Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

There’s a flash of green light in Hermes’ office and he thinks oh, here we go.

It’s been a while since he spoke to Thanatos. Sure, their duties have some overlap, but if the Underworld delivery service is running smoothly as intended, he rarely gets face time with Death Incarnate. It’s a shame; Hermes finds that his chthonic colleagues are often a breath of fresh air, free of his Olympian family's pretention. That Charon, especially, he tells it like it is.

Death approaches with a mighty scowl upon his face, swiping his hood off to reveal his supremely annoyed expression in full. Hermes swings his feet off the desk, hurriedly brushing at his tunic.

“Right on time,” he says. “You’ll have to make this quick, I’m afraid, Aphrodite has an urgent message for me to pass on and I do so hate to let her down…”

“I highly doubt that’s as important as this,” Thanatos says, accusatorily brandishing a piece of parchment that Hermes, unfortunately, knows the exact contents of. His copy of it has been sitting out on his desk for the past few days. “This is your problem too, you know.”

“Hey, I’m as ticked off as you are, Than,” Hermes protests, which is a blatant lie. “But I didn’t have anything to do with it. I will not take the blame for inventing a very fine-sounding instrument —”

“Don’t —”

“— which they say he played so well that he could charm the rivers themselves —”

“It’s not about the blasted lyre,” Thanatos interjects. “She was under your jurisdiction when she went.”

“I wasn’t the one who let her go,” Hermes points out, hopping to his feet and drifting to the other side of the desk. “All I did was bring her to the Underworld and file the appropriate form, as I always do. Anything else isn’t in my job description.”

“You seem awfully nonchalant about this,” Thanatos grumbles, crossing his arms.

“And why shouldn’t I be? I think it’s quite lovely, all in all, and the girl didn’t escape, anyhow, so no harm was done.”

“Mortals will talk. It sets a bad precedent.”

“I think you oughtn’t be so worried,” Hermes says breezily, idly sorting through his mailbag. “This sort of thing happens every now and then — remember King something-or-other?”

Apparently this is a sore spot for Thanatos, who huffs out a sigh. Hermes knows it’s a bit mean to tease him so, but it’s really not often that a mortal outsmarts the gods, and when it happens, he finds it amusing rather than humiliating. Yes, Zeus will probably give him one of those dreaded talking-tos later, but Hermes has always been fascinated by the whims of mortals. There’s something he likes very much about a man who loves his muse so deeply that he would follow her to the deepest recesses of the Underworld itself. The premise itself is not unique. Lovesick men have existed since humans first took shape. The difference is that this one succeeded.

“Don’t dwell on it too much, alright, Than?” Hermes says, patting Thanatos on the arm. “Mortals aren’t as naïve as you think! They know these are exceptions, not examples.”

“It’s already bad enough they think death can be thwarted,” Thanatos says, shaking his head. “The universal fear of it is what keeps them in check.”

“Ah, but not everyone is an uncommonly clever king, just as not everyone is the earth’s greatest musician,” Hermes says, slinging his mailbag over his shoulder and fixing his scarf. Thanatos is good enough company, and there’s something charming about the way he grouses, but Hermes is getting restless and he really does have to run. “Spend some time on the surface and you’ll soon find that most kings are not so clever, and most musicians not so great.”

The brief moments Hermes comes into his office at the foothills of Mount Olympus are the only ones where he stays in one place. He’s rather used to Aphrodite or Dionysus popping in now and then to ask a quick favor of him, but today it’s Athena sitting at his desk, looking extremely unimpressed as she flicks through sheets of parchment. Hermes freezes by the door, immediately concerned by her deepening frown, his mind concocting disastrous scenarios.

“Whoa, sis,” he says. “Is something wrong?”

She looks up at him, her expression grave.

“You need to adopt a more efficient filing system,” she says sternly. “How you ever find anything in this mess is beyond me.”

“Oh,” Hermes says, his shoulders relaxing, relieved that she isn’t mad at him about something. Every Olympian is not to be crossed for some reason or other, but Athena lacks the petty streak that the rest of them so often give in to. It makes her rage all the more fearsome because there is always a justification. “So you dropped by just to assess the way I keep my files?”

“No,” Athena scoffs, rolling up a piece of parchment and tossing it aside haphazardly.

“Aw, don’t scold me and then do that.”

“It’s not like it can get any worse,” she says, leaning forward to fold her arms on the desk. “Listen, I need your help spreading word about something to the other Olympians.”

