Chapter Text
Zagreus has hardly registered being conscious before he feels his forehead make contact with the ground, hard. Stunned, it is all he can do to start collecting his thoughts. Where is he? Hadn’t he just been in the House? Something had been happening… hadn’t it? Well, wherever he is, it’s extremely dark, and there’s the distinct tang of fresh blood in the air. A cacophony of combat surrounds him, both the familiar sounds of angry wretches, as well as a more mechanical clicking in the fray that he does not know.
As the sounds of fighting abate, he hears someone call his name, a feminine voice he doesn’t recognize. Quick footfalls approach, and he feels warm hands pull his torso onto something softer than the cold floor he had been laying on. One shaking hand holds him tight, while another runs over his body, checking for injuries. He does his best to open his eyes (ah, so that’s why it is so dark), but all he can manage is a small moan in the back of his throat.
The hand moves to his face, cupping his cheek gently. The voice returns, hopeful. “Zagreus?” He tries again to respond, and still nothing. His body feels indescribably heavy, like he has spent an aeon training with Achilles without respite, and he is completely unable to move. A pained sigh emanates from the woman who is holding him.
“You’re okay, you’re okay,” she murmurs to herself, “let’s get you out of here.” Then louder, “return to- augh – No!” she shouts. There’s a cough, and a warm spray that smells of blood spatters on his face. Is she injured? He yearns to help, but his body is still completely unresponsive. The voice is back, shaking this time. “Contingency plan it is.”
The woman shifts his body so that the side of his head is pressed to her abdomen, and one of her hands presses to cover his remaining exposed ear. He feels her abdominal muscles tense as she takes a massive breath in and screams. Reality seems to split, the air thick with static, as the unnatural scream continues for several seconds, until her voice breaks.
As reality reasserts itself, Zagreus becomes aware of a presence next to the woman. Another unfamiliar voice, masculine this time, and dripping with obvious divinity, speaks frantically. “Princess, you’re hurt!”
The woman (a princess?) speaks, her voice now hoarse. “I’ll be fine, just too injured to take both of us home. Take him. Please?” Her voice cracks on the final question. And just who is this woman who can summon a god with her voice alone? So many questions are swirling in Zagreus’ head, and the two are talking more (and arguing about something), but he can feel his fragile grip on consciousness fading once again.
The two must have come to a consensus, as they have stopped talking, and Zagreus is being shifted into strong, cool arms. He feels his head loll onto the stranger’s shoulder as the man stands. He calls out, “go, now Princess.”
“Return to shadow, now!” the woman chants, and the spark of magick can be felt in the air again before quickly sputtering out. Hopefully that means she is safe.
Zagreus tries one more time to open his eyes and assess the situation, and manages to flutter his eyelids briefly, catching a glimpse of straight silver hair as he does. His heart races. “Than?” he mutters, or tries to, managing to catch a glimpse of the man’s purple eyes before his own shutter closed once again. Not Than, then.
Disappointment crashes into him as the man responds by clutching him tight, and shifting to a new location. The man speaks once more, giving an emotional, “it’s alright, Prince. You’re safe now.” It’s the last thing that Zagreus hears before falling into darkness once again.
===
“He looks like shit.” The slightly echoing voice of a shade brings him to awareness once again.
“What an astute observation, Dora.” the voice of not-Than replies. “He has been through much. He will need time to recover.” Next to the voice, there is the sound of something dipping into water, then the brush of a cool cloth over his face. Right, he may or may not be covered in that woman’s blood, along with some of his own as well if the ringing in his head is any indication.
He lets his awareness drift for a while, as the man continues to tend to him. He can find out what he needs to recover from eventually, but first he’ll need to come back to himself. Slowly but surely, as the two continue to talk, he feels his strength start to return to him. Thank the gods, maybe now someone can tell him what’s going on.
He focuses back in on what the two are saying, and the shade’s, well, Dora’s he supposes, voice has taken on an incredulous tone. “...you sure that’s even him? He looks nothing like her. Or that portrait.”
“It’s him, look at his feet.” The man sighs, and continues. “There was also a moment during our escape… he was- he has her eyes. It’s definitely him.” Dora gives an echoing hum, sounding less than convinced, but placated for the time being.
