold onto.
Some things they shouldn’t forget.
“Your tattoo looks like his birth mark?” Atreus asked when he re-read the part about Deimos. “All of it?”
“All of it. We had the same father, so perhaps his divinity made it so unique. Sometimes…” Father hesitated, looking at Atreus carefully. “…sometimes I think I see him in your scars. It may be nothing, but…”
Atreus touched his face. He didn’t think about his scars too much, but if he was going to have them…he kind of liked the thought that they made him look a little like his uncle. Atreus carefully set aside the page that described Deimos. He would figure out where to keep it once they were done.
“It’s…Lysandra? Is that how you say it?”
Father nodded. Atreus was going to leave it at that, thinking it would be too painful for Father to talk about. But…
“I would…recite poetry for her, sometimes. When I was trying to court her.” Father laughed quietly. He sounded embarrassed. “I don’t know why she tolerated me.”
That surprised him. “You know poetry?”
“Only Greek poetry.” Father hesitated. “I loved your mother, too. Having loved Lysandra before…that doesn’t change how I felt about her. You can love more than once.”
“I believe you.” It seemed painful, though. Even if he loved Mother…
I hope I don’t lose anyone like that.
Atreus didn’t ask any questions about Calliope. He was still a bit curious, but he knew it would hurt too much. The only thing Father did when they reached the part about Calliope was pick up the page Atreus had set aside. He didn’t say anything, just rested his fingers carefully over her name. As if he could somehow take back what had happened.
She’s still my sister, Atreus wanted to say. Even if she’s not here. I’ll care about her with you. But he couldn’t say that, not when Father still looked so quietly sad.
He’d tell him one day. Just not now.
“So if Orkos were here, do you think he would work in Helheim? Since he helped punish people who didn’t keep their promises?” Father nodded. “That sounds like kind of a terrible job.”
“It seemed like grim work. Necessary, but grim.” Father huffed quietly. “I’m surprised he didn’t give up on me. I slow to trust him.” He glanced over his shoulder at Mimir. “I am sure you two would have plenty to talk about.”
“I have nothing to say to that,” Mimir said immediately.
“Why do I find that hard to believe?” Father seemed amused, at least, though that didn’t last long. “I wish things had ended differently for him. There should be more gods like him.”
Atreus nodded in agreement. “I’ll be better for him too, then,” he said. “We both can.”
He was nervous to ask about Callisto, but Atreus really wanted to know. Mother had never talked about her parents much, so this could be Atreus’s only chance to know about a grandparent. “Did…Grandmother ever teach you anything about fighting or anything like that?”
Kratos shook his head. “No. That was not her place. She tried to teach me other things. Right from wrong, philosophy…I think my courtship of Lysandra only succeeded because of her.” He smiled slightly. “She told me after Calliope was born…the next one will be a boy. I don’t know if she knew somehow or if she was only guessing, but I think she would be glad to know she was right.”
Eventually, they burned through to the part about Pandora. And again, Atreus couldn’t help asking. “Why Pandora? Was she part of a prophecy or something?”
“Created,” Father corrected. “She was not born like you or I. She was made. Her creator did love her, tried to protect her, but she was always meant to be the box’s key. The only one who could open it. I wonder what her life would have been if it had not been for this fate.” Father paused. “She was taken from those who loved her because of…fate. Fear of what might be.”
“Like with Odin.”
“Yes. Like with Odin.” Father’s hands rested on the pages. The memories of his family. “It is better to worry about what is. Maybe that is why your mother never told us.”
That made sense. Atreus was still a little sad she hadn’t told him herself, but he could understand why she might not want to. Especially when so much of it was so sad and scary. “It must have been hard,” Atreus said as he put aside Pandora’s page. He would keep the one about Mother, too, but that would be the last one. “Not saying anything. Not trying to stop it.” Atreus pulled one of the last pages free, and paused as he realized something. “Your friend Atreus isn’t really in here.”
Father shook his head. “He died before my second encounter with Alrik, before the worst of my actions. I miss him, but he died with honor, without being dragged into my affairs.” Father smiled again, but this time there was barely any pain in his eyes. “He would be miserable if he were with us. He hated the cold.”
Atreus laughed. “Honestly, I’m kind of tired of it now, too.” He pulled free the last page, but hesitated before passing it to Father. “Here. You should do it.”
Father hesitated before taking the page. He dropped it into the fire with the others. Atreus gathered up the other pages and leaned against Father’s shoulder. “Thank you for telling me the truth,” he said quietly. “We can help each other be better. Right? We’ll look after each other.”