Hermes brightens up at that. It’s been a long time since someone has called on him for such a task, not since Aphrodite asked him to help her spread some particularly biting gossip about Artemis during one of their little disagreements. They’d resolved it eventually, though not before Artemis had nearly snapped Hermes’ caduceus in two. So go the conflicts of gods.

“Anything for you, sis, what have you got?”

“Before I tell you, I’ve a question to ask,” Athena says. “You have more contact with those of the Underworld than most. How familiar are you with the Night Mother Nyx?”

Hermes shrugs and drops his mailbag on the floor, uncaring of Athena's critical eye.

“Not much,” he says, truthfully. “Believe it or not, when I’m speaking to my colleagues, the topic of their mother doesn’t come up very much. I only caught a glimpse of her once, with Charon, but she disappeared as I approached, though from what I remember, she seemed a rather regal sort.”

Athena hums thoughtfully.

“And what of her progeny?”

“Her pr — you mean her kids? They're a good bunch, a little odd, perhaps, but not significantly more screwed up than the average Olympian.”

“I see,” Athena muses, sounding very wise indeed. “I ask because Nyx herself contacted me recently — yes, it was quite a shock. She asked for a favor, which I typically wouldn't indulge, but she mentioned it was a family affair, and you know how I feel about family.”

“You love us,” Hermes says.

“I am bound by duty to serve you,” Athena says. “Lord Uncle Hades, it appears, has had a son — mothered by Nyx herself, if you'll believe it.”

“No way,” Hermes says, eyes widening. “We've got a cousin?”

“Yes, it's all very new,” Athena says, waving a hand. “The boy's name is Zagreus, and he seems to be trying to make it to Olympus. Uncle isn't too keen on the idea, so escaping has been difficult for him. Nyx asked if the Olympians might reach out to him with our power, lend a hand every now and then. All in the service of getting him to his destination as soon as possible, of course.”

“You can count on me, sis,” Hermes says, grinning toothily as he takes his quill out from behind his ear. “We'll get this kid to Olympus in no time at all!”

His mind is already racing with thoughts of this new cousin Zagreus, yet another family member to add to their odd tapestry. It's been far too long since there was a new face on Olympus. Knowing there's a boy below the earth willing to defy his great and terrible father to make it to the rest of his family is both exciting and curious. That all-consuming desire to take one's circumstances into one's own hands is a very mortal compulsion. Hermes is sure Zagreus will have some stories to tell once he gets to Olympus, and intends to do his level best to make it happen.

“Oh, it truly breaks my heart.”

The sight of Aphrodite sprawled out over his desk in melodramatic fashion is not an uncommon one, although today she seems to be a tad more intoxicated than usual. To her credit, no matter how much ambrosia she's had, she always remembers to call ahead. Hermes sidesteps her to fall into his chair, gently nudging her aside so he has room to stretch his legs.

“You'll have to be more specific, dear Aphrodite.”

“The little Hades, the Underworld boy, whatever he calls himself,” she says, sitting up to look at him. “How much longer must we offer our assistance to him, only for him to fall short?”

Hermes laughs at her pouting face. To a mortal, Aphrodite may be the most fearsome of all the Olympians, her power over love as devastating as any storm. To him, she's just a woman who sweeps in every now and then to regale him with the latest happenings in her very eventful life.

“His name is Zagreus, and he's gotten much closer as of late,” he says. “He made it right to the surface the other day. I'm sure you felt it, his presence was so sharp that Demeter herself reached out to him, and you know she doesn't often do that sort of thing.”

“If only you could snatch him up and whisk him up to Olympus,” Aphrodite says, reaching out to lightly pat Hermes' cheek. “You'd have him here very shortly!”

“Believe me,” says Hermes, “I've asked Charon about it, and he has expressly forbidden me from doing so.”

“I long to meet the little godling,” Aphrodite sighs, resting her chin on one hand. “I've so much to ask him about. Love affairs in the Underworld must be so different, so unlike here... no jealousy, no reservations...”

“Ha! You, talking about no jealousy? I thought you positively reveled in the stuff.”

“If I'm jealous, it's only because social conventions demand I be,” Aphrodite says haughtily. “Olympus' expectations of propriety can be so tiresome. Why, our dear Zagreus himself is courting two suitors at the moment, with neither so much as batting an eye!”

“Oh?” Hermes says, awfully intrigued all of a sudden. Leave it to Aphrodite to titillate him with the only gossip in the world he has no means of following up on. “I wonder which of the Underworld's servants would catch the eye of the young prince.”

