Chapter Text
Zagreus was ever the gleeful child; he would play with nymphs and other kids easily, and make up games on his own. He’s quick to find reasons to smile about, and see the positive in every situation.
He’s not brooding. He cannot be.
There’s nothing wrong with his lodgings. His room is ample and luxurious, albeit it shows his own lack of interest in keeping it tidied up; behind it a courtyard opens with views to Tartarus itself, its moving parts always grinding against each other, setting up like old pieces of a jigsaw puzzle that has no resolution.
But there’s hardly anything of his here. This is not his world. The King, his father (and the world resonates in his mind in disgust, like bile coming up his throat. But he cannot deny it; he’s got his eye, his flaming feet, now even the crown of flaming laurels upon his forehead.) provided him with basic comforts, an attire worthy of a Prince, emblazoned with the symbol of his dynasty, and the right to call for service at any time, even when he does anything but encourage it.
The floating gorgon’s head they hire as a maid is still as helpful as can be, always asking for a way to make his day a little easier. Dusa, she said her name was; that’s all he got so far. She wouldn't take his offer for a drink.
She’s sweet, very much so. However, the other presence hanging around the Lounge is not so agreeable.
Angry, flippant, and always following him with her eyes, she sips on her drink way too slowly for his comfort. Her short, bright pink nails tap on the ceramic of her kylyx rhythmically, expectant.
Zagreus is a smart man; he knows when he’s been baited, and this woman is way too obvious about it, yet no one seems to care much. Or the shades that would dare look at her for a second turn away instantly before she can notice, panicked.
She must be a big name, or a scary one. Or both.
Fuck it. He might as well figure it out.
“Hey, is this spot taken?” He approaches the woman with the most polite grin he can muster and she doesn’t even bother pretending not to be staring at him the whole way over; still, her poise doesn’t change, straightened back, legs crossed at the ankles, elbowed on the table and her ponytail swishing behind her like a whip.
Curiously so, her free hand also holds a whip over her hip. Zagreus swallows hard.
“Might be.” She says, not moving to either invite him over or block him out. “But our Prince can do as he wishes, can he not?” Her eyes shift towards his laurels and he blushes, finding his own way onto the place in front of her on the little table.
These tables could definitely benefit from some chairs or stools. Why are there no chairs?
“I guess, I-” he tries to lean in but he ends up too close to her for his own comfort; he supports himself on the palms of his hands and it just feels silly. He finally decides to stand with his arms crossed around his middle; by her smirk he must look just as uncomfortable as he feels. “I just wanted to know a little more about you.” He finally replies. It is as good a line as any to start a pleasant polite conversation, after all, isn’t it?
“You should know of me already, or else you’re not doing your job right.” She taunts and he scowls immediately. She smirks to herself, satisfied. She must be trying to push his buttons. “My name is Megaera, fury and punisher of oathbreakers, adulterers and thieves. Are you any of those, Prince?”
The way she seems to savour his title, like a still living morsel on her tongue before biting it through and spitting it out, is unnerving. Yet he recognizes the name; not only the fury, although he knows her from his mother' s stories as a child, but also from Than’s little vignettes into his daily commute.
“Meg, aren’t you?” he claps his hands together when he notices. “Than speaks so much about you! I’m so glad to meet you!” He comes closer, leaning in for a hug but she grabs him by the edge of his chiton instead, pulling him against her.
His grin dies on his lips.
“Listen to me, Prince.” She murmurs and it sounds like the threatening spatter of a volcano about to burst into life. “Thanatos is more than just vital to this House, he’s family for all of us. If I see him brooding a little more than usual once, and I do mean once,” she grips him tighter to make her point. “I will not wait until your life is snuffed to look for retribution.”
He stutters, trying to find his words. Her loyalty is unparalleled for sure, but he never would hurt Than! He would never even think of it! Sure, they fought and needed some time away and so, but who doesn't?
Still, the fire in her eyes freezes his tongue still.
“Are we on the same page, Prince?”
