Chapter Text
It begins with yet another poof.
Nyx knows the sound well. Thanatos, the little handful, has a habit of shifting whenever he feels like it—or even when he just gets distressed and loses his grip on his powers. As such, she sighs, draws herself up from her seat, and seeks out her son once more.
It is not a particularly hard task, for she knows exactly where he will be this time. Other times, it is not so easy; when Thanatos willingly shifts, there is no telling where he will end up—she once dug him from where he was playing with Zagreus and Megaera in the thick wad of Cerberus’ fur, the great hound surprisingly accommodating to being climbed upon by three small children.
But no, this time she heard his wails of displeasure before he disappeared—not loud enough to wake his sleeping twin, for it seems that little can wake Hypnos from slumber—and she knows his tendencies. She knows that he has gone because he has always known not to show his displeasure before Lord Hades. Rather than seeking her comfort, his first instinct is to vanish, to conceal it in some quiet corner where no one can see him cry. Or, at least, no one who will speak a word of such weakness.
Nyx’s soul is older than words, but it still aches that her son has to do such a thing. That he cannot show what he is truly feeling.
But then, perhaps it is for the best. For in the end, he is Death Incarnate, and it would not do for Death to have a sensitive soul, and tender heart. He cannot take pity on every passing mortal he has to reap. No, it is far better this way, even if it means they both must suffer until he is full grown.
In any case, she knows exactly where he will be, because it is where he always goes. She just has to figure out where that is at this very moment. And that could be anywhere.
She searches the waterways. Starts with the stretch of the Styx that runs just beside the House, to no avail. He isn’t in Elysium, to her surprise—he often is. She can understand that, of calm waters and wanting to bathe in the Lethe and forget whichever troubles have plagued him this time, even if it’s just being woken up from his nap at just the wrong time.
But eventually she finds him nestled up and fast asleep in his brother’s boat where the Styx meets the Phlegethon.
She nods at Charon as she approaches. “Thank you, my child. Thank you for taking care of him.” She lifts Thanatos from the wooden boards. He’s still cold, even amongst this heat; perhaps he found Charon here for that very reason. To feel some sort of warmth when it is hard to come by elsewhere.
Thanatos stirs as she tucks him against her shoulder. “Mother Nyx?”
“Hello, my child,” she says, patting his back to calm him as he starts to squirm at his disrupted sleep. “Time to get you back to the House. There’s a nice little toy mouse for you if you come nicely. He’s newly stitched, and has had a wash, and he’s waiting for you in your cradle.”
Nyx doesn’t normally stoop to such measures; she cares for all her children as best she can, but she has so many by now, and she cannot breathe life into stuffed toys for all of them. She hopes Thanatos grows stronger soon, that he comes into his own and does not need to lean on her so much. One of the twins must, at least, and Hypnos shows no forthcoming signs of doing anything but sleeping. Deities do not need sleep when full grown, but as children they take naps in ample quantities, and her latest children are no exception. At least Hypnos and Thanatos are quiet sleepers—Zagreus has a terrible habit of attempting to climb out of the cradle several times before Thanatos has set the measure for what is an ample amount of time. He is not Nyx’s child by blood, but he has no other mother here, and so she goes to retrieve him from wherever he has stowed away this time; Zagreus cannot shift like her own children, but he is notoriously good at squirreling himself away into some dark corner.
But this son is still a babe, the span of his life not even a measurable fraction compared to hers, and he needs comfort. And so, Nyx makes exceptions, promises a companion and her attention, even for only a fleeting while. She has done this for almost every child she has raised, and it has not failed her so far. She must trust that it will not fail her now.
She nods once again at Charon. “Thank you again, Charon. I wish you well. The Underworld is all in working order, and your services are no small part of that. The House and the Lord Hades thank you wholeheartedly. As do I, for all the things you do that are not listed on your job description.”
<There is no need to thank me,> Charon says, his manner as formal and stoic as ever. <Thanatos is my brother. I would be doing him and you a disservice if I did not keep an eye on him.>
Nyx nods. “Still, it is appreciated, if only because it makes him easier to find. Wherever you are, he will be.” She looks from one son to another. “Such things warm my heart, that you call to each other such. That is not often the case, amongst families.”
<Indeed. The Olympians above are a clear example of that; one might say that they are better at stirring up discord than Eris and her many children. And there are disagreements between our own; merciful Eleos does not often agree with Nemesis’ vengeance.>
Nyx hums an agreement, but her thoughts are not fully with her. Instead, they drift to a plane far removed from this one, one she has not been able to visit for longer than she can remember, and to her own parent. She wonders how Chaos is now; she remembers the last time they parted, when she had nothing but harsh words; her own version of the adolescent outbursts she has now had to weather a dozen times over from her own children, the only difference being that she was a mother herself at the time.
She wonders if Chaos ever thinks of her, in return. She wonders if they know about the many grandchildren they have, and if they ever want to meet their own descendants, many as though they are.
But this is not the place for such musings. She is no longer sole custodian of the Underworld, but she still has her duties in the House of Hades, and she needs to put Thanatos back down for a nap before something else calls to her attention.
She hands him a single obol she keeps stashed away in the folds of her gown for this purpose; she does not need ferrying, but this is the most time-honoured way of thanking the Stygian Boatman.
Charon takes the coin without even rocking the boat. <Until next time, Mother Nyx.>
She stays on the bank until Charon is once again out of sight, away to ferry another multitude of souls, to comfort them somewhat as they make their final journey down the Styx. Thanatos watches with her, silent, his eyes transfixed by the boat’s slow retreat.
“Come then, child,” she says, when the boat and its keeper are finally gone. “Companion Mort is missing you, I think.”
Thanatos comes as agreeably as he does anything, and together, they shift away.