Well, now is as good a time as any. He tries to ask why they are so interested in his infernal physicality, but all that comes out is a coughing fit, followed by a moan as he tries to raise his head. Blood and Darkness, what is wrong with him? He does manage to open his eyes, though, and he sees the two people clearly for the first time. Dora, who has a unique physicality for a shade, is leaning quite close to him, practically in his face, a curious expression on her own.
The man, the one who looks startlingly like Than save the eyes and horns, is kneeling next to him with a look of open concern on his face. He puts a gentle hand on his shoulder, providing him comfort and encouraging him to stay laying down simultaneously. He inclines his head in a pseudo-bow. “Welcome back, Prince. You’re going to want to take it slow, you’ve been through quite the ordeal.” He turns to face the shade, “Dora, would you please go grab the Prince some – err, have someone grab him something to drink. Someone discreet?”
“Sure, horns. Just this once, though, because I hate the touchy-feely stuff.” She turns, disappearing with a flourish.
That leaves Zagreus alone with the man (he wasn’t aware of any gods named horns, so he assumes its a nickname and therefore not for him to use). His purple eyes cannot keep still, causing the man to emanate discomfort, his gaze periodically shifting to glance anxiously towards something behind Zagreus. Surely they did not mean him harm? They, whoever they were, seemed to have gone through a lot to rescue him from… something. His memories remain elusive for now. Although, the woman had seemed genuinely upset at his injured state. Was she alright? The man looks back at him once again, and Zagreus manages to catch and hold his gaze. The panic he is feeling must show on his face, as the man jolts, then addresses him again. “I- err, Prince, sorry. Would you like some assistance sitting up?”
Zagreus manages a grunt of assent, and the man does his best to help him, grabbing several cushions from somewhere beyond his current field of view, and propping them behind Zagreus. What follows is an extremely awkward (and far too intimate for two strangers) shuffle of the man helping to get him mostly sitting up, and Zagreus trying (and failing) to be of use. He can imagine the smug looks on both Than and Meg’s faces at his predicament. And Hypnos’ shrill laugh of unrestrained mirth at the same. He’d tease him about this for sure. Zag, have you tried not being a damsel for once? He hopes that this man, whoever he is (though he definitely does have some suspicions), can tell him that his family is alright.
Zagreus is panting hard just from the small shift in posture, and is glad for the small bit of privacy he is allowed as the man is called to the exit of the tent, presumably to fetch whatever they were bringing for him. He shifts his still-uncooperative body ever so slightly so he can watch the tent’s exit, and takes several deep breaths to calm himself, both habits instilled in him as important by Achilles. He feels fate looming, similarly to the way he felt the day he found his mother’s letter to his father. Whatever news this man was to bring him, it wasn’t anything good.
As if summoned, the man appears through the tent flap, and Zagreus gets to observe him more clearly. Despite the similar visage, the way he carries himself makes the differences between Than and him more stark. For one, he is walking, while Than’s feet rarely touch the ground. He also stands quite erect, as if waiting for an unkind word, while Thanatos had long since come to terms with his reputation. Zagreus knows that the children of Nyx are often feared, and he suspects that this god may share this fate.
The man reaches into a bag he has acquired, pulling out a familiar bottle of golden liquid. “It’s not ambrosia, but it’s the best we could come up with discreetly. If the fates will it be so, it should start to return some of your vitality to you.” He kneels beside him once more, and gestures between the bottle of nectar and Zagreus, “may I?”
It isn’t like Zagreus has any sort of choice, so he hums in affirmation. As the man helps him drink, he once again hears the teasing of his partners in his head. It was so rare to see him at rest outside of time spent with Hypnos, that they would surely be hiding their concern at his current state within gentle (or slightly less than gentle) ribbing. And eventually his mother would have to shoo all of them away in order to actually figure out what was going on without the racket. He wishes that any of them were here to help him figure out this mess.
His musings evaporate as the nectar starts to kick in. Although far from miraculous, he can actually keep his own head aloft after the first sip, and after three, he can hold the bottle without assistance, though his hands do still shake. As he slowly finishes the bottle, his head starts to clear, and he observes his surroundings further. He appears to be in someone’s quarters. The room is clean, and there is something covered with a cloth on display that he is desperate to peek at. They’re outside somewhere, if the tent has any bearing on things. It doesn’t feel much like anywhere in the underworld that he’s been, but he hasn’t died, so they cannot be on the surface. Perhaps there are still a few hidden places in his father’s realm that he has yet to visit.
