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Chapter Text

Charon had seen a great many shades come and go through the eons he had spent as ferryman of the dead. While humans made up the bulk of his passengers, he was no stranger to the breadth of existence that existed beyond the temple doors. It had never mattered to him what a shade was like in life, when a mortal’s time was up they would all wind up on Charon’s skiff one way or the other. In death it mattered only so far as what wealth they could offer Charon in exchange for his services, eternity would erode everything else.

Scratch that, passenger etiquette was also important—Charon would never forgive the shade who thought it reasonable to etch a phallus into the gunwale of his vessel.

Simply put, he had never found himself with a shade so adamant about chatting. No other shade had gone beyond an attempt or two at conversing, and yet here this one was asking Charon about his day of all things.

This shade was unusual for a number of reasons on top of being unrelentingly friendly. For one there was the elephant in the room, crowning his head were a pair of wings the colours of dawn. Charon had thought them an adornment of some kind, but that assumption was quickly squashed as he’d seen them flap about as he spoke. Then there was the bag packed full of grave goods, a sign that he was surely obscenely wealthy in life, but the rest of his rather humble appearance contradicted this. A prince was not typically sent off with a simple chiton and a pair of heavily worn sandals. Lastly there were his escorts, the goddess Hecate and Charon’s brother Thanatos. Hecate had the shade bound by a glowing rope, but despite her stoicism Charon detected a distinct… lack of ill will. Thanatos had his scythe at the ready, as if to strike the moment the wily shade rebelled, and yet Charon could tell his brother was fighting a rare smile as they’d come in. Very unusual indeed.

“Hermes,” the shade had introduced himself, taking Charon’s hand—outstretched in wait for an obol—and vigorously shaking it in greeting. “Pleased to make your acquaintance, boss!” 

Caught between confusion and irritation, Charon looked to his brother for aid. “Pardon, Hermes.” Thanatos said with a polite cough into his fist, “I believe my brother here was expecting your fare.”

Hermes? Were they on a first name basis?

“Right, your brother! I’ve heard so much about you! Well, not really, but I have heard of you. I mean who hasn’t?”

“Hermes,” warned Hecate.

“Ah, yes, the fare. The fare for the boatman. The fare to cross to the Underworld, my final resting place.” The shade opened his mouth and pointed to his tongue. With half intelligible speech he continued, “I’m afraid I haven’t got anything to pay you with, sir boatman.”

Thanatos rolled his eyes.

The shade closed his jaws again for a moment before it began moving again, “I’m afraid you’re gonna have to leave me here, boss. No use wasting any more of your time!” He grabbed onto Charon’s hanging sleeves with bound hands, pulling them down with him as he fell upon his knees. “Leave this wretched shade to his fate of wandering the riverbank with the rest of the poor, unloved masses!”

Barely suppressing an earth-rumbling growl, Charon narrowed his gaze at the shade and slammed his oar down on stone floors, hard. The sound echoed loudly through the temple.

Message loud and clear, the shade’s hands snapped off Charon’s sleeve in an instant. “Right!” Said the shade, composing himself after his dramatic display. “Well, what I meant was that I don’t have your fare yet , boss. Can’t get it with these on.” The shade shook his bound hands, looking pleadingly at Hecate.

The titaness sighed in response, and with a flick of her hand the enchanted rope that bound the shade’s arms unwound just enough to free his elbows from each other.

“Perfect! I know I’m known for my flexibility, but these ropes are tight , ma’am,” The shade dug into his bag and began rifling through its contents for a good while until– “Aha!”

Charon held out his hand again expectantly, but for whatever reason the shade wasn’t done speaking, “Now paying the boatman’s fare is something a mortal can only hope to do once in their life–er, death.” Charon’s glowing eyes followed the shade’s enclosed hands impatiently as he stalled. “So I thought, shouldn’t this fare be something more memorable than an obol?”

The shade irritated Charon. For what could be better than an obol? It was an insult to Charon that there could exist a better offering, but he couldn’t fight the curiosity that piqued within him. So he continued to watch the cracks between the shade’s hands, clueless to how his form inched closer and closer.

