Chapter Text
Out of Zeus’ many illegitimate children, none were held in quite the same esteem and lightheartedness as the Charites, the Graces. Daughters of the sea-woman Eurynome, they were minor goddesses with little influence compared to many of their fellow gods. Still, they were the mistresses of the most prized feelings and experiences among the mortals, and never overlooked for invitation to Olympus’ finest celebrations. Sharing favour from their half-brother, Dionysus, they were the bright engine of any social event amongst the gods. Most remembered them as the rosy-cheeked, fiery-haired trio of uninhibited joy, a spray of freckles like stars giving them a beauty beyond what most in the House of Aphrodite could boast of.
Yet they were not mere triplets. It was natural that out of the four close sisters, the three loudest would be at the forefront of minds. The maidens of grace: Aglaea, the goddess of splendor, with her intricate braids and fine threads, the jewel of any fine social circle, kept herself poised and keen in any situation; Euphrosyne, the goddess of mirth, a woman of charming grins and a chiming, crystalline laugh, sense of humour infectious and never once caught in a stiff manner; Thalia, the goddess of good cheer, with poetry and prose always ready on her darling lips, her dexterity in games and dance unparalleled, and her wit sharper than the bouncing short red curls on her head. But the fourth, vital to any good party and always remembered by Dionysus, was Pasithea. Written off as a wallflower by most, her smooth voice and mesmerizing air calmed anyone overwhelmed by the excitement of a loud gathering, easing the impending sobriety before the next round. Hers were words of gentle understanding, careful thoughts, and sly, smart smiles.
Never let it be said that Pasithea was ungrateful for often being forgotten in favour of her sisters. She loved them, despite their teasing and playful mockery, and they were all safe under the House of Aphrodite. As the goddess of relaxation and hallucination, it was natural that she was slow to rage and even slower to hold a grudge. Rarely was she worshipped by mortals, but nothing brought her more peace than walking among them in disguise, relishing in their rare moments of soft contemplation or drugged spirituality. Those who remember would say that she was just a quiet maiden with an expression wiser than her apparent years, earnest to listen to whoever would speak to her. There was never an awkward silence with Pasithea; she was comfort itself.
It is only expected, then, that she and her sisters would work hard during war times. The Trojan War, legendary not only for the great feats and events but also for the scale of suffering it wrought, was a time when even the major gods feuded over the trifles of mortals. Like most gods, the Charites were banned from offering their help in the conflict, but that didn’t seem to stop the major gods. Once Zeus and Hera became involved, it was clear that this was no longer a simple scenario. While the Graces were part of the House of Aphrodite, they weren’t the kind of goddesses to take sides, and agreed to work in secrecy to keep spirits high among the victims of war. They went their separate ways and vowed to hold their counsel if one of them was caught disobeying their immortal overlords. They feared even Aphrodite’s response, let alone the king and queen of Olympus.
Death is impartial during war. Chthonic gods almost never meddle in mortal affairs, as it is against their very nature. Hecate was known for helping those lost on their way, but even she was indifferent to sides of a conflict. The Underworld was working overtime to keep up with the destruction of the battles above, to the point that a young Thanatos was rarely seen at the House of Hades. Even Hypnos dared not to take his narcoleptic breaks as best as he could manage them. The lord of the house was in a sour mood at all times, even in the presence of his beloved Persephone, who was still a relatively new queen. Despite this, her patience transcended the stress of the times, greatly encouraged by Nyx’s controlled and logical presence and power.
It was Thanatos’ reliance on the queen’s graciousness that prompted him to do something most unorthodox in the House of Hades. He knew Lord Hades would never approve, but with trust that his position and work ethic did its own vouching, Thanatos arranged for a minor goddess’ passage on the Styx.
Persephone had a rare moment to attend the grimly beautiful garden when the distinct sound of Thanatos materializing nearby had her nearly jump out of her skin. She immediately let out a nervous chuckle, turning to address him as she dusted her hands of the soil and steadying herself to stand. Her kind green eyes crinkled with a fond smile which quickly receded at her fellow god’s expression. Thanatos was naturally gloomy, but the line of his mouth was tight with a thick cloud of concern.
“Why, whatever is the matter, Thanatos?” Persephone rushed out, her brow knitting a little.
