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Where ideal or simply more permanent solutions are unavailable, compromises must be made. When Chronos returned with such a terrible vengeance that he'd even gone so far as to capture the Fates themselves, Moros was certain they would pointedly spell his doom when first they were able. He maintained faith that his sisters would not break under whatever torture he may employ to attempt to sway them, and that Chronos would pay dearly for all he had done.
It was almost disappointing when Princess Melinoë shook his hand and laid both his grudge and her own to rest. It took significantly more doing than simply asking nicely and extending a hand on a single occasion, of course, but that ended up being the destination regardless of the journey. With the assistance of Chronos, who had awoken the beast to begin with, Typhon was sequestered away in the furthest reaches of Tartarus once more. The rest of the Legion of Chronos were simple to order to stand down...
All but one. It was Prometheus, with the backing of Chronos, who negotiated a new era wherein gods may no longer intervene in mankind's affairs. Moros was called to be present for the agreement-- either requested by Prometheus or Melinoë simply intuited that his particular presence would be preferred-- in order to help arrange how the dead would be shepherded to the underworld from then on. In the end, the old system didn't need much reworking on their end; Prometheus simply wanted the gods upon Mount Olympus to cease meddling with mortalkind. Melinoë during her travels had apparently met many shades enduring petty curses by the gods, and she sympathized with their plight and argued against her lord uncle Zeus for Prometheus's terms to be met.
Of course, with Melinoë having been the arbiter of the rest of the war, it would have been difficult to tell her no after all was said and done, and risk the conflict starting up again. Moros doesn't dare speculate aloud, but the thought occurs to him that this new era is in itself a form of vengeance for Chronos. The Olympians may no longer interact with mortals, as Zeus in particular so loved to do, and it thusly seems to be a punishment on their part.
There is one person he need not speculate on.
"Do you see this as vengeance?" Moros asks Prometheus when next they find a moment alone. If nothing else, Prometheus isn't a hypocrite; as much as the mortals adore him, he's been avoiding them as best he can. For all his newfound freedom, there aren't many places he can go without being discovered. It's not as if Olympus will have him either.
"Putting the gods in their place so that no mortals need suffer under their tyranny any longer? I see this as a satisfactory end result," he says.
"But... you do understand that they will still, indeed, suffer? I've seen countless mortals through their often gruelling final moments, and the gods were rarely involved."
Prometheus tears his eyes away from the view over the mountainside to look instead at Moros.
"After all the suffering and torment I've endured myself, surely you could spare me the details? I've done all I can. This is for the best."
"... I apologize. I didn't intend to imply that your efforts were for naught. I merely..." Moros sighs, gaze sweeping out over the forest at the base of the mountain-- a dense, inhospitable thing. "I don't wish to see you devastated that you can't save them."
"I know. I pity them, but I know better than to grow so attached. The least I could do was swat away the wretched gods that would use them as playthings."
"You should know as well that mortals do love to explore," Moros comments, hoping to lift the mood a bit. "Luckily, you have your foresight to prevent any of them from finding you, but I imagine you'll be moving around quite a lot."
"A steep mountain looming over a dense forest seemed the best place to start. It provides a good vantage point and very little chance of any mortals straying too close."
Moros would assume that if any wandering mortal could see the cave Prometheus had singlehandedly dug out between its jagged peaks with little more than a firm kick, they would surely feel the urge to investigate. Luckily, it's entirely hidden from view from the base and too difficult to see from any further away than that.
And it was... a very nice kick. Aside from the impressive strength and dexterity of a titan displayed, Moros thinks he simply found it pleasing to watch. He wonders...
"Yes," Prometheus says, answering an unspoken question in advance.
"Ah. I suppose you already knew what I wanted to ask."
"I... hadn't intended to respond aloud. Not yet, at least," he awkwardly admits, uncharacteristically sheepish for a moment. "Please, go on."
"A bit overeager, then?" Moros resists a laugh. "If you must hear me say it, I shall. Would you be interested in trying the mortal ways of romance?"
"What?!" Prometheus actually recoils, stepping away and huffing in shock. "That wasn't the question you were about to ask!"
"I assure you, it was. Is this why you normally keep your knowledge of the future to yourself? Is it not entirely accurate?"
"No, I-- you were going to ask about the strength of my--"
Moros can't help it, he gives himself away with a laugh.
"I'm only teasing," he assures Prometheus. "Though, I'm surprised you couldn't simply foresee me changing the question."
"Doom himself has resorted to teasing? What am I to do with you..." Prometheus sighs, still a bit irked. "For your information, this is precisely why I don't share any details. Speaking too much of the future, straying too far from my premonitions, creates surprises. It's rather startling to think you have every possibility laid out before you only to be sideswiped despite it all. Worse to realize you've averted the best possible outcome in doing so."
"I find it difficult to wrap my head around how exactly those premonitions of yours work."
"Then don't," Prometheus tells him flatly.
"... And the answer to my question?" Moros prompts after a brief moment of silence.
"That's right. I didn't answer, did I? Though, was there any reason for you asking other than your own entertainment?"