The shade continued, encouraging Charon’s foolish interest, “Doesn’t the boatman ever get tired of the same old same old? Don’t I deserve something that truly represents my journey? Don’t we deserve something more… special?”

The shade’s hands bloomed open revealing nothing. Incensed, Charon turned to his brother with a growl, when he saw ghostly hands reaching past his collar and into the silver tresses by his ears. The boatman’s hands moved to intercept it, but the nimble mortal was too fast. When he pulled back there was something gleaming in his hands. Charon’s right hand joined his other on his oar, preparing to raise it to strike the little thief when the sight before him stayed his weapon.

Cupped in the cheeky little creature’s palms was a golden little statuette. “I’m not sure if you’ve got turtles down in Hades, but I’m quite fond of them and it would be a right shame if you’d spent all eternity never seeing one.”

Taking the little figure in his long, boney fingers, Charon inspected the ‘fare’. In truth, Charon had seen a turtle before, even if some hadn’t made their way into the Underworld he had spent enough time in the mortal realm to see one. It was precisely this reason that he could tell the figurine was skillfully made, with intricate patterns having been traced into its lustrous gold shell.

Charon leaned his heavy oar against the nearest column so that he could better inspect this offering. He was so mesmerised that he almost missed the shade’s form darting past him, leaving a coil of magical ropes in his wake as he snatched Charon’s oar and jumped into the skiff. “Sorry boss, hope that little gift can pay for a replacement boat but I’ll be needing this!” With a heaving row the shade was on his way out through the river passage.

When the shock subsided, Thanatos swore and readied himself for pursuit. Charon held out his hand to stop him, interrupting Hecate’s low incantations with his own even lower groan. He turned to the Styx to bid her aid. With a twist of his arm and a raising of his fist the river obliged. Her currents, typically gentle, quickened and quickened until the boat was pulled back into view with the shade fighting desperately against the current.

When the shade’s eyes met his he quickly dropped the oar, leaning casually on the bow as if he hadn’t just attempted to steal the boat. “Just trying to get a headstart!” The shade said through pants. “The underworld is this way, is it not? I’m afraid my fatal flaw is impatience. Has been since I was born! Just can’t... wait to get on with the rest of my eternity!”

Behind him Charon heard his brother sigh and Hecate pull the enchanted rope taught between her fists.

Yes it was this shade, the first to have ever attempted to steal Charon’s skiff, that continued to chat with him as he was ferried down the Styx. Despite now being practically cocooned by Hecate’s rope, tied so tightly that Charon wondered how he could still find the air to speak. Perhaps as quick as this shade was he’d gotten used to speaking without breathing earlier than most. 

Determined to not be distracted again, Charon ignored the chatter as best he could. Focusing on the familiar motions of rowing down the Styx to the House of Hades where the shade would be processed, judged, and taken far off of Charon’s plate. He continued ignoring the shade as he was carried off the skiff and back onto his own two feet by a pair of servants, mindlessly thumbing the golden turtle he’d hidden in his deep sleeves as the thief was taken out of sight and out of mind.

It wasn’t until he was halfway back to the temple that Charon noticed one of his rings was missing.

Chapter Text

Though a single ring amounted to only a grain of sand in his vast desert of wealth, Charon was a creature of greed and so greedily he guarded every such grain. His very core itched at its absence, unease permeating his every movement as he fought through his duties. Charon would get that ring back but for now that shade was out of reach, being judged by the ever-ornery King. The judgement would be over by the time Charon next docked at the House of Hades, and he would then demand redress.

Thanatos was already there with another batch of souls by the time Charon arrived at the temple. He looked sheepish, floating unsteadily above the docks. Charon knew why, but decided against bringing it up. However Thanatos, honest Thanatos, as quiet as he was could never stew in awkwardness—if he weren’t such a consummate professional he would have disappeared by now. Instead he said, “Apologies brother, I-.”

Charon cut him off with a wave of his hand. They did not need to speak of the incident, especially not when he had shown his younger brother such a shameful sight, entranced as he was by the figurine.

