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Zagreus runs into Sisyphus’ chambers and finds it empty. Strange. He’s usually around, with that cheerful and even-tempered disposition of his. His boulder is gone, which, probably explains where he is.
He’s slightly disappointed, to be honest. He could’ve used a few extra of Charon’s Obols. Would it be rude to take it anyway? Zagreus knows where Sisyphus keeps it. He is the Prince, and Sisyphus has never refused to help.
But he wouldn’t want to ruin their relationship like that. It’s fine. Early days in Tartarus. He can afford to push forward for now.
So Zagreus leaves with a light purse and no hard feelings for his friend, who is currently occupied with eternal torment.
-
The next time Zagreus arrives, Sisyphus is there.
“Your Highness! I noticed you came last time I was away. I sincerely apologize for not being there to aid you in your quest.”
Zagreus waves it off, dusting off the charred marks on his toga from some of the flaming numbskulls.
“Don’t worry about it, mate. Your generous offers of help are nothing more than that—generous offers. I shouldn’t grow to feel entitled to them.”
“Oh, but Prince Z, I feel terrible about it.” Zagreus realizes that poor Sisyphus’ arms are marked with Megaera’s whips. He hates what the Furies have done to him—and by the way he’s apologizing profusely at him, Zagreus wonders if he fears him the same way he fears them?
He continues then, “Which is why, I will offer you twice the amount of whatever it is you need this time.”
Zagreus’ ears perk up. “Are you sure?”
“Perfectly certain.”
Well, who am I to refuse?
-
The next time Sisyphus isn’t in, Zagreus finds a note on the floor, written on a loose piece of parchment paper. He wonders where Sisyphus even managed to get ahold of this.
Help yourself, Your Highness. Safe travels!
He readily takes some Darkness. He’s been needing a little boost lately. He picks up the parchment paper and the quill next to it, scrawling down a quick response:
Thank you, mate. Hope good ol’ bouldy is treating you well.
He exits the chamber and as the stone door shuts again, thinks, What in Hades’ name did I just say?
-
Zagreus gets slaughtered by the Bone Hydra a couple times before finding Sisyphus’ chambers again.
Another letter: Bouldy and I are still going strong, Your Highness. It is my wish that you would never read this letter—for it means you’ll be long gone—but if you’re still fighting, know that I have your back.
That was very touching, Zagreus thinks. He’s come to take Sisyphus for granted, really. In between Meg’s lashes, Eurydice and Orpheus’ never-ending game of Underworld mail, Thanatos’ brooding bitterness—there aren’t enough bright spots in this gloomy world.
So, Zagreus makes sure to write something more thoughtful this time, that isn’t going to make him seem like an absolute plonker:
Your letters bring me great comfort, Sir. Your gifts give me strength. I appreciate you for both of these generosities.
There. He’s happy enough with that, and runs with a little extra spring in his step into the next chambers.
-
The letters keep coming. The next one from Sisyphus says: You have strength aplenty, Your Highness.
And Zagreus replies: Not so much that I could ever do what you do for eternity.
Child’s play, Prince Z, for one such as yourself. You were born for greater things.
He feels guilty, still, for not being able to do more for Sisyphus. It’s the design of this place, Zagreus tells himself. He’s already meddled enough with these chambers, but the only person paying the price in blood is him.
Sisyphus has been here even longer than Zagreus has been alive—and who was he to think he could be the one to get him out if he himself can barely get out?
Zagreus walks out of the pool of blood in the House of Hades and rinses the blood off of him in a little bath prepared for by Dusa. He looks at the blood washing away in the waters and imagines himself to be Sisyphus, the moment mortal life was taken from him, watching himself bleeding out.
He was probably petrified, Zagreus thinks. But all those feelings, all the pain from life, how long has it been since he’s last felt things like that? The Underworld dulls the senses, though it hardly seems fair that your soul would still be susceptible to eternal torture, then.
Speaking of eternal torture, Zagreus overhears Megaera and Thanatos in the lounge talking bitterly among themselves.
“—even more time dealing out lashes,” Megaera says, before her eyes shift towards Zagreus. “Oh, look who it is.”
“H—” Zagreus opens his mouth to respond, but Thanatos cuts him off.
“You’ve been distracting Sisyphus from his boulder-rolling duties. Your little escape plan keeps dragging more and more people down with you. If you keep it up, we’ll need to find even more ways of putting him in his place.”
“Right,” Zagreus says, dryly. “Nice talk, then.”
-
Coronacht feels lighter Zagreus’ hands the next time he carries it—it’s revealed more of itself to him recently, though he still can’t claim to wield it as expertly as its original user. He wonders where Charon is. Certainly in Elysium, he would assume? Though he hears little of him, perhaps it is for the best—may he enjoy eternity in peace.
Something else that feels lighter—his chest, the next time he see Sisyphus standing by his boulder when he enters his chamber.
“Sisyphus, mate! It’s been a while. I’ve missed you. How are things?”
As they chat about things, he notices the way Sisyphus tilts his head forwards and down when he’s speaking to him. He often forgets he was a king, once. Certainly, a better ruler than his father. He notices the bright peaks of his eyes, the way his smile turns warm when he offers his kindest, princely, regards.
“It’s been very nice catching up, Prince Z—” Sisyphus starts, and something in Zagreus makes him turn his heel around.
