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Tiresias sat on the ground, head on their knees. They’d just finished being verbally berated by yet another person who didn’t like the prophecy they got. They never seemed to understand, or care, that he didn’t control it. They just wanted someone to air their frustrations out at, even if that someone was just the messenger.
The person today had been especially unkind. They somehow knew of his past. Perhaps they had a relative who had lived in Thebes, or had been acquaintances with Tiresias’ husband. However they knew, the things they said had been dreadful.
Tiresias heard a noise near the front of the cave they called their home, and lifted their head, trying to hide the tears that threatened to soak through their blindfold.
“Hello?” Tiresias called into the dark. They were sure the person could see them, or at least hear them. Most likely another person there for a prophecy.
“Dawling?” A voice called back, sounding worried. Ah. Not someone there for a prophecy. Instead, it was the god of messages and thieves, who often visited Tiresias in the underworld. He didn’t always have the time, but would sometimes be able to sneak a few moments in after delivering souls.
Tiresias could hear the psychopomp’s footsteps getting closer and stood up, leaning against the wall for support. “Hello, Hermes.”
“Are you okay, darling? You seem shaken.” Hermes told him. “What happened?”
“I’m fine Hermes, just another person asking for a prophecy. You know how they get.”
“You’re not fine. You’re shaking.”
Tiresias hadn’t noticed, but as they shifted their focus to their hands, they could tell they were trembling.
“I’m fine, Hermes, I promise. They just struck a sore spot.” Tiresias reassured the god.
“Fuck that. Give me a second, darling.” Tiresias could hear Hermes’ wings flap, and soon he was off, speeding off to who-knows-where.
Tiresias only had to wait a bit to find out though, because the god of speed was back again in an instant. He draped something fluffy over Tiresias’ shoulders, hovering in front of them.
“I brought a blanket from my uncle’s palace. He won’t mind. Or if he does, my aunt will convince him.”
Tiresias pulled the edges of the blanket around themself. Surprisingly, it did help.
“Thank you, Hermes.”
“No problem, darling. Anything for my favorite prophet.”
Though Tiresias couldn’t see, they could simply feel the grin on the god’s face. They smiled a little as well, lifting their blindfold to wipe some of the tears from where they had dried.
Hermes dragged them away from the entrance of the cave, ignoring their protests that someone might still need a prophecy. He settled with them at the clearing Tiresias slept in, sitting down on the prophet’s mattress. Hermes had tried multiple times to convince Tiresias to let him get them a better bed, but they had insisted time and time again that they were comfortable how they were. That didn’t stop Hermes from gifting them pillows, however, which Tiresias now kept either piled on the bed, or scattered around the room.
Hermes convinced the shade to let him stay the night, insisting that he had very little work that night. Which was partly true. He’d already delivered all the messages he’d needed to that night, but Hades would be annoyed with him at all the souls he’d put off guiding. Oh well. He may have a lot of work to catch up with in the morning, but it was worth it to get his prophet to take a break.