“I see.” Thanatos stared intently at the ground, making no move to release the shades fluttering around him.

Clearly his brother did not ‘see’. After a long pause Charon sighed. “I, too, apologise."

Death furrowed his brow. “Why are you-?”

“I should not have allowed myself to become so distracted”

“You needn’t-!” Thanatos composed himself before continuing, “You need not apologise. The Headmistress and I too were… curious. And worse still, we both knew the type of trickster Hermes is and were still taken in.”

Typically Charon had little curiosity for the shades he ferried, but it seemed this shade was an exception. He must have been, to have made such an impression on his brother Death, but time was precious. Charon had a rare cause for urgency, he would much rather retrieve his ring from the House rather than scour whatever layer of Tartarus the thief would be sent to.

Thanatos, too, knew haste. Mortals died so frequently and so plentifully, every moment was another death Thanatos had yet to grant. His apology given and Charon’s apology rejected, Thanatos released the shades from their butterfly form and was off.

And so Charon made his way back down the River Styx, with a pack of far less unruly passengers in tow.

The shade had not been there when he’d arrived, and neither had the King. Hypnos was draped over the throne in his stead. ‘Guarding it’ he’d say though on more than one occasion he had admitted it was ‘prime napping real estate’ so Charon had misgivings about his younger brother’s motives.

“Oh that fella with the…?” Hypnos mimed a pair of wings on his head. “Yeah he went off with the big guy, been gone for a while.”

Charon grumbled, getting a few concerned looks from the delivered shades awaiting their new king.

Unphased by his older brother’s moodiness, Hypnos sat up somewhat and suggested, “Tell ya what! Since I’ll be here till the big man’s back anyways, I can wait here for news and let ya know where you can find this shade! How’s that sound?’”

After a moment’s hesitation Charon assented, but not without ruffling his brother’s fluffy white hair and pulling his sleeping mask down. Ignoring Hypnos’s token whines (which quickly drifted into snores), the boatman returned to his skiff to continue his duties. It wasn’t until he had completed two more rounds that Hypnos had any news.

Elysium.

The shade had been taken to Elysium of all places after the trick he had played.

Charon had hardly paid any mind to whatever else Hypnos had to say, his arms flexing in preparation for his imminent plans. It wasn’t until he’d noticed the turbulent waves of the Styx, ethereal hands clawing and scratching at the skiff, that Charon took a moment to regain his composure. He would have his ring back and all would be right again. It was inevitable. Charon was inevitable.

He took measured paddles as he travelled back up the rivers, seeing Styx turn to Phlegethon turn to Lethe under his boat’s hull. Charon had been preparing to moor, knowing that Lethe could not reach where a dedicated thief might hide, when he saw an odd sight.

There, encircling one of Elysium’s many fine fountains, was a crowd of shades. Odder still, he could hear lively—and familiar—chatter coming from their midst. Charon could not see the centre of their attention, but he would be a fool to not notice that voice. Its pace was slightly slower now, each word lent a greater space on stage; Meant not to overwhelm a mark but to draw in an audience. Charon steeled himself as he let himself be drawn into its orbit, trusting the shades to part for his entrance.

“And for this pretty piece I’d be willing to part with-oh hello, boss!” The winged shade did not look the least bit scared of Charon as he made himself known, simply looking up at him with a congenial wave. “You interested in any of my wares?”

Charon looked over the series of trinkets the shade had laid out on a blanket in front of him, unimpressed when he saw a familiar sight that drew out a low growl. The shades of Elysium were braver around Charon than most others, but even they gave him space at the sight of his ire.

“Oh right!” The shade looked towards the ring he’d stolen from the Stygian boatman. “Do not fret, friend, that one was never for sale! Simply there to fill out the catalogue, there’s only so much I could bring with me, as you know.”

Charon was unimpressed.

“Er, right.” Snatching up the ring, the shade bundled up his wares in the blanket they’d been laid on and stood up. “Now, now, put your oar down–-I can see you raising it! I meant no ill will by ‘borrowing’ it, friend, I simply needed… a guarantee.”

