Chapter Text
There is a great deal of excitement in the realm of He Who Receives Many Guests, and the lord himself cannot claim to be unenthused. Heroes are feasting in Elysium. They dine on grapes and lamb, and drink wine which some might describe as heavenly. They toast the man who will arrive today. A few curse him, but they are not heard. In the pits of Tartarus, few care enough about anything anymore. Still, of the ones who do, most are positive. Some believe that the judges will rule the man unfavorably. After all, they reason, he was not well loved by the newest of the judges. If revenge is in play, they may find themselves a celebrity addition to their ranks. In the fields of asphodel, there is a great deal of confusion. They do not know who this man is. They do not know anything anymore.
The newcomer gives the ferryman a golden coin from under his tongue, and is brought across the river without a word. He does not protest, as many do. He does not demand to be taken back. He knows he has been given all that anybody is given-a lifetime. He exits the ferry and makes his way to the gates of the underworld. Cerberus stands before the gates. The man studies him, briefly, before continuing onward. He is not afraid.
He soon stands before the judges of the dead. On one side he sees Rhadamanthus, stern and imposing. On the other he sees Aeacus, with the keys of the underworld around his wrist. To the center, he sees Minos, a diadem on his head. Finally, the man shows emotion. All who have gathered notice, and most can guess why. The man is incredibly annoyed.
“If I had known you would become a judge of the underworld, perhaps I wouldn’t have killed you.” He shouts. “You deserve naught but the fields of punishment, for though your accomplishments were many, none of them were your own. All you brought to the world of the living from your own soul was betrayal and greed. I would not have predicted Lord Hades, in his wisdom, to have expected anything different from you in death.”
Minos, newest chief judge of the dead, has the decency to look embarrassed. However, he is not cowed. “Rash words, for a man of intellect. Yours never did translate into wisdom. Though you had skill and creativity nearly to match the gods, you never found virtue in my lifetime. I see little has changed.”
Beside him, Aeacus rises from his seat. “Many gathered here today believe that you will be judged worthy to enter Elysium, and rest for eternity among the beloved of the gods. But that remains to be seen. You have accomplished much in your life, craftsman. But perhaps, in the end, the bad outweighed the good.”
Rhadamanthus, the final judge, rises as Aeacus returns to his seat. “Now, before the eyes of Lord Hades and the wisdom of the judges of the dead, let the trial of Daedalus of Athens begin.”
There are no secrets and no lies in the court of He Who Carries All Away, so there is little need for much of the typical trial process. It thus proceeds much more like a debate, or a dialogue, as the soul is expected to argue for their virtue. Daedalus does not argue. He merely waits. He knows what the result will be. His calculations are rarely wrong.
After only three hours, the judges inform the assembled, to the surprise of few, that Daedalus of Athens, greatest craftsman in the world, was in life beloved of the gods, and honored them with excellence and with ambition. While certain virtues were found lacking in him, he was nonetheless worthy to enter Elysium. As many cheer, Daedalus rises from the floor.
“I refuse,” he says. “I will not enter Elysium. I am not deserving of it, nor do I wish it.”
The judges, the crowd, and the Lord of the Dead alike are stunned.
“In my life I have done nothing to honor the gods. I lost the favor of Athena when I murdered my nephew in envy. I lost the favor of Poseidon when I allied myself with Minos. I lost the favor of Apollo when I failed to properly educate my son. I suffered for each of my sins. I have built great works of intellect, things to amaze and astound, but none which change the lives of men. I have contributed to the world of the living nothing but trinkets and hubris. And in Elysium, I would do no different, for Elysium cannot change. I could not achieve, nor could I improve. I could not honor the gods or my fellow men. I could not build anything that would last. I would be worthless. What sort of sorry fate is that for a craftsman?
In light of the virtue that you have decided I possess, I ask a single favor of Lord Hades himself.” Daedalus turns to face the Giver of Wealth and bows low to the ground. “I ask that in accordance with my lack of important or noteworthy deeds, I be sent to the field of Asphodel. I ask that, like any other soul, my memory be lost to the river Lethe and that I may walk the land among those as worthless as I for the remainder of my existence. I beg you, Lord Hades, hear my plea.”
The One With Many Names does not rise from his throne as he considers the matter. In the end, he simply says: “I shall grant you this boon, craftsman. Make the most of it.”