“Forgive me, my queen, I—” he stopped, appearing to mull over his thoughts for a heartbeat. “I come to ask for your help with a small matter.”
“Of course, anything. Within reason,” she replies, cracking a strained smile even in these circumstances.
“What I’m proposing will be quite unreasonable from Lord Hades’ perspective. That’s why I came to you first,” Thanatos admits, gold eyes flickering somewhat sheepishly towards the archway into the hall. The courtroom was hardly in view, and definitely out of earshot. “Charon is bringing a minor goddess here. She needed my help and—ugh, this is such a mess—”
Persephone holds up her hands to steady his words. “Woah, now, slow down. Just explain this plainly to me. You know none on Olympus can know where I am.”
“I’ve already had her swear on the Styx not to tell anyone about your presence here,” Thanatos says gravely, making Persephone flinch a little. A vow on the Styx was mortally binding, even for immortals. “She’s been hurt by another god, and well, she’s…”
“A lover?” Persephone speculated.
Thanatos snaps to attention with wide eyes, adjusting his grip on his scythe. “No! No, she’s…as close as I have to a friend, I suppose. Like Megaera, a friendly colleague, of sorts. You lived on Olympus, so perhaps you met her. She’s one of the Charites.”
Persephone’s brows rose in recognition. “I was always close to my mother during social gatherings on Olympus, so I never had the privilege of meeting them formally, but I know who you mean. Which one?”
Thanatos still fidgeted. “Pasithea. She’s been working to ease the suffering of mortals before they pass on and makes my job much easier sometimes. Hermes is grateful for her help, too, as small as it is on the scale of this war. Ares found her and got angry—please convince Hades to let her lay low. I feel like…like I owe her, somehow.”
As if on queue, the ferryman Charon arrived on the Styx by the end of the garden, a small, lone figure in a dark cloak with the hood drawn over their head his only passenger. It was as though the goddess was trying to disguise herself as a shade. A meager attempt, as anyone aside from some unassuming spirits could clock her as what she really was just by her aura. Thanatos seemed to twitch at nothing, then sighed.
“I have to get back. Please, I’ll do whatever extra work Lord Hades asks of me, I just—”
Persephone nodded once. “Leave it to me.”
Thanatos bowed his head respectfully. “Thank you, my queen. Please excuse me.” He shifted away, a ghostly green imprint of his wings the only brief impression of his presence. Persephone turned to the boat once again to find Charon offering his hand to the goddess who stepped out onto the grass of the gothic garden. She appeared to be shaking, only softening Persephone’s heart even further. She felt something of a maternal instinct take over as the hooded woman drew apprehensively closer. Charon tipped his wide-brimmed hat to his queen before setting off to take care of more souls, though many taken by the ravages of war would be left on the banks of the Styx for many years to come.
“Goddess. Don’t be afraid,” Persephone encouraged, taking two slender, porcelain hands in her own. Only the woman’s nose and mouth were visible from the shadow of the hood, but she offered no smile nor frown. Instead, she seemed astonishingly calm, to the point that Persephone herself felt at ease even as she knew she would have to persuade Hades to allow all this. “You’ll be safe in the House of Hades for a time. Come with me.”
“Your Majesty’s generosity is most abundant,” Pasithea told her, voice feather-like and possessing a velvety timbre. Persephone blinked, almost captivated by the sound. Leave it to a Grace to be so fascinating. “I’m forever grateful to you and Thanatos, Highness.”
Persephone clicked her tongue in good nature. “None of that title nonsense; save it for my husband. You may call me Persephone.”
“As you say, Persephone,” Pasithea returned, as if it was the easiest thing in the world. Yet still she trembled.
The queen let go of her unexpected guest’s hands, gesturing to the archway into the hall. “Follow me.”
When they moved to walk in, she caught a glimpse of Pasithea’s peplos under her cloak: it was filthy at the base hem and terribly torn in some places, as if she had run through mud and tripped over herself. She was barefoot and her ankles were bruised, but she walked as if nothing at all was wrong. Though, as they passed into the threshold of the House of Hades, a soft but audible sigh passed through her pale chapped lips.