“A guarantee?” Charon responded, forgetting for a moment that mortals—including shades in this case—could not understand him.

“Yes, a guarantee,” Hermes plowed through with confidence. “I simply had to see you again, my fair boatman! Now don’t look at me with such scepticism, boss. You shall have your ring back, on this I do swear. I simply ask that in return, you allow me back on that boat of yours for a more comfortable ride.”

Charon was on the verge of sending the shade back down the River Styx the old fashioned way when the shade clarified, “I meant nothing untoward! I truly simply wish to see the sights of the Underworld without the unpleasant chafing of rope!”

A terribly obvious request, the shade had attempted one escape and he was no doubt plotting another, this time coercing the boatman with a hostage. He was not the first shade to attempt escaping his eternal fate, but usually that fate included damnation and not a leisurely unlife in Elysium.

The shade was not above wringing his hands as he pleaded, “Please! I swear on the River Styx I will make no attempt at escaping whilst I am your passenger, I simply wish to see the sights of the underworld while I am able to move my neck.”

Charon felt the Styx bubbling within him. The shade might not have known the gravity of his oath, but he would soon enough if he chose to break it. Curiosity got a hold of him, whether of what the shade had been planning or of how he would react when Styx laid her many hands on him he did not know.

“I swear! And might I remind you, if you do not you will never see your precious-wait, is that a yes?” He said as he noticed Charon floating his way back to the skiff.

The boatman looked back at his passenger with a slight nod, before turning to untie his skiff from its place by the docks. Typically he would have little need for such security, but a single theft was one too many.

The shade gave a broad grin before running up to the boat, stopping right at the dock’s edge. There he looked up at the ferryman, Charon’s precious ring held between a pair of fingertips. “Thank you, sir boatman, and your fare!”

The shade was a courteous second time passenger, though Charon could tell it was taking everything for him to hold still. His gaze raked over the many landscapes of the Underworld, determined to catalogue all he could before he’d seen enough to make an observation, “So it shifts, does it? At first I’d thought it was only the rivers, but no it’s the walls and everything.”

Charon grunted in assent, slightly impressed that he’d noticed this fact in such a short time. Hopefully this would quell any hopes of escape, though the calculating look in the shade’s eyes told him that this shade would not give up so easily.

“I supposed they didn’t call the Underworld inescapable for a reason, but seeing it…” The shade mumbled. “Tell me, boatman, is it endless?”

In truth, Charon did not know. The Underworld was truly his mother’s domain, and her very nature made it shifting and shapeless. He could only assume that it was smaller than the primordial void, but with the void being as vast as it is what that meant for the Underworld Charon was unsure of.

“You don’t know?” The shade continued speaking. Either the shade had a knack for guessing Charon’s thoughts or he simply did not care. “I suppose there are some things that are simply unknowable, as irritating as that may be.”

Irritating to a mortal, perhaps. Or simply a younger being who did not know the universe before light and shadow and hard edges and borders. A time before knowledge, a time of pure instinct and feeling. A simpler time, Charon mused to himself.

“What?” The shade’s voice brought the boatman out of his reverie.

Had he been awaiting an answer? Not expecting the shade to understand, Charon indulged him anyway. “There is comfort in understanding that not all must or can be known.”

The shade met the glow of Charon’s shrouded eyes, holding his gaze for a good moment before turning away. “You remind me of an idea I once had, dear boatman. While this might surprise you, I was once a quite mischievous child—don’t give me that look, more mischievous than I am now.

“I thought to myself, ‘How tired of being understood I am! Why must I be heard every time I speak?’ I had learned by then the merits of thinking inside one’s own mind, too many plans foiled by being overheard, but not yet learned the skill of artfully confusing my listeners by manipulating my words. And so instead of manipulating words I learned to manipulate sounds, mixing and matching until these sounds made sense only to myself.”

Charon was unsure of what the point of the shade’s story was, but he seemed to have no intentions of stopping. Of course Charon could have stopped listening, let the shade tire himself out with his chatter, but gaze kept floating back to the shade whenever he’d force them away.