“Yup. Yes, I hear you.” He answers quickly, nodding along.
“Good” Megaera promptly let him loose before turning around and taking her leave. “It’s time for my shift. And Prince,” She turns to lok at him over her shoulder.
“Welcome.”
He doesn’t breathe properly until she’s out of sight.
He might as well get a drink.
And some damn chairs.
Zagreus listened to his father talk as he mentioned every job still to do at every corner of the House. Reforms, fixings, administrative work put behind by wars and famine and whatever insists on keeping Thanatos away for way too long.
He cannot even tell how long. Even if false, at least their home in Elysium had the semblance of daytime and nighttime; in this awfully huge and grim building, time blends into itself like a terribly mulch that adds even more despair to his situation. He misses his home. He misses the river, even though he couldn’t touch it, the home cooking he kept fucking up every now and again, the constant banter, the push and pull, the fluttering inside of him every time Than actually gave into one of his ridiculous ideas.
He misses sleeping next to him, tucked into his arms, feeling him breathing against Zag’s shoulder.
He only got to enjoy it once and then it too was ripped off of him like a bandage too attached to the wound underneath, letting the old ulcer gushing blood as if it were new.
Blood and darkness, if it didn’t hurt as if it were fresh.
“Boy!” It irks him how his own father seems to make no effort to even remember his name, instead treating him like some snot nosed child incapable of doing anything without supervision. “Are you listening?”
“Yes, Father.” He keeps himself close from the tall, imposing man, but still his mind travels elsewhere, away from parchmentwork and lost souls, shades more like, “I’m listening.”
“You would do better showing respect for this House, boy, for this is all what you’ve been born to inherit and guard-”
“I was not born for this.” He interjects before he can hear his own words. “I was not made for this, I was not raised for this, I was- I was at a farm, father! My entire life, I did nothing but grow produce and sparring with trees and staying far away from everyone in town. I had to hide myself, my feet, everything about you!” He can see the surprise, the outrage in Hades’ eyes but he cannot stop himself. Something inside of him has been brewing like an unattended pot and it has come the time for it to boil over. “You were the nightmare of my life! Everything that made me different! I should have never thought you would be anything- anyone else; I should have never come to meet you!”
“I’m not pleased to see my child was alive to be a common farm boy with not an ounce of brightness, boy, but we take what the Fates have woven for us.” He thunders and his constant diminishing behavior hits harder than his words do.
“Then you’ll be happy not having to see me; I have no interest to stay around such an arrogant, self centered, stoned hearted-”
“Enough! To you room, now!” The King sentences and while he does flinch, Zagreus refuses to move.
“Do you think I’m bloody nine?”
“Out I said! Before I throw you into the bloody Tartarus for your insolence!”
“I would go dive into the bloody waters myself, thank you” Zagreus huffs while stomping away from the crowded hall, unbothered by the curious eyes that just follow him before their King orders them to scatter.
He would slam the door shut if he could.
Why doesn’t he even get a bloody door? What nonsense.
He’s overwhelmed with responsibilities while being treated like a child. It’s maddening. It’s irritating.
It’s actually hellish.
Zagreus drops onto his bed, face down, and screams into his pillow.
Why can’t Thanatos just come back?
Ares’ presence around him is always slightly disturbing.
Not because Thanatos has any personal issue with him; not only that, he owes him for more than his aid in his ferrying of souls down to the Underworld. Their shared story in Ephyra says enough for it.
Right now, he sits upon its walls for just one moment, watching the battleground being reaped with violence and bloodshed while the God just rejoices.
He could go back; there’s not really much for him here. Death has come upon them suddenly and hungrily, snuffing their lives like mere candlelight in the wind. It is not his jurisdiction.
But war and winter have been so prominent that Thanatos has to take some of the weight off the other psychopomps’ backs while his own chores aren't as tedious.
After all, he was always used to long days at work.
But he hasn’t always had Zagreus in the House.