His eyes turn again to the man, who has shifted to be sitting cross-legged in front of him, back straight and eyes closed. Whether he is using some sort of godly power, trying to give him some semblance of privacy, or a yet unknown thing, he doesn’t know. But now Zagreus can actually find out.
He sets the bottle aside, and shifts forward to support his own weight. So far so good. He clears his throat, and speaks softly. “Thank you.” There’s no need to push things. He’ll remain wary, but it seems best to assume that these people are on his side for now.
The man’s striking eyes blink open and lock with his. He gives another half-bow, hair swooshing elegantly from where it hangs from his horns. “The pleasure is mine, my prince. How are you feeling?”
Zagreus lets out a huff, pulling his face into a smirk. “Not great, though I’ve certainly felt worse before.” Okay, maybe he hasn’t, but this man does not need to know that. On that note, “who are you, stranger?”
“I am Moros, messenger to the Fates. I am at your service, my prince.” Ah, so he was correct in his assumptions of the man’s parentage.
“Greetings, Moros.” Zagreus inclines his head in turn, any child of Nyx deserves his respect, though Moros is one he knows little about. He hopes that Moros is as trustworthy as Charon, Hypnos, or Than. He gives a gentle smile, trying to be reassuring, “And nobody calls me prince, just Zagreus is fine.”
“Very well, Lord Zagreus.” Gods, this man is so proper, they’ll have to work on it.
“Now, Moros, care to tell me what in the hells is going on here?”
It is fitting that Moros is the messenger, as the news he brings is devastating. His entire family captured or lost, taken by his own grandfather. He has many questions, and Moros dutifully answers most. The only exceptions involve the membership of the group behind the resistance to Chronos, which Moros suggests can wait until he meets their leader. Which seems more than fair to Zagreus.
He tries to keep himself together, and focuses on the bright side. Some Chthonic gods remain free; Moros is living proof of that. And his sister is alive, and is the unknown voice of his savior. Sure, he missed all of her godling years, but at least she did not spend them held captive as he had.
Before he can ask to be taken to see her, he’s distracted by a familiar voice in the distance, that has just started singing a melody unknown to him. “Is that Artemis?” The tears he has been fighting to keep back spring to his eyes, and it is all he can do to keep from bursting into tears.
“I… yes? She spends time here when she has a break in her-” Moros breaks off his confused musings, as a look of realization dawns in his eyes. “She is your cousin. Would you like me to fetch her?”
“Please,” he chokes out, and before the word is even finished, Moros has shifted away. The singing stops, and only a few moments later, Moros and an extremely welcome huntress appear in the tent.
He locks eyes with Artemis, the only familiar face he has seen since this nightmare had begun, and faster than his captivity-addled mind can process, she is kneeling in front of him and he’s pulled into a fierce hug. What little willpower he had left holding his sorrows at bay crumples as he wraps his own arms around her to return the embrace, and he is suddenly sobbing.
For several minutes, they just hold each other, Artemis rubbing his back and repeating his name over and over, like she needs a reminder that he is here and real. Eventually, she pulls back, shifting to sit beside him, and looks him over. “You’ve looked better, cousin.”
“So I’ve heard. Apparently being frozen in time for ages is not good for the constitution.” He huffs out a laugh, but can already feel his energy starting to wane after such a long night. He rests his head on her shoulder, and she wraps an arm around him. “You look great, by the way. In your element, truly. Do your warriors fare well?”
“They do.” She rests her head atop his. He’s often felt the need to fill silence with others, but Artemis is one of the few who he is comfortable being around without that chatter. She has never had loaded expectations of him, as their similarities in feelings about their place as outsiders (albeit for very different reasons) to the Olympians lead Artemis to be the closest of his cousins. They sit together in silence for a time, until Artemis is the one to break it.
“Your witch of a sister told me nothing of this, Zagreus,” Artemis says in a familiar teasing tone. Zagreus feels her lift her head from atop his. “Moros, how long has she been planning this? And why was I not informed?”