“Relax, dearest, you know the boatman only has eyes for you,” Aphrodite says, giving him a wink. “And I won't tell, not before he gets here, at any rate. Oh, I can hardly wait.”

Hermes pointedly chooses to ignore her comment about Charon. Perhaps things in the Underworld really are different, without all the posturing and betrayal. He thinks, not for the first time, that he might enjoy it there, despite its reputation. Olympus may be beautiful, but it can be constraining, too, suffocatingly so. Far too constraining for a god with wings on his feet.

The next time Thanatos shows up in Hermes' office, there's a chime to go along with the green light. Hermes pauses in his present work — signing off on the latest arrivals to Erebus — to see Thanatos standing in the middle of the floor, looking as though he doesn't quite know what to do with himself.

“Than!” Hermes exclaims, leaning back in his chair. “This is a very pleasant surprise, my friend, but I do have a policy regarding appointments, and it wouldn't look very professional if I broke it for you...”

“I'll make it quick,” Thanatos cuts in, stepping forward and pushing his hood back. His eyes make a cursory sweep over Hermes' desk, which is now a hopeless case, strewn over with parchment. “I can see you're busy doing... something.”

“I won't bore you with the details,” Hermes says, cracking his neck. “Although you could stand to pick some of this up, considering this isn't even my fulltime job!”

“This world keeps me far too occupied,” Thanatos says dismissively, picking at his nails. “You know mortals kill and die at an alarming pace. I couldn't be tied up in parchmentwork.”

“I do know, and I'll never forget it,” Hermes replies. “Well, how can I help you, O Death?”

“Ah,” Thanatos says. “Yes.”

It's the strangest thing. Hermes watches Thanatos' cold demeanor suddenly falter and disappear, replaced by something softer, something even verging on bashfulness. But he keeps his expression level, knowing better than to assume he can understand Thanatos' moods. Their meetings are few and far between, after all, and Thanatos is difficult to read. Not like Charon, who is an open book.

“I've heard that you're lending your assistance to the prince in his... endeavors,” Thanatos says, and his voice, at least, is steady. “Lord Hades has ordered me here to request that you and your fellow Olympians stop helping him.”

“Oh, is that all,” Hermes says. “No.”

Thanatos arches an eyebrow.

“No?”

“No,” Hermes repeats. “Apologies, Than, but he's our family, and if he wants to get to us, we're going to do what we can to help him, and I know the rest of 'em won't budge on that, either.”

Thanatos lets out a breath. It could almost be one of relief.

“That is disappointing,” he says, sounding as though he doesn't mean it. “Lord Hades will be unhappy about this.”

“I'm sure,” Hermes says, shrugging. “You can always tell him my father was being utterly unreasonable despite your best efforts. That sounds believable, doesn't it?”

“Maybe,” Thanatos says. “Zagreus is lucky to have a family that cares about him so.”

Hermes regards Thanatos with a discerning eye, amusement slowly rising in his chest.

“How fortunate a thing it is to be cared for,” he says. “I'm sure Zagreus would agree.”

And he's definitely not mistaken then, when a fond smile flickers across Thanatos' shadowy face, his lips twitching involuntarily. Hermes beams openly at that, twirling his quill in one hand, horribly pleased with himself for having witnessed Death in such a state. Thanatos notices his glee and immediately his face becomes stony again, although there's some color in his cheeks that Hermes is kind enough not to mention.

“Well, it was nice seeing you again,” Thanatos says, turning away hurriedly. “Good day.”

“Good day!” Hermes calls out, and smiles to himself long after Thanatos is gone.

Chapter Text

Being a child of Zeus means this: godliness, acclaim, and your very own mortal domain to rule over. It also means having more half-siblings than you know what to do with.

Hermes has barely stepped through the doorway when there’s a rumbling beneath his feet and the room’s very foundation begins to shudder, which can only mean one thing. He sighs and slings his mailbag over a large tooth mounted on the wall. Centuries ago, he and Artemis plundered it from the mouth of a fearsome hydra. Now it’s just where he hangs his things, when he has the presence of mind to do so.

Right on cue, the door opens with a ferocious thud and the king of the gods enters, barely fitting through the doorframe. Hermes steps back and perches on the edge of the desk to accommodate his father in all his resplendence. Zeus grins widely and spreads his arms magnanimously, his head nearly touching the ceiling at his full height.

“Greetings, my son!” he booms, voice reverberating.

“Hey, pop,” Hermes says. “Inside voice, remember?”

