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Zagreus has learned to trust his gut feelings. They're usually right, good or bad. Everyone swears he gets it from Persephone, but she swears she doesn't know what they're talking about. Regardless, he's learned to trust his gut feelings. All day, the atmosphere at the house was… strange. A certain tension emanated from his father, and when Lord Hades was in a bad mood, the entire House felt it. There was little Zagreus could do besides linger around. He wasn’t trusted with administrative work, and he sure as darkness wasn’t about to wander off when something interesting was clearly going to happen today.
He knows he shouldn’t bother everyone right now, he really does… But he can’t help gravitating towards his mentor. It’s a completely normal reaction to stress! Achilles has been nothing but a stalwart friend and mentor. The warrior radiates calm, it’s difficult to keep away when everyone else is wound tight as a spring. Small talk is a courtesy they only attempt to maintain for the first hour or so, but the prince doesn’t mind. He’s spent enough time in his life just sitting around, waiting for the tension in the House to come to a head somehow.
He didn’t have to wait terribly long, which was honestly surprising. Days of roiling tension underlying every action in the house were much more common (often directed at the prince himself in the past). The near constant chatter of countless shades in the main hall ceased all at once, tension spiking, then a soft sound Zagreus could only barely recognize. It was familiar, the soft thump of something natural against stone. Not quite the same as rocks falling to the stone flooring of the temple of Styx, the floors here were polished and sharp-sounding where they weren’t carpeted. Hooves. Not a Satyr, clearly, as they never come down this far.
He racks his brain for a moment too long, the sound grows closer, and then… Achilles draws in a quiet breath. The prince’s head whips to look at his mentor and finds him staring, shocked, towards the hall. At a centaur. One wrapped in a white chiton (or as close an approximation as a centaur can come) and covered in thick, dappled-brown fur. Another moment of silence, then a clatter as Achilles drops his spear to the floor.
“Chiron!” the Myrmidon’s voice sounds breathless, if a little choked back. Has he ever heard Achilles raise his voice before? No. He hasn’t. Nor has he seen Achilles scramble on his feet as he does now, hitching up the long hem of his own chiton to throw himself at the centaur. The equid turns in time to catch him, one hand coming across the shade’s back to steady him, and the other coming down to rest atop Achilles’ head. He’s tall. Chiron towers above them easily. At his height, even Achilles looks like a child. He’s just an orgyia tall from the ground to withers.
“Achilles…” Chiron responds as he gently ruffles the hair under his fingers. All eyes in the House are on them, they must be aware of that. But, the equid doesn’t seem to care, and Achilles seems to be too busy pressing his face into the fur. Whether he’s succeeding in stifling his tears, Zagreus cannot tell, but the subtle shake of his shoulders is obvious.
“Dad… I thought…” With a shaking voice, Achilles speaks before he presses his face back into the fur.
“If you two are done, you may take him to Elysium.” The Lord of The House finally speaks up from his seat. Ah. This must be what the tension has been… “I don’t need you causing more of a disturbance.”
“Dear…” Persephone’s voice comes from the lounge, gently scolding. Right. His hunch was right, strange things are happening.
Cool and welcoming, Elysium was always the worst area to fight through. Arguably, the Temple was worse physically, what with the poisoning and lack of fountains, but there was a convincing argument for Elysium being worse by far. It’s
nice
here. The lulls between combat are nearly tranquil and drag at Zagreus’ will to keep fighting. Thoughts of throwing down his sword and laying face-down in the grass are
incredibly
common, doubly so when he comes across the glade. This run was no different, his pent up energy was nearly spent and he simply wanted to sink into the waters of the Lethe and let it carry his weary body back to the House. But the glade was just ahead, and he certainly couldn’t do that within eyeshot of his mentor. So, he pushes on as the glade door opens in front of him.
The mossy stones where Patroclus spends his days are just wide enough for the two myrmidons to sit together and relax after some time apart. Truthfully, Zagreus didn’t think terribly far ahead about a centaur in Elysium, much less one that is so close with Achilles. Now though, the standing stones that frame the lovers’ resting spot makes it look slightly cramped with a centaur tucked into the space. He fits there, just barely, but there is no room to really stretch out with the other two there. Maybe they could do something about that, one day.
Chiron sits facing the river, watching its rushing waters as he loops vines from hand to elbow to store. Beneath him is a large woven blanket with some mystical pattern obscured by its occupants, thick enough to cushion the stone. It’s easier to see him out here, truthfully, what with the brighter blue light and prismatic rays that pervade Elysium. His brown hair, once falling across his shoulders, is now bound tight into a braid with a silver circlet around his forehead… Though that may have been there before. The prince, admittedly, didn’t look up when the equid showed up, so focused on his mentor. Another golden circlet rests in the crook of his elbow, dangling back and forth as he works.