“I angered my mother and aunts often, speaking my little tongues, likely scared them at first too thinking I had lost all my words! It took some time before they realised I had not lost my words, but created new ones. And every time they would begin to learn the new tongue I spoke, I created another!” The shade chuckled at his story, and likely countless others left untold. “Now the fun would be taken out of this game when I had to teach these tongues to others, though I am curious to see what will happen with these tongues while I’m down here, but that’s beside the point.

“So you see, sir boatman, for the longest time I had thought myself quite clever. Any mistakes I made could be solved with yet more cleverness! Even now I find difficulty in believing there is anyone more clever than I, though I should have learned by now that it is such thinking that gets one, well, killed.” The shade turned back to meet Charon’s gaze once more before continuing, “And yet here you are, speaking in a tongue I can’t quite understand yet—a tongue who knows how much older than I!”

So the shade couldn’t understand him. Charon was not surprised by this, but he still found him strange. When most people—divine or otherwise—discovered this language barrier they stopped trying beyond the bare minimum. This shade was not quite speaking ‘with’ him, but he was not quite speaking ‘at’ or ‘past’ him either.

‘Yet’ , this Hermes had said.

“I suppose it will be a nice change of pace to learn a language—oh that’s what I decided to call these ‘tongues’ by the way—rather than create or teach one!” The shade exclaimed, before proceeding to barrage Charon with a deluge of questions. “Do tell me, is this the common tongue of all Chthonic deities or is it all your own? Does your brother speak it? Or does he simply understand it? Did you create it or were you born with it?”

The questions continued on until the skiff hit the first Elysian docks Charon could find, mercifully ending their tour of the Underworld. The shade had almost barrelled into Charon at the shock of the docking, steadying himself on the ferryman’s long arms before jumping off with a final thank you for the trip.It took much longer this time to realise that this time a different ring was missing.

Chapter Text

For this second theft Charon decided not to indulge the little shade, at least not so soon. Whatever this Hermes’s scheme was, it clearly necessitated Charon’s attention and he was reluctant to reward such mischief. Yet, despite his physical absence the shade’s presence made itself unavoidable.

When Charon returned to the docks of the House of Hades with the next group of shades, Hypnos floated over to greet him, an unusual item nestled in his lap. “Hey, you’re back! I’d ask if you got your ring back, but you’re looking awfully peeved.”

“I got the ring back,” Charon answered, caressing finger. “Only to lose another.”

“I seeee,” Hypnos drawled, tapping a strange utensil to his chin. “Oh, that reminds me! After you left I got to thinking, and I think I recognised that guy from somewhere.”

Charon grumbled in response, it seemed like everyone knew of this Hermes before him and it was beginning to aggravate him. Still, he couldn’t deny his curiosity.

“You remember that time a mortal found me napping in Lemnos? And plucked one of my feathers?” His brother pointed to one of the small wings that sat upon his crown.

Charon remembered. Hypnos had a number of napping spots all across the realms, and never before had a mortal dared take from Sleep. Thanatos had scolded his twin for his recklessness, but Hypnos never cared to learn his lesson.

“Such nimble hands, I barely even felt it! I almost wanna thank him since that feather was on its way out anyways. I guess maybe he knew from experience?” Hypnos scratched his scalp with the metal implement. “Anyways, I probably wouldn’t have noticed he was there if a Dream didn’t wake me up. Managed to catch just a glimpse of him as he ran off, but enough to see that he also had a pair of head wings! Not many others with them, so it’s gotta be him, right? Wonder why he needed mine.”

“Of course a thief in death was a thief in life,” Charon murmured. “How he escaped Tartarus is beyond me. Do you not want justice?”

“Well it’s not like I’m the type to hold a grudge,” Hypnos said with a slow stretch. “But yeah he’s probably made plenty of enemies. Still, Master Hades seemed pretty pleased when they walked outta that room!”

Charon tilted his head.

“Oh yeah, you shoulda seen it, he almost wasn’t frowning!” Hypnos held up what looked like a very thin wooden box. “Came out with two slabs of stone with these little drawings on them—’letters’ he called them—and told me to get to practicing.”