“Oh, apologies,” Zeus chuckles, sounding much more like your average god. “Sometimes I forget, you know, after a day of making proclamations and other such things from the mountaintop — where you could stand to visit me once in a while, I might add, to save me the trouble of coming all the way down here.”

“I mean to, I do!” Hermes retorts, feeling for a moment like a child again. “But I’ve got a lot going on — and besides, I see you every day when I bring you your messages.”

“Work doesn’t count,” Zeus says. “You ought to learn a little something from your young cousin! Hades’ boy has been very good about paying his dues to me, though how nectar makes its way to the Underworld, I’ll never know.”

Hermes rolls his eyes, something most would consider ill-advised when faced with the king of the gods. Luckily Hermes knows it won’t so much as make a dent on his father’s joviality. Zeus’ thunderous temper is well-documented, but it only comes out when he feels truly wronged, and the simple petulance of one of his children hardly warrants that.

“You need something, pop? Or did you come down here just to chastise?”

“Frankly, given your dismissiveness towards your own father, I suspect chastising you would not be such a poor use of my time,” Zeus says, putting his hands on his hips. “You’re fortunate I’ve something more important to discuss. It’s about your sister.”

“Which one?”

“Melpomene,” Zeus says, tone slipping very easily into that of a disgruntled parent. “Of all my artistically inclined daughters, she has always been the most mercurial, I’m sure you recall.”

“Oh, I’m not so acquainted with her,” Hermes says. He doesn’t know the Muses very well; they’ve never seemed to like him very much, save for those who favor the lyre. There was that one feast they’d all shown up to a few eons ago that had turned out to be very enjoyable. If he’d spoken to any of them there, though, it was a memory long gone, lost in a haze of ambrosia. “I think she’s chummy with Dionysus, as much as she can be chummy with someone, maybe he’ll be of more help.”

“No, no, it’s not about that,” Zeus cuts in. “You see, dear Melpomene has been awfully moody as of late, even more so than usual — I suspect she’s suffering from a creative drought, but that’s none of my business — anyway, she needs something to keep her occupied.”

“And these are her words, not yours, I presume,” Hermes says.

“I know what is best for my children, believe me!” Zeus declares. “You’re going to be much busier soon, my son, what with Ares stirring up trouble in the mortal realm again, he does so love to do that — mightn’t you need an assistant of sorts to keep your affairs in order around here? Why, just looking at the state of this office… we give you this lovely space at the base of the mountain and you neglect it so…”

Hermes regards his father for a moment, feeling rather irked by the imposition but knowing he has no choice but to accept. Zeus has a maddening way of presenting what he wants in the form of a request, though it’s obvious that he’s ordering, not asking. It’s not the first time Hermes has been ordered to help one of his siblings with something or other, either — his father always assumes him capable of meeting any need. (Which he is, of course, but sometimes he feels taken for granted.)

“Yeah, alright, pop,” Hermes says finally. “Perhaps she can keep some of you from bursting in with no regard for clearly defined policies.”

“Fantastic!” Zeus says, looking pleased at having successfully foisted this responsibility off. “You’re not here very often, I can tell, so it may be nice to have someone coming in and out of the place — take your messages, water your plants…”

“Ah,” Hermes says, reaching out to flick the stiff leaves of the plant sitting on his shelf. “Be sure to let her know there’s no need for that.”

“Ha, yes, very good, son,” Zeus says, mind clearly already elsewhere as he turns to leave. “Very good indeed!”

“Hermes, always nice to see you in here,” comes Dionysus’ cheery voice, along with a strong smell of wine. “Say, why’s the good Muse Melpomene out front, there? She can’t just be here for my sake, can she?”

“Oh, she’s maintaining my office part-time,” Hermes says, not looking up from the various permit requests he has to sort through. “But between you and me, it seems that all she does is scribble away on that parchment of hers about something or other. Whatever keeps her busy, I suppose.”

Melpomene’s detached, lilting tone comes from outside.

“Dionysus is here to see you.”

“Thanks, Mel,” Hermes calls out, glancing up at the aforementioned god of wine, who is already draped over the chest of drawers in the corner, eyes roaming around the room. “Let me guess: you’ve got some sort of event planned, and you’d like me to distribute the invitations.”

Immediately, Dionysus’ face melts into his irrepressible smile. He lifts himself up from his current resting point to strut across the room and lean onto Hermes’ desk. Up close Hermes can see the faint purple fog that surrounds him.