Moros is likely getting Artemis’ signature glare right now, or something similar. Whatever her countenance, it is apparently enough to shake even Doom himself, as he looks taken aback. “I – Lady Artemis. I assure you I had no knowledge of this plan until I was summoned to ferry Lord Zagreus back to the Princess’ tent.” His gaze drops to the ground. “In hindsight, she has been asking some more, well… pointed questions lately, but until this night I assumed that they were relevant to her fate-appointed task.”
“Very well, then.” Her voice loses the accusatory tone as she continues. “I suppose I ought to be thanking you, is this not the second time you have saved my cousin’s life?”
Moros appears stricken, and Artemis just lets out a bark of a laugh that means something along the lines of I knew it!, and Zagreus’ concern for the man almost outweighs his curiosity. “I am sorry, Moros, if I have forgotten” he says, sitting up to engage in the conversation, “have we met before?” The man cuts such a striking figure he surely would have remembered, right?
“We have not.” Moros says simply, staring at the floor again. “Not officially. Though the credit for saving your life the first time is due to Mother Nyx alone, as I merely acquiesced to her request to avert my gaze.”
“Nyx… oh.” It all clicks into place. His birth, or rather, his first death. He files that away for later consideration. “Well, it appears I am in your debt twice over, Moros.”
“Of course not, Pr- Lord Zagreus.”
“Just Zagreus, mate.” He sighs. “I would like to ask you for details, but at some later time, for I fear one more revelation may break me tonight. Now, where is my sister? Can I see her?” He can feel his eyes starting to get heavy once more, but he cannot rest until he knows that she is alright.
Artemis’ gaze shoots to Moros accusingly. “She’s right there? You didn’t let him see her?”
Moros’ stoic face breaks slightly, “Lady Artemis, I was getting to it.” The barest hint of annoyance in his voice, he continues. “He had only been awake for a short time before you arrived.”
“Moros is right, and it’s fine.” Zagreus placates. He always had appreciated Artemis’ fierce style of care, but there had been a lot to cover, surely, which was hardly Moros’ fault. “Just, take me to her, please.”
“Fine, can you stand, cousin?”
“Ehrm… probably.” Probably not, but he’ll crawl if he has to.
“So that’s a no.” Before he fully registers what’s happening, he’s being scooped up into her arms, dizziness blacking out his vision momentarily. He hears Artemis continue. “Moros, if you’d please. Could you drag the mat closer? My cousin needs to rest, but is unlikely to willingly do so out of sight of Melinoë.”
“Artemis…” he complains. Well, she is right, on both counts, but he can still give her a hard time for being a bit of a shit about it.
Artemis takes several steps around a cluttered shelf in the tent, careful to avoid treading on Moros as he moves the mat. As she rounds the corner, she explains. “No crossing the threshold of the circle, alright? She’s recovering.” He nods, before turning towards where Artemis is gesturing.
And, oh, there she is. Suspended at the center of a stone circle obviously of magickal make, she rests. Beneath her there is a cat, curled up at her feet. Well, he hopes she’s alright with dogs too. Dora was correct, she doesn’t look much like him, obviously favoring his mother. Well, their mother. It was hard to think of the grown goddess as his sister, this was going to be an adjustment. He instinctively reaches for her, and Artemis jumps backward.
“Zagreus, what did I just say?”
“Sorry, sorry.”
“Whatever she did to break you out was likely extremely taxing, and she needs time to regain her strength.” She sighs, and bends down, plopping him unceremoniously onto the mat that Moros had brought to the edge of the circle. “You too, knucklehead.” She knocks her fingers against the less-sore side of his forehead, then ushers him to lay back down.
“Fine, fine.” He says, with less fire than his norm, shifting to lay his head on the pillow, facing his sister.
“Zagreus?”
He can feel his eyelids start to droop as Artemis tugs a blanket over him. “Hmmm…?”
She eases the flaming laurels from his head, setting them aside, and then starts running her fingers through his hair, working through some of the remaining mats left there from his head injury. “I- there are still things we need to talk about. Come find me after you meet everyone, alright?”
Well, that doesn’t sound so good, but it is a problem for later. He hums in agreement, before swiftly succumbing to sleep. He rests, but does not dream.