Upon unfolding this strange contraption Charon saw that the depressions carved into each wooden plank were filled with what looked like wax. Etched into the wax was a series of foreign symbols, the lines growing increasingly confident with repetition. What a peculiar invention. Correction, inventions .

“That’s called a ‘tablet’, and those things in it are called ‘letters’. Each of these letters represent a sound, and together they make up a whole word! Neat, huh?” Hypnos wiggled his fingers at his brother, and Charon relented the ‘tablet’. Upon receiving it Hypnos began to use the flared end of the metallic implement he’d been fiddling with until now to scrape off a letter, smoothing down the wax afterwards. “This thing’s apparently a ‘stylus’---don’t know where that Hermes guy keeps getting all these names—and you use this to write on this thing!”

“And this was impressive enough to earn him a place in Elysium?”

“Well, yeah! Don’t tell me you’re not impressed! He’s even got symbols for numbers, could be pretty useful for keeping track of your hoard?”

“If something is important, I will remember it. I will not dull my mind with convenience.”

“If you say so,” Hypnos said with a shrug. “Either way, looks like we’ll be seeing some changes around here. I think Master Hades is excited for once, probably thinking up all sorts of ways to complicate our bureaucracy.”

Charon scoffed. He had no quarrel with the new master of his mother’s realm, but it seemed like a fool’s errand to try to bend the Underworld to something the Olympian mind could comprehend.

Nevertheless, Charon had a boat to row. A boat he had rowed long before this newest pantheon was born, and would continue to row long after they were gone.

Charon did his best to put thoughts of the little shade behind him as he went about his duty, but the shade’s ‘gift’ to Hades had spread over the rest of the Underworld. Monoliths had been erected in all its layers, attracting shades and minor gods alike to study the ‘alphabet’ inscribed upon them. Hades had instructed them to familiarise themselves with this new invention, and those who succeeded could earn a role in his ever-expanding bureaucracy. A particularly salacious offer for those trapped in Tartarus hoping for salvation.

Now every stray word caught upon his travels seemed to be about this invention, and what could be done with it. Charon was pleased to find some like minded individuals suspicious of such convenience, but these few were drowned out by the ruckus of the masses high on possibility .

The shades, those of them who kept enough of themselves throughout their time in the underworld, seem to not have lost the typical mortal obsession with immortality. While the afterlife is not nearly as lively as the living world, it is not without change—and thus it is not without a desire for permanence. Now poets could immortalise their verses beyond memory. Philosophers could spread their ideas far and wide without needing to move an inch. Lovers, lovers could now etch themselves into the face of the earth as they did upon each others’ hearts.

This incessant noise was the loudest in the House, even despite Hades’ intimidating presence the shades were abuzz. Perhaps Hades was its source, intentionally or not, as Charon would find when he’d returned one day-or-night to see a new addition to the audience hall.

The king was there, overseeing its installation. The labouring shades, miniscule in comparison, struggled with the dimensions of this new piece of furniture—a table of some kind. Semicircular, each corner of it could be reached by the giant arm of Hades as he sat upon his matching throne.

A table .

Did Hades mean to eat in front of his subordinates? No, Charon knew better.

But to be sure he lingered in the hall much longer than necessary. Towering over the crowd of shades awaiting their judgement when their new lord’s current business was done. With their master back in his audience hall, Hypnos was no longer there to keep his older brother company, likely back to napping in their mother’s company.

So Charon stood there.

Lingering.

Until he was noticed.

“I don’t believe you’re paid to simply stand there, ferryman,” Came Hades’ effortlessly booming voice, as his heavy footsteps neared Charon.

Charon tried not to roll his eyes, as if Hades was the one filling his coin purse. Instead, he simply continued on with his work, curiosity satiated.

It was during this work that he came across his final straw. At some point, likely the doing of some of Charon’s more liminal siblings, the buzz had reached the outside world. Peoples of all kinds were experimenting with materialising their words, and a wretched shade had the gall to do so right upon Charon’s skiff . Carving it with some unknown implement into the wood, marking it with its own damnable name .