“How did you guess it so quick, man, I suppose you’re quick with everything, though, aren’t you?” Dionysus chuckles, reaching into his cloak to produce a stack of neatly folded parchment. “Was just floating about the other day when young Zag, you know, Hades’ kid, he sent up some lovely nectar, primo quality stuff, and I thought, it’s been a while since we had a good feast up here!”

“I’ve known you a long time,” Hermes responds, shrugging nonchalantly but unable to keep a smile off his face. “I know that glint in your eye, though that doesn’t make it any easier to say no, because as you well know I love a feast.”

“Of course you do, man, everyone does,” Dionysus says, waving his stack of invitations in Hermes’ face. “This’ll be good for us too, though, you know, we haven’t had nearly enough time to catch up lately! Work’s been keeping you awfully busy, always zipping about without a moment’s rest, except for now, I suppose, and even this is just more work.”

“That’s just my life, which you’d understand if you still had duties to attend to,” Hermes snorts, giving up on any hope of concentrating while Dionysus is around. “For all your complaining, I bet you don’t really mind all that frost, do you? Must save you a lot of tending to the vineyards, at any rate.”

“Now that’s out of line, man,” Dionysus exclaims good-naturedly. “I’ve been chipping away at our Lady Demeter’s resolve, trying to get her to change her mind, going through the official channels and everything, but she just won’t budge, it’s positively infuriating.”

“Don’t leave wine smudges all over your letters, then, that’s my first tip!” Hermes says, shaking his head in feigned exasperation. “I deliver all your messages, Di, I wouldn’t be surprised if they got tossed before they were ever opened, given the state you send them off in.”

“Ah! Good shout, man, I’ll work on that,” Dionysus says, nodding sagely and still brandishing the stack of invitations. “So, about the feast…?”

Hermes rolls his eyes and plucks the invitations from Dionysus’ hand. The god of wine’s leisurely smile grows even more as Hermes looks down to flip through the stack, eons of training allowing him to decipher Dionysus’ near-unintelligible scrawl. One invitation’s addressee gives him pause.

“Charon?”

“Yes!” Dionysus exclaims, reaching out to pat Hermes’ shoulder. “Heard the two of you were getting pretty close, good for you, man, won’t deny I’m a bit scared of him but if you like him so much, I want to meet him, soon as I can.”

“That’s… awfully thoughtful, Di, thank you,” Hermes says, for once not quite knowing how to respond. “I’m not sure if he’s much for festivities, but — yeah, I’ll pass this on.”

“Don’t thank me, thank Aphrodite,” Dionysus says, waving a hand. “Soon as she found out, oh, let’s just say I was the first to know, and leave it at that, alright? The both of us, we just want you to be happy!”

Hermes tries and fails to tamp down his grin. It’s not the first time the pair of them have done something nice for him — it’s the least they can do, given how often they enlist his services for personal requests — but it’s the first time such a gesture has touched him so profoundly. He does like Charon quite a bit, in a way that he’s seldom felt about anyone else, and perhaps only Aphrodite knows just how much. Relations between Olympians and chthonic gods may be rare, but Hermes is nothing if not an overachiever.

If there’s one god who could stand to take a day off, Hermes thinks, it’s Ares.

Mortals may kill and die in wars, but for Hermes it’s a bureaucratic nightmare, which is ultimately worse. He stops by his office to retrieve some of the messages he couldn’t carry before, his bag still nearly full to bursting, and finds the god of war standing there, back ramrod straight, inspecting the hydra tooth mounted on the wall. He turns when he hears the door open.

“Good, you’re back,” Ares says, expression stern. “You certainly took your time.”

“I do wish Melpomene would do her job,” Hermes says.

“I see you already carry an abundance of messages, but I have another to add to your bag,” Ares says, striding forward and holding up a roll of parchment. “This one is fairly important, as a Trojan general sacrificed a particularly lovely cow to me to ensure it was passed on. Do make sure it reaches its recipient, won’t you?”

“Making more work for me, are you?” Hermes says, brushing past Ares to get to his desk. He’d be lying if he said he wasn’t more than a little annoyed at his brother for inspiring such conflict in the mortal realm. “My schedule is packed with deliveries of messages and souls alike, and now you come to me with another! I have a route, you know, and I can’t take a detour just for you.”

“I get the sense,” says Ares, “that you are defying my wishes.”

“Oh, I am,” Hermes says, sweeping stray letters off the desk and into his bag. “Maybe you can take it yourself, if it’s so important, I’m sure whoever that letter is meant for would love a visit from the god of war. You’re the one with the sacrificial cow, after all.”