The myrmidons rest against him, tucked together. It’s a little startling at first to see Achilles resting so gently with his eyes closed, if Zagreus is being completely honest. He’s asleep. Achilles, the Greatest of Greeks, lays curled against the centaur’s belly as he peacefully dozes, his face pressed into his chlamys draped across Chiron’s lower body. His hair is messy, tangled with a lingering dewiness that only comes from a long bath and free from its circlet. The golden strands splayed across his cloak to dry in the faux sunshine, though who knows how well that's going.
Patroclus also lays there, tucked against Chiron’s ribs and staring softly at his lover. His hair also freed from its golden circlet, falling in delicate but unrestrained waves around his face. It’s sweet seeing them relaxing together with Pat’s chlamys draped over them like a blanket. Elysium finally seems like paradise. At least it must feel that way, considering Achilles is entirely and utterly dead to the world in his sleep. Regardless of that, Chiron gives Zagreus a glance and nods for him to approach. When he draws close, Patroclus finally turns his head and offers a small smile.
“Careful, stranger. You wouldn’t want to wake him.” It’s hardly a warning, but Pat has always felt the need to tease them. His mentor didn’t even react to his approach, nor to them speaking. He’s fairly certain Achilles won’t wake any time soon, but he’ll be quiet regardless.
“I have questions, but I would hate to disturb him…” Truthfully, he didn’t even think about any of this between then and now, but a little white lie won’t hurt. He does have a great many questions, in fact.
“Ask them. Perhaps you’ll even get answers.” Pat turns towards him, lounging back on Chiron’s chest still.
“Achilles trained with Chiron, if I remember correctly.” he receives an affirmative grunt from the equid and a nod from Patroclus.
“I did as well.” Pat adds when he opens his mouth; “Though I doubt that was mentioned very often.”
“It was not.”
“I trained them as equally as I could. Raised them myself.” As he sets down the last loop of vines, Chiron turns his full attention to Zagreus.
“We were righteous little-”
“You weren’t that bad. Don’t give yourself too much credit, Patroclus.” Chiron cuts Pat off with a shake of his head; “They were fine. If a bit too focused on one another.” Despite already knowing about Achilles youth, it’s strange to think of him as a child, much less one that would act normal for a human child. The image does bring his mind back to that day in the hall. Achilles standing with his face tucked into the centaur’s fur as his body trembles from barely restrained tears.
“He called you dad.” There’s really no need for Zag to test the waters like this, they seem comfortable talking about their past together. Perhaps it feels a little conspiratorial, talking like this while Achilles sleeps right there. “I wasn’t aware that you were that close. The stories make it sound like you were just his teacher.”
“I raised them just as much as his own father did-”
“Perhaps more.” the older myrmidon adds vaguely, his tone dangerous. There’s some strong feelings there that Zagreus is going to tuck away and never ask about. Just another thing from their past that they won’t talk about, for sure.
“Hm. Perhaps. Our days together were simple, and I think they flourished because of it.” the centaur’s tail quietly thumps against the ground as he thinks; “They would train until they tired, though that took Achilles quite long, then I would let them rest on my back while I prepared a meal. They’d spend the afternoon wrestling or wandering off to misbehave. At night we’d rest together, though they always thought they could stay up late. As all children do. Ah, unless we were learning healing that day. Achilles never had patience for that, so it was usually Patroclus and I.” That draws a smile to Zagreus’ face. The vast difference between Achilles now and his youth is so vast and amusing that, honestly, it would be hard to think they’re the same person.
“That sounds… Idyllic, sir. I wish I got more time on the surface.” Spending his childhood under the care of a kind centaur sounds like a far-fetched dream compared to his own. Doubly so if he got to spend it with even one of the people he loves most. “I go to tend mother’s gardens and bask in the sun when I can.”
“I do miss the sunshine and figs.” Chiron nods as if he understands the all consuming need to see the surface. Well. Perhaps he does. Being dead for however long probably makes you long for simple things, especially ones given by now-unreachable parents. “Achilles told me about you. How he trained you, how long. How far you have come.” Oh. The prince feels his face grow a little hot. Of course Achilles would tell him. He probably told Chiron everything from the moment he left his cave as a child. Which would include Zagreus’ struggles with some weapons, how long it took him to pick up some of Achilles admittedly more obvious fighting tactics. Told his own mentor. The man who learned directly from Apollo and Artemis, that taught many heroes.