Hades was seated at his desk scribbling away at paperwork for the rapid influx of shades that the war brought, pausing to rub his black-and-red eyes and pinch the bridge of his nose in evident stress. As soon as his queen entered the room, he glanced over for the ease that she provided to his gaze, but his expression quickly hardened at the sight of a trespasser in his courtroom. He sighed deeply, casting his quill aside, and leaned back in his throne to watch the two women come astride his tall desk.
“Persephone…what is the meaning of this?” he hissed out, doing his best not to be harsh with her. It was difficult to conceal his displeasure with the stranger in his house, in his realm, without his permission.
“Husband,” Persephone began, purposefully addressing him as such to invoke a more tender response, “let me preface by saying that this minor goddess has sworn on the Styx to keep her counsel regarding our…circumstances.”
Hades’ voice came out as a low rumble of discomfort and resentment. “She’s from Olympus, is she? Who dared defy me and oversee such a vow?”
“You require context before I answer that,” Persephone replied, careful not to throw Thanatos under the chariot just yet. Pasithea was clever enough to not speak until spoken to, or perhaps she was simply too frightened in Hades’ intimidating presence. It was difficult to tell what emotions, if any at all, she was feeling in that moment. “She needs refuge from the war.”
Hades scoffed. “Why would a goddess need refuge from mortal affairs?”
“It’s not the mortals she is afraid of. It’s the other gods.”
“So, she meddled? She’ll reap what she sows up there, not hide like a coward.”
Persephone huffed a little, appearing stern and placing herself squarely between her husband and her new charge. “I don’t know the full circumstances. Ares is angry at her for easing the suffering of the mortals. Those that become more calm shades when they arrive here—”
“Then it was Thanatos that asked you to hide her, hm? Did you ask him, goddess? Did you guilt him into it because you help him?” Hades accused, speaking directly to Pasithea, now. He’d raised his voice in anger enough that Hypnos awoke from his floating nap at the other side of the courtroom, now alert to the unusual goings-on. Nyx, too, took a place by her son to listen and observe silently, her dark air and countenance barely noticeable.
Persephone stepped aside to let the woman speak for herself and speak for herself she did. She was quiet, but not so much that it was hard to hear. Her words came out like a spool of silk thread, careful and tender. “Lord Uncle Hades, I thank you for not sending me away as soon as you saw me,” she began, drawing in breath as easily as a river flows downstream. “I did not compel Thanatos to help me. He took pity on me, and I don’t refuse help when it is graciously offered.”
Hades appeared to relax a bit by her words, but then scowled in realization. “You’re one of Zeus’, are you?”
Pasithea, for the first time, seemed to hesitate. “Pasithea, the youngest of the Graces, daughters of Eurynome. Yes, your brother Zeus is my father, but I know him no better than any other minor god or goddess.”
“Hm. Not surprising at all.” It may have been Persephone’s imagination, but Hades’ voice seemed to soften ever so slightly. “Don’t hide your face from me in my own courtroom, goddess. I’ll not be convinced to let you seek asylum in my home until I look you in the eye.”
Pasithea obliged, pulling off the hood of the dark cloak that Thanatos or Charon likely provided on her journey. Persephone sucked in a small gasp at the sight, and she heard Hypnos let out a tiny squeaking hiccup of fear from across the room. The goddess of relaxation was very much alike her sisters with her smouldering auburn hair and pretty, oval face, but her hair was untied and straight, all pulled over to one side of her shoulders, exposing the long marble column of her neck. What startled the queen so much were the still fresh, dark red cuts streaking diagonally across Pasithea’s forehead, cheek, and jaw. The swelling appeared to have already begun dying, an immortal’s healing already taking hold to repair her skin. Still, it was obvious that the wounds were still quite painful, but Pasithea looked up at her uncle with an unwavering, unchallenging gaze.
Hades, too, seemed rather taken aback by her appearance. “You—who—”
“I take it you’re reasonably familiar with your nephew’s temper,” Pasithea explained simply. “My half-brother Ares has no qualms about striking his own if it serves him. I’m hardly of consequence, and the war has left him quite high-strung. I’m only grateful that he has not found out my sisters just yet.”
Hades hummed in thought. Persephone knew that he was quite disturbed by this, though likely unsurprised. The war seemed to bring out the absolute worst in Olympus so far. “You had nowhere else to go?”