“We will.” Father wrapped an arm around Atreus’s shoulders, hugging him carefully. “We will.”
The pages burned down to nothing. They didn’t really talk about it after that.
It took him a few days, but eventually he carved them all into small wooden statues, no bigger than his hand. The statues weren’t very detailed, so he didn’t have to ask Father too many questions, but Atreus tried to make them look distinctive. Each one joined the other small statues that had sat on the shelf since Atreus was a baby, and the one he made after they’d spread Mother’s ashes. It felt right to have them there. Father’s family finally with Mother’s. Atreus’s whole family, together.
He asked Father more than once to make sure it was okay to put them there. Father said it was fine, though Atreus still caught him glancing at them. Especially once he put Calliope on the shelf between Lysandra and Deimos.
“Do you truly think they can…?”
Father didn’t finish the question, but Atreus knew what he meant. “I think so. I know I feel like Mother does. Have you ever tried to talk to her?”
“…I’m not sure what to say to her.”
Atreus had a feeling he wasn’t just talking about Mother.
“I just tell her…that we’re okay. That I love her. Sometimes I ask her for advice, but I don’t know if she’s tried to tell me anything. Sometimes it feels like she might, but…dreams are weird.” Mimi had tried to explain it to him once, about how dream messages and prophecy were supposed to work. Not even he could completely make it make sense. “It feels nice to talk to her anyways.”
Father nodded. He left it at that, but Atreus didn’t miss how he looked at the statues that night.
Atreus thought about showing him how he did it—how Mother had shown him how—but he figured it would be better if he let Father do it his own way. He did it the same way he always did, though.
Lo, there do I see the face of my mother…
It really did feel better, having all of them there.
Atreus didn’t realize he was dreaming at first. It was one of those dreams where he felt like he was awake, sitting down outside, trying to clean a deer hide. It wasn’t snowing. That should’ve been his first clue, but that didn’t seem weird at first.
Not until he noticed the storm.
He’d dreamed about storms before—lightning streaking the sky, thunder rumbling all around him, their house in the eye of it, not affected but trapped by it. This time, the storm was off in the distance. There was lightning, but no thunder.
He should’ve heard thunder, even with the storm far away.
Atreus stood up and watched the storm. He felt like he could reach out and grab it. His right hand itched. Something told him he shouldn’t, but…
Someone was singing in the house. Not Mother’s voice—it was two voices, a woman and a young girl. He didn’t recognize the words, but the song sounded sad. Atreus couldn’t see who it was when he turned around, but he realized…
His shadow was wrong. Too tall. Shape of the head wasn’t right, like his hair was different, and the outline of the clothes looked wrong, too. But Atreus felt like himself, so…
Don’t worry. You don’t have to make the same mistakes as your forebears. The voice he heard in his head wasn’t his. Wasn’t even speaking the languages of Midgard. It was Greek. Neither does he.
Atreus walked to the wall, watching the shadow not change shape or size as he did. “Why don’t you tell him that?” he asked, his Greek sounding clumsy in comparison.
Trust me, he wouldn’t be happy to hear from me. The shadow stretched up one hand; Atreus carefully rested his own hand against it. It almost felt like a handshake. What will it be, then? Loki or Atreus?
“I don’t know. I haven’t decided yet.” Atreus didn’t have to ask who the shadow was. Somehow he knew. “Are they okay?”
The shadow seemed to know what he meant. They are. It’s the least I could do. Another streak of lightning burst across the clouds behind him, temporarily causing the shadow to disappear. When it re-appeared, Atreus realized there were more voices inside, all speaking to each other. Another woman. A man. A girl maybe his age, definitely older than the other one.
A woman he recognized, so suddenly and painfully that it made his chest feel like it was going to burst.
You’ll be all right.
Atreus ran to the door.
It was still dark outside when he woke up. Father was asleep; it looked like Mimir was still resting, too, and he was usually the first one awake. Atreus looked around the room. It was just the three of them, but…it felt like there had been someone there before. Like there was a lingering warmth in the room.
Father was asleep, so deeply that he didn’t even stir when Atreus crawled into bed next to him. He looked peaceful, more peaceful than Atreus had ever seen him in a long time.
For once, his arms weren’t bleeding.
The scars would still be there when the bandages came off, Atreus knew. But the Blades weren’t hurting him. Not for now. Maybe never again. Atreus would do what he could to make sure it didn’t happen again.
It would be easier now that he had help.