“I have come quite far.” Zag can acknowledge that. He’s done a lot, he’s won against opponents he nearly given up on beating, gotten back up after being beaten down so many times. He got his mother back. He’s started amends between Olympus and the Underworld.
“Have you thought about learning to heal, Zagreus?” Chiron’s words draw him back to the present, despite how gently spoken they are.
“There… Isn’t much of a use for healing here, sir.” That sounds much more rude than Zagreus intended.
“No? You still live and walk. As do the others.” The centaur gives him a pointed, but not unkind look. Pat, the absolute traitor, gives a soft amused snort. He’s enjoying watching Zagreus become flustered! How utterly unfair! “Achilles told me he thinks you are the god of blood, of life.” Two traitors. Zag’s face is on fire. They talked about that before, yes, but it wasn’t really more than speculation. Speculation that he honestly did not want to think about more than he had to. “Don’t make that face, child.”
“I… Thought that Achilles wouldn’t mention that again, truthfully.” the admission hurts a little. The topic of his godhood is still sore in the face of his relationship with the other gods. He doesn’t have powers or particularly special talents.
“Hm. Well.” the elder says shortly before shrugging; “Regardless, it will give you something to do. All that fighting isn’t good for the mind nor soul. If you continue like this, you may yet end up like Ares.”
“A terrible fate.” Patroclus murmurs from where he has sunk deeper under his chlamys-blanket, his voice heavy with tiredness.
“Darkness, I’d never.” the prince grins sheepishly; “I already have… feelings about slaying the satyrs upstairs.” With gentle hands, Chiron reaches down to adjust the chlamys across his two sleeping companions. He waits a moment, then two, until Patroclus seems to have nodded off as well before he looks back up at Zagreus. His eyes are more serious, nearly worryingly so if he wasn’t just tucking in his two wards.
“Zagreus. I will only teach you if you are willing, you do not have to agree if you do not want to participate.” Despite his seriousness, his voice is soft; “Regardless of your godhood or origin, you could prove talented at healing. I plead that you trust me when I say that our family is full of many surprises.” That’s an understatement, if Zagreus has heard one. But.
“Our?” he asks before he can stop himself.
“Our. I’m your father’s half-brother.” At least someone in the family can speak simply. Zagreus can’t say that about many of his relatives. “I suppose that makes me your uncle, if you would consider me on equal relation with gods.”
“I do.” the prince says all too quickly; “I didn’t know we had-” No don’t say that. Don’t say you didn’t expect to have a centaur in the family. “Someone so reasonable in the family.” Equally disrespectful to the rest of his extended family, but Chiron laughs.
“Yes. Demeter said much the same.”
“It will be nice to have more family here.” Given the rest are literally out of his reach unless they feel like coming, Zag finds himself enjoying the idea of having more people to be around. There’s only so much he can bother Than and Meg before they disappear to go back to work, and he’d feel guilty taking too much of Nyx and Persephone’s time.
“I agree.” a simple answer, but Zagreus accepts it easily. Being alone on his mountain between wards must have gotten lonely, especially after Achilles and Patroclus apparently being so lively. “What do you say?”
“I would like that, sir. Maybe you’re right. But please don’t tell Achilles.”
It isn’t easy. Zagreus understands now why Achilles and Patroclus left the mountain very skilled in their arts. And why Achilles told him ‘Good luck, lad.’ when he admitted to accepting the centaur’s tutelage. As it turns out, his uncle is a very diligent, if strict, teacher. He is, at his heart, a very kind and patient teacher that does not let the lesson end unless it absolutely must. While not physically exhausting, the practice still strains the prince. The lesson continues until he has healed the wound, he exhausts himself, or he proves too uncomfortable to continue. A kindness his own father would not have extended him if he was mentoring him. And Chiron is perceptive.
Lessons, while on Zagreus’ schedule, rely entirely on his uncle’s reading of him. He’d be startled by it if he hadn’t spent much of his life with Nyx and Thanatos. Instead, it’s comforting to know he can trust someone to recognize and respect his boundaries, even if they remain somewhat unspoken. Their lessons extend for quite long usually, then once they have deemed their work complete, Chiron allows Zagreus to relax on his back as he takes him back to the glade. After the first lessons, Zagreus even napped! No matter the lesson goes, Chiron always carries him back and cuts figs for them to share. Achilles is waiting for him on occasion, usually Pat is there, but sometimes they return to an empty glade.