Pasithea shook her head. “Do you think my Lady Aphrodite would come between me and her lover? No,” she almost looked sad. “Thanatos found me as he was collecting souls. I didn’t ask. If it’s not charity you’re interested in—” her brows rose at the play on words— “I’m happy to help you calm your shades and allow your work to run more smoothly in exchange. By contract, if necessary.”
Hades exchanged a look with Persephone, then shook his head. “No, I’ve had enough parchment work to last my eternal lifetime. I’ll hold you on your word alone, but I will not tolerate disturbance. Conduct yourself as if you weren’t even here unless I, the queen, or Lady Nyx call on you.”
Pasithea bowed, deeply, but said nothing. Persephone soon ushered her away to clean her up and exchange her clothes. Nyx joined them to help heal Pasithea’s wound, which receded into a few stark silver scratches. It was then that Persephone could take in the goddess’ appearance unpolluted. Her expression was serene, almost pensive, and young. Her jaw was smooth, chin pointed, and a narrow nose was set between two owlish hazel eyes, blinking slowly. She was never afraid to look directly at the queen, regularly trapping her gaze in a silent, bewildering manner that left the verdure goddess suddenly snapping back to an attention she never realized was lost. In a clean, simple long peplos, Pasithea had a comely figure with narrow shoulders and wide hips, much softer than the very slender Nyx but clearly strong from walking long distances. Her freckles where like sea spray across her cheeks, shoulders, chest, and the backs of her arms. She continued to wear the dark cloak, perhaps attempting to blend in with the grim style of the Underworld.
“The scars will not remain, young one,” Nyx explained as she turned to leave. “I’ve done what I can to speed your healing, but now you need rest.”
“Thank you, Lady Night,” Pasithea said genuinely, offering a timid, gentle smile. It pulled at the corners of her small mouth only barely. Left alone with the queen in a small, finely furnished guest room, she began again: “I’ve never been nervous before.”
Persephone blinked up in surprise. “Never? Truly? I’m astonished.”
“I’ve been…uncomfortable before. Concerned, sometimes. Never nervous. Not as I am now. I’m not certain I could rest as Lady Night suggests.”
“You’ve had quite a shock,” Persephone sighs, nodding in understanding. “Perhaps this is an occasion for Nyx’s other son. Let me send him to you, and you can finally, uh, relax. Without me fretting about you.”
Pasithea smiles again, a little easier this time, and nods her agreement. She’s left alone for only a few minutes, startled only by the arrival of Thanatos, not his twin Hypnos as she’d come to expect. Seeing a more familiar face, though they weren’t terribly friendly, was a relief. He seemed pleased to see her in a much better state.
“Glad you’re settled,” he remarked.
“My uncle does not seem to be angry with you,” Pasithea returned, folding her fingers together in her lap and inclining her head. “I’m sorry this may have caused your position some jeopardy.”
He shook his head. “No, it was never in jeopardy. I offered, with every intention of following through. You’re probably one of very few people I would do this for.”
“I’m honoured.”
“Honour it by getting well again,” Thanatos rebutted, quickly disappearing without another word.
Just then, a soft knock.
“Come in,” Pasithea received, watching every movement carefully.
A head of soft, curly white hair peeked out from the crack behind the door. Judging by its position, its owner was floating some inches off the ground. Hypnos was ghostly skinned, but in a manner very different from his twin. It was an almost deathly quality of pale, like a frozen mortal, which Pasithea supposed was most appropriate for this place. The Underworld didn’t put her off like it would other gods, but she wasn’t oblivious to the very different aesthetic of things there. Still, Hypnos was far from the monotoned Thanatos, a wide smile and drowsy golden eyes greeting her as he entered at her behest.
“Heard you had one hell of a day,” he exclaimed in a sing-song tone, his voice high and cheerful. Coming into the room fully, Pasithea regarded his warm red robes and the plush blanket that acted as a cape. A red sleeping mask matching his robes was strapped to his head amongst the short cloud-like curls of his hair. He may have seemed the dopey fool, but he looked at her carefully before continuing: “You seem to be doing much better.”
“Thanks to your mother, yes.”
“Oh yeah, mom’s great, isn’t she? Though I suppose Queen Persephone was super nice to you, too,” he thought aloud, words a mile a minute. It reminded her a little of Hermes, though no one could match his quick mouth. Hypnos paused to see if she would say anything, but Pasithea was content to just listen. “So! She said you were having a hard time relaxing?”