“You know, I might stay for a little longer.”
Sisyphus looks surprised, as he straightens up his posture. Zagreus is suddenly very aware of how large the man is when he’s not hunched over, certainly there's a lot to look at.
“Oh?”
Zagreus walks closer and pats the boulder several times. “Child’s play, huh? Well, get ready to watch me embarrass myself.”
“Oh! Your Highness!”
How hard could it be? He drops his bow and starts to heave, one, two, steps forward—and it seems to be going rather splendidly, until his arm buckles under the weight of it and it rolls back down, crushing him instantly.
-
Hypnos jerks awake, looking at Zagreus with a particularly curious brand of glee. “You were killed by the boulder now this time? Hah! And to think I once said that I’ve seen it all!”
-
Achilles is waiting for him, with that particularly sullen look of his, that Zagreus can never quite attribute to him being tormented, disappointed—or simply an old shade.
“You’ve been running into rather unusual hurdles, or so I’ve heard, lad. I would hope you’ve not foregone your training.”
“Certainly not. In fact, I would say I’ve gotten much better at the fight. I’ve defeated Asterius several times now.”
“So why the premature demise?”
He holds his breath, hoping that if he doesn’t respond, Achilles wouldn’t either, and they’d be in conversation gridlock for the rest of eternity.
But alas, Achilles pushes forward. “You’ve been distracted. I know that look in your eyes. Perhaps, something to do with your recent boulder incident? You best be wise about this, lad.”
Zagreus slaps on a tight smile and stretches his shoulders back to get ready for another run. He’s getting the overwhelming desire to prove people wrong.
“Always am, Sir,” he replies, and then thinks to himself, as wise as you were to end up in here.
-
The fires start feeling a little hotter in the Underworld. Zagreus continues to notice the searing heat of Asphodel on the soles of his feet, even when he’s lying in bed for a quick rest. He dreams of running from chamber to chamber, being struck dead by a multitude of ways: the latest of which includes poisonous rats.
He’s getting close, really. He’s even come face to face with Father once, though that was as quick and as painful a death as any other. Hanging by the end of his rope—he’s still refusing to let go and give in.
He doesn’t realize how long it’s been, then, until the next time he sees Sisyphus.
(He’s been seeing his eyes a lot—in dreams, or in that fleeting moment of peace between death and resurrection when he’s clutching onto the dying light inside of him.)
The tortured king beams at him when he enters the chambers.
“I worried—I thought you had escaped!” He stammers, then, “Not that I would wish you otherwise, Prince Z!”
Zagreus lets out a heavy exhale. “Not until I get another shot at that boulder, mate. Come on, show me how you do it.”
Sisyphus seems mildly amused but doesn’t refuse. Surely, he doesn’t get many people lining up to join him in eternal torture.
He positions himself behind Zagreus, as he lays both hands on the boulder. His frame settles nicely onto Zagreus’ back, and oh—this feels nicer than he’s imagined.
Not that he’s imagined this. At all. He could swear it—(maybe.)
Sisyphus’ broad shoulders casts shadows beneath Zagreus’ as he gently brings his hands forward slightly above the prince’s. The cool breath of his shadely being lingers past Zagreus’ neck.
Sisyphus’ voice drops, then. There’s a certain depth to it, the quieter he goes. “Is this all right, Your Highness?”
“In-deed,” Zagreus barely croaks out, throat dry.
“So you want to bend your knees slightly, keep them shoulder-length apart, bring one hand slightly above the other—” he gently brings Zagreus’ arm up, with his calloused hands, touch as light as a feather. “So when you’re pushing, you want to with your lower arm and then drive forward with your steps.”
Zagreus goes for it and Sisyphus follows his lead, staying close behind him. Zagreus misses a step eventually and stumbles back, but this time—Sisyphus stops the boulder from rolling back onto him.
He crashes into the weight of the former king behind him, as they’re pressed together rather intimately with the boulder. What a sight this would be, for anyone walking in.
His head’s tipped back so far that his wreath has fallen off, rolling onto and over Sisyphus’ shoulders. His neck is stretched back against Sisyphus’ chest, steady and—warm—even. Or perhaps, that warmth is his. Yes. That’s infinitely more likely.
“Gotten your bearings back, Prince Z?” He doesn’t even seem fazed by any of this. Zagreus blinks.
“I—think so.”
Sisyphus holds the boulder up with one arm as he leans down to pick up the wreath from the ground, blowing the dust off of it gently. He places it back on Zagreus’ head, brushing his fingers through his hair and against his face.
Zagreus catches his wrist in his hand and looks at him very seriously, because this feels like a profoundly serious moment. He feels the heat of battle returning, though this is not the conflict of battle consuming him.
It breaks his heart, then, to see Sisyphus’ face fall almost instantly at that.
Oh, goodness. He didn’t mean to do that. He can’t leave things like this, and he won’t let Sisyphus be the one to pick up the pieces of this mess. Zagreus hasn’t had much practice with this type of thing lately, but here goes nothing—he leans forward and kisses him.
Wow.
He opens his eyes. The look on Sisyphus’ face feels positively alive. What a time to be but a humble a prince, trying to escape the Underworld. He’s positive than even nectar has never tasted this sweet.
Zagreus barely even cares when he slips into a pool of magma in Asphodel, laughing as he goes.