Charon had immediately slammed the shade with his oar upon noticing it, dashing it across the far temple wall. No one but him kept track of which shades had tribute for him, so no one would notice an extra shade wandering upon Styx's shores for a few decades or more.

Hermes was once more surrounded by a crowd when Charon found him. It seemed word had spread that he was the origin of this new ‘literacy’ craze. Some were needling him for answers, picking the brain of this illustrious new inventor. Others were hounding him for help, begging him for their own tablets and personal tutelage. Despite looking at home at the centre of all this attention, as soon as the shade saw the boatman approaching he jumped to his feet.

“Boss!” Hermes said, arms splayed in the air—as if Charon wouldn’t see him otherwise. “I thought I’d never see you again!”

Charon resisted rolling his glowing eyes, they both knew the game this shade was playing.

The boatman’s rage had brought him back to the shores of Elysium, but what he was doing there he was unsure of. To punish the shade for his work? What could that possibly accomplish other than ensuring he would never again see that stolen ring. It might even push Hades to act if Charon were to touch the king’s ‘ favourite’ shade. Charon’s occupational privilege could only go so far.

“Pardon me, friends!” Hermes looked down at his audience to excuse himself, “I’m afraid I have an appointment with our dear boatman that I just cannot miss.”

Leaving behind a chorus of moans and groans, Hermes grabbed the hem of Charon’s cloak and whisked him away. Strangely, despite his irritation Charon let him.

When they’d arrived at the Lethe’s bank Hermes let go and jumped onto the docked skiff, his wings lightening his phantom load before landing. The skiff was much too hardy to be damaged by a mere shade’s weight, but Charon appreciated the gentle touch—though not enough to overshadow his annoyance at the shade’s presumptiveness.

“Here, your fare!” Hermes flicked the stolen ring at Charon and took a seat.

Charon caught it with a growl. He was tempted to capsize the vessel, knowing his floating would keep him dry, but fought the impulse before joining the shade on it.

Hermes waited till they were out of any other shade’s earshot before slumping further down the bench with a sigh. “You really got me out of there in the nick of time, boss. I love a willing audience, believe me, and I can speak for hours on end—as you may have guessed—but I also love my free time!”

The irony, an Elysian without any free time.

“Don’t look at me like that! I’ve barely had any of it these past few… days? Weeks? Look at me, my body’s barely cold and I’m already losing track of time!” The shade flopped down onto his back with flare.

“You will acclimate.”

“...Right.” Hermes squinted up at Charon, as if that would allow him to hear his words clearer. “Anyway, I truly am beginning to wonder if Tartarus would have been better than this! All this importance is… stifling. I’m much more comfortable behind the scenes. Making things happen before anyone knows they’re done, you know?”

In a sense, Charon could empathise. He was comfortable carrying out his simple duties, rowing souls up and down the Underworld. He did not need to be a god, to be worshipped. All he needed was his boat, the rivers, and his growing hoard.

“I knew you’d understand,” Hermes spoke with a satisfied grin. Why Charon did not know. “Well, can’t say I have anyone to blame but myself. I could’ve made my contribution quietly, but to get anywhere in life—death?---you’ve got to make some noise.”

Perhaps that was true, the rest of the souls in Elysium were clear enough examples of that, but Charon could not help but remark, “How mortal.”

How mortal indeed to flail at your insignificance, desperate to leave a mark. Charon knew how it felt to be surrounded by beings who eclipse your power in every way, beings whose slightest movement can shift the very fabric of the universe.

The difference is, Charon had always been Charon. He was always the Stygian boatman, nothing more and nothing less. He had never wanted more, and certainly had never needed it. He understood intrinsically his place in the universe his grandparent had created, and saw no reason to question it.

Why reach for more when his oar and his skiff were never far away?

It took Charon, engulfed in his thoughts, a spell to notice the silence. He wasn’t a stranger to being alone with his thoughts, but he hadn’t been alone.

