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Megaera felt the call of Battie, right on schedule, and answered. Through a blaze of pink fire she appeared in a quiet Elysian glade—no surprise there either—and saw Zagreus waiting for her and, sitting on the ground, the shade she had come to meet. Patroclus. He was pulling at a blade of grass and did not look up.
Not the kind of reception she was used to.
"Erm, allow me to make the introductions here." Zagreus glanced between them. Fidgeting more than usual, shifting his weight and scratching his calf with the arch of his foot. "Meg, this is Patroclus. Patroclus, sir, this is Meg. Megaera."
"First of the Furies." She injected as much steel into her voice as she did to address any of her charges in Tartarus, and still the only response was a humorless snort.
"Punisher of jealousy and oathbreakers." Patroclus spoke in a low monotone that carried as much emotion as the gurgle of the Lethe through his chamber. Far from striking fear in his heart, her presence seemed to pose no more than a mild inconvenience. "I know who you are, Mistress, if not the reason for your visit. I kept all my oaths in life... even those I wish I hadn't."
The mortals' war at Troy. Megaera had gleaned enough from Achilles and the vile deserters in the pits of Tartarus to know what Patroclus meant. Yet wicked as the Fates had been to him, it had never been her place to offer sympathy to the disillusioned shades of the realm. Nor did Patroclus appear to hope for such.
"I have no obligation to explain myself to a shade, exalted or otherwise." She could hardly speak the truth, that she had wanted to meet the man whose memory so haunted Achilles, to see if anything remained of him. "Now. The Prince tells me you've been assisting him in his foolish attempts to escape the Underworld. He says you've gifted him offerings meant only for the denizens of Elysium. In other words: you've engaged in contraband."
She watched him for a reaction and did not see much of one, which was telling in its own right. Patroclus did not deny the accusation, or seem at all fazed by it; instead he made a vague hand gesture to encompass the pile of premium goods on the grass beside him.
If anyone seemed discomfited by her words, it was Zagreus.
"Uh, hold on, there, Meg." He turned his back to the shade and lowered his voice to a whisper, as though his words would not carry at this distance. Megaera barely suppressed the urge to roll her eyes. "You're not here officially, are you? When you asked me to call you here, I didn't think it would get him in trouble."
"I doubt he'd care if it did. Look at him, Zag."
She jerked her chin in Patroclus' direction. Slumped posture, translucent around the edges as if he may fade at any second. And yet, he clung to the circumstances that had landed him there, for he had chosen to manifest in Achilles' attire for eternity. She wondered if Zagreus understood what all those details meant.
"I'll stop accepting his help if you let him off the hook." Bargaining with her, now. Zagreus spoke in the charming tone he deployed when he brought Ambrosia to her in the lounge, but the tension in his shoulders betrayed his nerves. "Surely there's no need to punish a good man's generosity. If anyone's to blame, that would be me. I'll take responsibility for this."
Megaera scoffed. "Attempting to sway an Overseer's judgment, Zagreus?"
"Depends," he replied, sweet as nectar. "Is it working?"
"Shut up and let me do my job, Zag. You'll see soon enough."
He looked as though he might object—and then his eyes, which had been searching her expression, widened slightly, and his frown smoothed, and he tried to disguise a chuckle as a cough. Well. He was insightful, when he needed to be, even if it sometimes took him a moment to catch up.
More interesting was the shade's reaction. Patroclus was paying attention now, and though he did not speak she could tell that much was going through his head. There was a shrewdness in his eyes that broke through the haze of despondence, a persistent echo of the man she had often heard about when Achilles was deep in his cups.
"The Prince would intercede on your behalf, as you've heard, but he's not the one who handles these matters. I am." She touched the whip on her belt. "I'll hear your side of this. What do you have to say for yourself, Shade?"
"Very little, Mistress. Most of my time here in this paradise of great warriors is spent hearing their intrepid battle cries in the distance, or else contemplating the appeal of drowning myself in the Lethe. Often consecutively." He had a wry humor about him, Achilles had said once. "My thoughts wander easily enough that I would hardly notice if the goods you see here just so happened to disappear from time to time."
"I see." She unholstered her whip and toyed with it, pretending to consider his words. "Not contraband, but thievery. You'd allow the Prince to bear responsibility for such a transgression? Pathetic." He didn't flinch at the insult, but she had only been winding up for the real blow. "It seems you're no longer the honorable man the hero Achilles speaks of."