He hears footsteps behind him and turns to find Ares standing right there, his sword pointed accusatorily in Hermes’ face.

“Few would dare to impede my work like this, brother,” he says. “I’m surprised at your gall.”

“Like you’re the busiest of us all when war breaks out,” Hermes retorts, unafraid of the gleaming blade hovering close to his neck. He knows from experience that Zeus doesn’t tolerate in-fighting amongst his children, and Ares knows it, too. If they get into an altercation here, both of them will be in hot water for it. “You pretend this is all about you, but the truth is, things would fall to pieces without the help of me and my colleagues. And get that thing away from me, it smells awful.”

Ares obediently lowers the sword but his expression is still stormy, eyes blazing red.

“Such disrespect,” he mutters, looking down at the parchment in his hand. “I know that bloodshed isn’t the only thing to come of war, yet imagine how much easier things would be if it was.”

“Yes, I would love that,” Hermes says, zipping up his mailbag. He’s already made up his mind to leave and get back to work when he hears Ares huff out a low sigh. Hermes pauses, regarding Ares’ face and feeling what can only be described as the moral compulsion to help a family member. Ares might not be his favorite sibling right now, but he’s still his brother. Athena would be proud.

“I know fostering war is your duty, but every time the rest of us get dragged into it, too,” Hermes says. “Look, I’ll take the letter for you, just keep that in mind the next time you decide to indulge in your bloodthirst, alright?”

“Why can’t mortals just kill one another without creating all this extra trouble for us, brother?” Ares complains, handing over the letter. “That’s all I want.”

“If only!”

There’s a loud and insistent knocking on the door. Hermes looks over at it, half-annoyed to be intruded upon and half-grateful to have a distraction from his reorganization project, which isn’t going well.

“Come in!”

The door creaks open and Artemis slinks in, looking very sullen indeed, although that seems to be her resting expression most of the time. She looks around at the mess Hermes has left behind in his quest to make his filing system more coherent, as per Athena’s suggestions.

“Hm.”

“Alright, it’s a mess, but you’re rolling around in dirt half the time, so don’t say anything,” Hermes says, shutting the drawer he’s been rifling through. “Got another hunting permit request for me to file, have you?”

“Blasted forest nymph union rules,” Artemis grumbles, tossing a piece of parchment onto Hermes’ desk, where it will almost certainly get lost for the foreseeable future. “Get it done, quick.”

“No promises, I’ve a lot of other work to get through,” Hermes says. “I’ll never understand why you have to do this sort of thing, though, you’d think being the very goddess of the hunt would grant you exemption.”

“I should think so too, only Callisto insists on it,” Artemis says irritably, crossing her arms. “She says it sets a good example, or something like that.”

“Oh, it all makes sense now,” Hermes says, unable to resist a bout of teasing when it comes to his most guarded sister. “Doing this at the good nymph Callisto’s insistence, are you?”

Artemis immediately flushes at the insinuation. Hermes cackles, crossing the room to sit on the edge of his desk.

“There’s no shame in it, sis,” he says. “It’s nice to know you’ve someone watching your back out there, ‘cause sometimes I worry, you see.”

“You — I’m more than capable of — don’t make fun!” Artemis sputters, cheeks growing ever darker. “Just file the request, got it? Ugh, I don’t come up here to talk about my personal life…”

“Aw, I’m sorry, I think it’s lovely, I do,” Hermes says, quickly reaching out and grasping Artemis’ wrist before she can dart away. “Dionysus is throwing a feast soon, not sure if you remember, but you should come! I’d like to meet this Callisto, and I’m sure the rest of them would, too.”

“I did get the invitation, yes,” Artemis says, shaking off Hermes’ grip. “But I don’t do gatherings.”

“Just this once, then?” Hermes wheedles.

“No,” Artemis says firmly, shaking her head for emphasis. “Look, I like you, Hermes —”

“That’s nice to hear, considering we share a father!”

“— you’re the only one who can outpace me, after all, but I can’t stand the rest of them, family or not.”

Hermes sighs. He’s always had a great deal of respect for Artemis, and though it would be nice to be invited into her personal life, he knows when to back off. Plus, it’s not like he can blame her for her aversion to the other Olympians. They really are a messy bunch.

“Fine, I can tell you’ve made up your mind on this,” he says, shrugging. “I’ll see you next time you have a permit request for me, I suppose.”

Artemis nods curtly. Halfway out the door she pauses, then half-turns back, an odd expression on her face.

“I’ll bring Callisto next time,” she says. She leaves before Hermes can respond.