Whipping his head down to where the winged shade lay down, he saw that he had pushed himself up to his elbows and was just staring at him. Broad eyes were studying him, threatening to pull him into their dark depths.

Charon had never experienced such scrutiny before, not once in his existence. It unnerved him, being the centre of such attention. His body threatened to shrink back. Clutching his oar to his chest, he let out a questioning rumble.

“Ah!” That seemed to snap Hermes out of his daze. “Pardon me, boss! You seemed to have a lot on your mind. I can’t say I’m able to understand your words yet, but one day I’d love to hear what you might have to say.”

How strange. It truly did sound like he wanted to understand. Most outside of his family either assumed because they couldn’t understand his words that he didn’t have anything to say, but this shade here wanted words he didn’t even share.

Charon slowly brought the skiff to a stop, and turned to the small shade. Really looked at him. The shade—Hermes—was small. Most mortals were small next to Charon, but this one seemed smaller than most grown men. Yet his muscles, dense in his legs and lean in the rest of him, made Charon suspect physicality was never an issue.

He looked… youthful. There was nary a wrinkle in sight on his impish features, framed by stray strands of dark hair with the rest bound at his nape. Charon had never been adept at judging a mortal’s age, but it was clear that while the shade was no child he had died with a full life ahead of him. And yet, the supple bronze skin of the shade was marked with scars. His warm brown eyes, brimming with cunning, looked up at him inquisitively. This was a man with stories to tell, perhaps exceeding his elders in number.

“Er, boss?” Self-consciousness bloomed on Hermes’ cheeks as he pushed himself back up. “Giving me a taste of my own medicine, are you? Well I’ve learned my lesson, staring is rude.”

“You did not call on me for nothing, little shade.” Charon held out his hand as if beckoning for an answer. “Speak.”

Hermes stared again, searching for his own answers in Charon’s enshadowed face before seeming to understand his command. “Ran out of patience, have you? Alright, alright…” He muttered, righting his posture. “Well, mister boatman, I have a question for you. I’ve been asking around Elysium but it seems none of my fellow shades can help, at least not with anything on our side of the Underworld.”

He took a deep breath, perhaps afraid of the answer, before continuing, “You wouldn’t happen to know of a particularly magically talented craftsman in the Underworld, would you?”

Charon took a moment to think, which Hermes seemed to read as a sign to continue, “It’s for a memento I was sent off with. It’s broken, and I really really need it fixed, but nobody I’ve shown it to has any clue of how to do that.”

Not an entirely strange request, though it surprised Charon that the shade had such a thing in the first place. Perhaps it was a gift from a god on high, if Hermes was capable of earning the approval of Hades perhaps he had caught the eye of an Olympian. A lover, perhaps, if this memento meant so much to him? In any case, it did not bode well for the memento’s fate.

“If there is no one in Elysium that can aid you, it is unlikely there is any other soul here capable of it.”

Hermes stared blankly.

Charon sighed and simply shook his head no.

At that Hermes threw himself back on the bench with a loud groan. “I was afraid so… I suppose all I can do now is try to fix it myself, and wait for someone better to die if I can’t.” He sprung back up as swiftly as he had thrown himself down, affixing Charon with large doe eyes. “You wouldn’t mind telling me if that were to happen, would you? Would you? Since surely you know all the goings on around here.”

It took a full minute of pleading until Charon relented. He wasn’t particularly pleased about the idea of promising the shade anything, but he was even less pleased at the idea of Hermes hounding him whenever he inevitably passed by Elysium. Something Hermes made clear would be his fate if he refused.

“Yesss! Thank you, thank you, thank you!” Hermes jumped up from his seat and lunged at Charon, who deftly avoided his hands not wanting to lose another ring. Not one to give up on a forceful show of gratitude, Hermes ceased grabbing for the boatman’s hands in favour of an embrace .

Something Charon had never received from anyone outside of his family. And in truth, he hadn’t received one from a family member in very long, at his own request.

When the shock of the shade’s touch finally waned, Charon was alone. With a start, he checked his fingers only to find with a sigh of relief that each of his rings were still in place.Only then to realise his gods-damned coin pouch was gone.