"I apologize if your feelings were hurt. I hadn't realized it was so important to you that things go perfectly to plan, though it feels a bit obvious after hearing your explanation. For what it's worth, my question was genuine... just not something I normally would have worked up the courage to ask, necessarily."
Prometheus pauses, hesitating slightly before he answers.
"No, I overreacted a bit. I'm used to dealing with much higher stakes than this. And besides, you've created a more desired outcome with your sideswipe anyway."
"Oh? Should I take that as a yes?"
"You'll get no further information from me before it is strictly meant to cross your ears. That being said..."
He takes a pointedly long pause-- long enough that Moros knows he isn't quite as serious as he sounds.
"Yes. I would perhaps be interested."
Moros smiles.
"Yes and perhaps are two different answers," he corrects, as he's sure Prometheus must have already known he would.
"This shall be my answer, then: Yes, perhaps we should get moving."
For as much fondness, guilt, and sympathy he feels towards mortals after having created them only for them to be doomed to a life of suffering, Prometheus isn't particularly versed in their ways. Moros, however, has been around the world and witnessed many mortals' lives-- though usually, if his claims are to be believed, he would only appear long enough to watch them meet their ends. He'd previously had no reason to doubt such claims, but Moros seems to possess a suspicious abundance of knowledge regarding mortal cultures and practices to have only witnessed countless deaths and nothing else.
Prometheus chooses not to question him on it. There is a chance that Moros would realize how much enthusiasm he's been displaying and seek to rein it in in his embarrassment, and Prometheus would prefer not to see that crestfallen look on his face in person. Let it remain an intangible possibility that need not become reality.
However... as it stands, he isn't certain how to approach that enthusiasm. Moros has somehow gotten it into his head that the pinnacle of mortal romance consists of sitting together in a field and sharing a meal. The windy plains they've settled down in are certainly pleasant, but Prometheus fails to see how the scenery connects to romance. Perhaps just taking in a beautiful sight beside one's love is enough for mortals, the blessedly simple beings.
Rather than food, Moros provides a decadent drink that Prometheus must hide his hesitation in sharing. After aeons of liver-based torture, the last thing he desires is to damage it further, but... rather than risk spoiling the mood, Prometheus accepts a single goblet and makes his sips of the nectar out to be much longer than they truly are, allowing the cup to linger at his closed lips on more than one occasion. In all fairness, it does taste good...
More importantly, its influence allows Moros to loosen up a bit, drinking and smiling freely as they talk about nothing in particular and enjoy the breeze over the open, rolling plains. This is what he's using his precious little leisure time on, Prometheus realizes; this is what makes him happy.
As soon as the thought occurs to him, he downs the rest of his drink at once to eliminate the chance of Moros realizing he'd rather not have it. Best not to make him think he's made a mistake. He's far too taken in by the scenery to worry about refills anyway, and Prometheus moves closer to provide Moros with a means of leaning back and relaxing, antlers brushing against his shoulders when Moros does just that.
"What are these, anyway?" Prometheus asks, gently rolling one of the bands upon the headpiece between his fingers.
"Reminders. Honestly, another thing I can't grasp about your foresight is how you manage to keep all of that in your head. You must truly be brilliant..."
"I'm not sure I understand how these bands serve as reminders."
"Well, my sisters tend to assign me many a task. It can be difficult to keep them all in mind, so they... well, took it upon themselves to decorate me, I suppose, so that I may better remember my tasks."
"Decorate you?"
Moros chuckles.
"Not that I mind. In any case, they each chose a color to represent themselves with: blue for Clotho, red for Lachesis, and orange for Atropos. It may just be the way my own mind works, but I find that if I am simply reminded that I have a task and who assigned it, I can easily remember the details of that task."
"They must be decorating you constantly, then."
"Well... I suppose you'd first need to define "constantly". It does happen often, but I don't require a reminder for each and every mortal I must face. They're mainly for prophecies unrelated to individual lives-- or, not strictly unrelated, per se, but..."
He trails off there, sighing contentedly as he lies back against Prometheus. Unbeknownst to Moros, Prometheus plucks a golden thread from his own tassels and carefully wraps it around a free tine. A bit thin, perhaps, but he'll notice it eventually. Just not today.
"I almost don't want to return," Moros says, tilting his empty cup to stare deeply into it.
"That only shows how much you needed this reprieve, yes?"
He'll hold his tongue regarding his precious fawn's continued use as a tool to the Fates. He loves his sisters, and they must love him enough to allow him this romance with a former enemy, which they must surely be aware of by now. He won't push his luck.
Moros's indecision gifts him with a plethora of branches of foresight, each future ever so slightly different in how long it takes Moros to decide it's time to go and lean up to kiss Prometheus goodbye. He sees it happen and can almost feel a phantom sensation of contact about a dozen times before it finally becomes solid. He wraps his arms around Moros and squeezes, equally reluctant to let him leave.
"This was nice," Moros says pressed to his lips, not bothering to pull against his hold. "Shall we come back here sometime?"
"It was," Prometheus agrees softly. "Maybe the mortals are onto something. We can do this and whatever else you'd like, whenever's best for you."
If nothing else, he can tempt Moros into neglecting his duties and have him defy the Fates that way. Would that love alone could overcome such a powerful obstacle...