It’s a weird feeling. On one side, it makes seeing him easier, without feeling like he’s abandoning his own in lieu of a hidden cottage in the Elysium plains. On another, he can feel every eye on him every time he walks the halls, as if he has brought shame and horror onto the royal family.
And he just might. Something at the back of his mind keeps warning him of his impulsive decisions, of his childish naive ideals.
Bring him, it will be fine; the Fates must want him with you if they keep bringing you to him no matter how hard you try to stay away. Oh, but what a flawed logic it resulted to be; nothing says the Fates, his own sisters, do not wish for his downfall, or Hades’ for that matter. No one knows what they might be thinking of at any given time; not even Mother can imagine their thoughts.
And he was dead. Or was meant to be Zagreus’ existence is already defiance enough, and he brought him back home.
He might have just brought the equilibrium they have tried to keep.
“Thanatos! What a pleasure to see you! Have you come to admire my craft?” Ares shouts for him, vain and glorious, and with good reason; he might have a skill that most would find off putting, but he is good at it too. His face is bloodied but intentionally so, as his weapons were not wielded by himself but by the men who prayed for him.
To kneel for blood is to be drowned by it.
“I can always recognize your handiwork.” He means to be polite before anything; his work is lonely and heavy as it is to be putting more rocks in his path himself. His silver hair escapes the confines of his hood, falling forward and over his eyes; he huffs as he pulls it back behind his ear.
He misses the braid; it was always so efficient, its weight so comforting against his back.
Ares reaches for the rebel strand, running his fingers through its length. Thanatos holds himself from stepping back no matter how much he needs to,
“Not that I do not appreciate yours, by all means; you’re as efficient and silent as a poisonous wind. It is breathtaking.” The words seem to drill into him the same way the blood red gaze does; thanatos looks away.
Around them, a sea of mangled and torn bodies, as far as the eye can see.
“You don’t need me anymore." He resolves.
“Oh, but I do. The excellent company is such an underappreciated luxury these days.” Ares is flattering, he always has been. Since they were young and starting up on taking their responsibilities, he followed around Thanatos’ work like an over excited puppy, watching his reap and calling the lost souls home. His constant attention is flattering, but heavily so; he feels a demand behind his words he’s not willing to correspond.
Not that Ares has ever said a word about it. Not out loud. Not even when the debt was still so fresh in between them.
A lesser man would have.
“I also feel like I need to give you a heads up, if you allow me.” This time he catches Thanatos’ full attention, and his smirk grows wider. “Mind you, a warning, never a threat. I wouldn’t be foolish enough to ever create such a quarrel with you, or any of the children of the Night-”
“Ares, please.” Thanatos hurries him. If there’s a warning, it must be about Zagreus. Lately every bad news circles him somehow.
He really must have moved the stone that kept the foundations of their reality in place.
“If it is important, I beg of you, no platitudes.”
“A heir to the throne of Hades means there has been a child of Olympus deliberately hidden from the rest of us.” War does not need to give names for him to understand the gravity of the situation. To hide a child of Olympus their own lineage can be a terrible sin.
Unless it is one of Zeus’ bastards, but Queen Hera does not show mercy for them either, even when it is her war alone.
“But the complicity with hiding Kore- I mean, Persephone, from her mother… Demeter does not take such an insult lightly.”
Right. The Queen had mentioned she suspected Olympus first, so she must have told them of her marriage and crowning in the Underworld.
Of her own fleeing her mother’s oppressive, claustrophobic embrace.
And now her son shall pay for the consequences.
“I understand you surely will hear it from Hermes, but if I could be of any assistance, I wanted to take upon myself the task to-” Ares speaks solemnly, but Thanatos’ mind is somewhere else entirely.
He put the House in danger.
He out the entirety of the Underworld in danger.
But worst of all, he put Zagreus in danger.
“My apologies, Ares, but I cannot stay.”
Thanatos has no time for bedmanners or small talk.
Something big i coming down Olympus, and they might not have a way to stop it.
He shifts.