Not practicing in the glade was, it seems, a good idea. Something about keeping work away from where he rests. In truth, he’s glad the others did not see his first lessons. They were frustrating, fruitless, and ultimately humiliating. First lessons are rarely successful, but Zagreus thought he’d maybe start to get the hang of it, even if it’s just the tiniest bit of progress. No, every time Chiron tutted and laid his hands upon Zagreus to heal him and Zagreus felt horrible . It’s not the same as his father’s pointed shame. It feels worse, he thinks, to disappoint someone who truly cares for you and believes you can do better. Even if Chiron always shakes his head and says he isn’t disappointed, then prattles off some story about his own wards. How Achilles got swept away in a river once, how Patroclus couldn’t stitch evenly to save his life for months , how neither of them could ever grasp the very basics of scrying.
And those first few lessons, they stuck with him. His frustrating lack of progress made it all the more… magical to see his own skin mend under the equid’s hands. To become whole again outside of the Styx, without ravaging his body in endless combat. He wondered if, perhaps, this is how humans feel seeing what the gods do. The overwhelming sense of awe. And Chiron does it like it’s nothing. Carrying Zagreus back to the glade is more of a strain on him than healing a wound.
But he’d made progress, eventually. It was nearly unnoticeable to his eyes as the very corners of a gash knitted ever so slightly closed, but his uncle noticed. When the rest of the wound proved too stubborn, they changed course to discussing how the progress could have come about. Perhaps he was less stressed, perhaps he was less worried about meeting expectations, perhaps a difference in how he thought about healing. It didn’t matter to the prince because progress is progress! There was a chance he could learn to heal properly!
And heal he did. It was like a dam cracked, allowing a larger and larger trickle of water through, then burst. His work wasn’t always perfect, and Chiron often went after him to ensure there would be no marks or scars left over (until his next trip in the Styx), but he improved quickly. Soon, closing wounds became trivial, and mending flesh without knots came without trying. There was a pride in Chiron’s voice that Zag rarely heard from anyone but Nyx and Achilles. Infectious pride, really. If the prince didn’t know any better, even Patroclus seemed to beam when he heard.
They worked, shortly, on his archery, but it quickly turned into simple hunting trips together through Elysium. Zagreus can’t say he’s very upset about it, what with Chiron’s own bow in his hands. He’d tried to convince the equid to teach him scrying, but was promptly shut down by Achilles mentioning he has a scrying pool in his room that does that for him anyways. In the time between runs, he’d spend plenty of time in the glade with the three of them, or in the field being mentored.
Truthfully, he doesn’t know why it took this long. Perhaps all the time spent together outside of runs made Zagreus simply forget to give the centaur a bottle of nectar. It’s only when contemplating what to do with his 30th bottle of nectar that he realizes. The glade is nearly as welcoming as it usually is when he finally stumbles in, only really missing the voices of Patroclus and Achilles carried on the wind. Chiron lounges alone on the stone patio, his blanket spread out for only him. Well, was only for him. The prince pauses at the edge of it out of courtesy, only coming to sit close to the equid once he’s been given his usual nod. He wasn’t raised to be rude afterall.
“Do you like nectar, sir?” Chiron turns his gaze over to Zagreus when the young man speaks.
“Hm. I’ve only had it once, I remember liking it.” the elder eyes the bottle in Zagreus’ hand; “You have some then?”
“I have plenty. I was hoping you would accept a bottle or two as a gift.” A soft flick from Chiron’s tail against his side gives away the older man’s thoughts before Chiron nods.
“I would. Though, I do hope you know my tutelage doesn’t come with a cost.”
“Consider it a gift from family then.” Zagreus can’t help but grin as he hands the bottle to the other. The bottle, while a decent size in Zagreus’ hand, is noticeably small in his Uncle’s. Not that Chiron seems to mind as he pops the cork. He gives Zagreus a glance and grins.
“It’s a sad thing to drink alone, isn’t it?” he asks before taking a sip.
“I suppose it is.” He did share the nectar he gave Achilles before. Fishing around, he finds another bottle, which he happily opens to match the other’s sip.
“Ah, that does remind me. I have a gift for you. Though, perhaps it is more sentimental than useful.” The centaur digs in his bag, any retort disappearing from Zagreus’ mind when he is handed the simple faded bronze band. He should be thankful for the gift, sized to fit his head perfectly, but really, he’s more stunned by how similar it is to the Myrmidons’ circlets. Similar to the braided flax Chiron sometimes wears. “I thought you might like something out of the way. Wear it well, Zagreus.”