Pasithea laughed for the first time in what felt like ages. It was willowy and short, but it was there, a blooming warmth in her spirit she hadn’t realized she’d been missing. “Oh, no, I’ve got no trouble relaxing. I suppose I’m out of sorts, but not that bad.”
Hypnos’ face drew in a little bit of colour of embarrassment. “Heh, right! I guess the goddess of relaxation wouldn’t have any trouble with that but, um, yeah! I can help you sleep for sure. ‘Cause, you know, god of sleep!”
Pasithea nodded, simply watching him with her large hazel eyes. Hypnos was handsome, sure, but the childish grin he sported was somewhat amusing to her. “Thank you.” The bed she was provided with was comfortable and warm, despite the eerie green glow of Tartarus from outside the tall, narrow window. As she climbed under the covers, Hypnos moved to tuck her in rather informally, as if it were the most natural thing in the world. Perhaps for him, it was. He was still smiling, but this time without showing any white teeth, and floated above the floor in a lounging position. The edges of his blanket-cloak curled with an ethereal force as he propped his head up on his elbows by the edge of the bed.
“So, how does this work?” Pasithea asked, settling her hips into the firm mattress and working her hair back around to one side. It spilled in a mixture of red, gold, and brown threads over her shoulder, something that Hypnos seemed to take notice of with his half-lidded gold eyes. “Will you put me under a spell?”
He seemed to detect her jest. “Ha! No, nothing like that. Unless you really want me too, I can definitely do that, but I think you’ll benefit more from falling asleep on your own. I’m just here to make that a little easier.”
Pasithea pulled the covers up to her chin, blinking at him curiously. “Shame I can’t tell my sisters about all this. The Underworld is a very interesting place.”
He hummed, the high tenor of his voice giving her the impression of a hummingbird, for some reason. “Did you swear not to tell them at all? Or just not tell them about Queen Persephone?”
She paused in thought. “The latter. I suppose I can tell them some. They’ll tease that this was the only way I could end up in bed with a man,” she mused.
Hypnos flushed at her words, his smile warbling with embarrassment for a moment. “Heh, they tease you a lot? Than is just kinda hard on me. I mean, I guess that’s good, he has high expectations, right?”
“Thalia likes to tease the most, and Euphrosyne finds most things funny,” Pasithea explained with fondness. “I’m unflappable, so they know they can prod me all they like, and I won’t get mad.”
“You’re like me, I can’t remember the last time I was mad!” Hypnos chirped, though not so loud that it would disturb the feeling of peace they both had begun to cultivate with their respective power. “Lots of gods seem to get mad so easily, but I guess mortals don’t really pay much attention to me until they’ve got insomnia. Do you get many offerings?”
Pasithea shook her head against the pillow, her limbs feeling a little heavy as the fatigue of recent events set in. “Not often. My sisters do, during peacetime mostly. They’re always drawn and engraved together…I suppose mortals like the number three. But sometimes, I get a little shrine made for me. They like to give me lavender and poppies.”
He perked up at that, his head lifting above his palms before returning to lean against just the one, his cheek squishing into the heel of his hand. “Poppies, huh? Mortals like to give me those, too. Silly, really; I have plenty at home.” He yawned, eyes tearing up a little, and Pasithea smiled fondly at that. “Sorry, I shouldn’t be dozing when you’re the one who needs sleep so bad. You’re just so relaxing to be around, heheh!”
“A dangerous feedback loop,” Pasithea remarked, her blinking becoming slower and heavier. “I hope I’m not keeping you from important work.”
“Oh, I’ll catch up,” he dismissed casually. “Lord Hades doesn’t know what to do without me, but helping you out is more important right now.”
She said nothing, a small smile still soft on her face as she closed her eyes, certain she was just resting her gaze. The ache from the day dulled into the back of her mind, and she wondered if her sisters were safe. She missed Thalia’s lyre playing, but the sound of Hypnos’ prattling was oddly comforting, in its own way, even as she drifted off away from immortal wakefulness. She was only conscious enough to register Hypnos mutter a ‘sweet dreams’ to her as if it were something one said in farewell.