That one landed, as she had hoped. The shade was an empty shell of a man, but Achilles' name resonated within.
"He speaks of me to you as well, does he. Down in your House." He laughed, though there was nothing mirthful about it, and met her eye. "I'll answer for what crimes you say I've committed myself, Mistress, though a goddess of your particular expertise ought to recognize I'm already being tortured beyond what your whip might inflict, just by being here alone."
Underneath the self-deprecation, his words had an edge. Even in the depths of his self-pity Patroclus' temper could still be roused. A good sign.
"Watch your tone with me." She cracked her whip, and saw Zagreus stand up straighter beside her. Endearing, but she would not be distracted from her purpose. "Know your place, Shade, or I'll gladly remind you."
"My place is here, by the will of Achilles and your master." The shade spoke with an air of finality, and yet he seemingly could not stop himself from adding, "Are you here on behalf of Achilles, perhaps? You may tell him I am well provided for here," he threw a desultory glance at the pile of premium goods, "and want for nothing anymore."
"I'm not your messenger," she hissed. She held his gaze, waited for him to relent first, and was pleasantly surprised when he did not. "You'll have a chance to tell him yourself before too long, or you won't. It matters little to me, either way."
Patroclus fisted his hand that had been resting idly on the grass, and squeezed ghostly blades through his fingers. Megaera wondered if he would be pushed to defiance. A man who could still rebel against a higher power would not easily surrender to his circumstances.
Before she could test his patience further, Zagreus intervened. "You will, sir. I'll find a way to amend Achilles' pact with my father." He said it with the same conviction he'd shown when he'd made the impossible vow to escape the Underworld—and he'd accomplished that several times over since. He'd manage this too, somehow. "I'll make sure you can be together again soon, I promise."
"What you promise is likely impossible. Still, I am grateful." Patroclus did not sound optimistic, but he had leaned forward ever so slightly at Zagreus' words. He had hope, in spite of himself. Another good sign. "Achilles is fortunate to have such dedicated friends among the gods of the Underworld."
Friends, plural, and he had nodded at her as well. She scoffed, but did not contradict him. "So are you, Shade." She glanced at Zagreus beside her. He was tapping his foot, thrumming with suppressed energy, as if he wished to run off to amend the pact right that instant.
"Maybe so," Patroclus conceded, easily enough, though he seemed to be retreating into himself again. Tired of conversing, perhaps, after such a long time spent alone. "May I inquire about your decision, Mistress? If I am not to be punished by you, I would thank you both to leave me to my current misery. With luck, I may yet find sleep before your Prince rouses the arena to chants of the champion's name."
Zagreus groaned. "Ugh. Don't remind me."
Once again, Megaera pretended to deliberate. She continued to toy with her whip, though Patroclus did not seem intimidated and she would not have chosen it as her tool for him. He would not be as thoroughly broken by physical pain as he might be by his own thoughts. And even in spite of those he endured. Whether he was still the man Achilles loved or not, that would be for them both to find out.
She hadn't known what to expect from the shade of Patroclus, but she found that she liked him.
"I need further evidence in this case. The Prince will give me further testimony when he returns to the House."
"I will?" Zagreus looked up at her with apparent surprise. Megaera quirked an eyebrow at him and tightened her grip on the whip; at once an obvious flush colored his face. "Oh. Yes, I will. Absolutely."
She rolled her eyes, but did not bother suppressing the fondness that crept into her voice as she said, "Really, Zagreus, would it kill you to play along for once?"
Zagreus laughed, and made some fumbling excuse that she should not have found nearly as attractive as she did. Well, there was no remedying her own foolishness in that regard, she supposed, but with luck and determination, other sorts of foolishness could be remedied yet. She nodded at Patroclus.
"I should be going now. Farewell, Shade."
The corners of his lips twitched up as if to smile. An awkward attempt at a long abandoned gesture, but testament that he remembered it still. "Farewell, Mistress. I expect I shall hear from you again."
"Pray that you don't," she told him, and smiled at Zagreus. "See you at home, Zag."
"Bye, Meg."
She extended her wing and flapped it, took flight. The last thing she saw was Zagreus smiling besottedly at her and Patroclus unrepentantly digging through his pile of goods. She laughed, and disappeared as swiftly as she had arrived, sharp and wreathed in flame.