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Chapter Text

    The palace of the King of Olympos, awesome son of Cronus, Lord of Lightning, wide-seeing Zeus, sat just below of the peak of Mount Olympus, among the heavenly refuge of the gods.

      The palace was wide and tall and made of the finest marble, and the greatest of all great things were hosted inside. Parties reigned for days, years- every god and goddess yearned to walk its halls, scour its passageways, conversate with its master.

     And the hundreds of Greek deities all had their very own palace on Mount Olympus. Each with their own cupbearers, servants, and housemaids. Each built with flawless marble, decorated with pure gold, built by the genius Hephaistos. Each the holiest of all buildings ever created- and from each, the sky’s breathing constellations, the beautifully random array of clouds that covered the heavens and the earth, and all of Greece below (and the rest of the world, probably) were as clear as a varnished canvas.

     Athena, goddess of war, purveyor of wisdom and combat, daughter of Zeus and Metis, decided early in her youth to sit her palace beside Ares, son of Zeus and Hera, fellow god of war and purveyor of chaos. Artemis, goddess of the hunt and pathological hermit, had her palace erected in the woodier thickets of heaven and had only her brother over to eat and drink. Heracles lived with his wife Hebe in the Queen of Heaven’s grounds. The nymphs and fairies and worldly deities lived off the land, sleeping in the meadows and valleys Demeter cherished and hosted- the perfect

     Most other gods had been more ambitious. They were hungry for the power and fame that Zeus wielded. They had their palaces placed around the bearer of dark clouds, so they could pretend that all the clamor and partygoing in his palace was in part because of their influence.

     It was hopeless, of course. Hopeless for them to believe they were anywhere as important as the King of Olympos, awesome son of Cronus, Lord of Lightning, and wide-seeing Zeus, because, well. Because Zeus was Zeus, and he was the ruler of all things.  

     So the gods- Artemis, the silver-bowed hunter; Athena, patron goddess of technology; Aphrodite, cheeky love-caster; Hermes, chief of robbers; Dionysos, god and slave to wine; irritant Poseidon, master of the seas; the other Olympians, innumerable gods and goddesses, nymphs and nereids, and Heroes; even Apollo, the Far-Shooter, the god of impossible names, feats, and powers- were all forced to enjoy themselves in the mighty presence of their father. Or brother. Or husband. Or uncle.

      The lines became blurred after so many millennia.

     The parties in Zeus’s palace were never ending and grand. Ambrosia flowed onto to the plates and into the mouths of all of his guests. Nectar washed into vases by a river of smoke- the sacrifices of the Greeks made into fruition. The empty chairs and furniture, automaton built by Hephaistos, swayed on their own to the rhythm of noise around them. The Muses, daughters of Zeus and goddess of memory Mnemosyne, strummed the lyre, produced music from their mouths, and waded through the thick air in rhythmic dance. They swayed beside Hestia, eldest and youngest of the offspring of Cronus and Rhea and the goddess of the hearth, along the adorned marble floor like bursts of slow-dancing fire.

     Dionysos, ever-present in the parties of divine and mortal men, could always be found beside Hermes, and sometimes with Pan, playing games, drinking, and producing the most noise. He had a habit of seducing servants with his billowing purple cloak and his magnetic aura.

     Hera, wife of Zeus, Queen of Heaven, goddess of marriage and women, vicious when wronged, sat beside Zeus always, on a throne made of gold, her intense eyes begging for a chance to be set off on a rampage. Unlike Dionysos, the servants avoided her gaze, because they were afraid if she suspected they were looking just a little to her left, at her husband, she would toss them out of heaven in an instant.

     Poseidon, dark mirror to Zeus, jealous brother, god of the sea and husband to unwilling Amphitrite, always sat at the opposite end of the table, drinking like it was his only vice and evil-eyeing Zeus as often as he could. Curiously, Amphitrite was rarely with him. Either she had her own things to attend to, or the ocean god didn’t want her to accidentally witness him slipping away from the table with any of the pretty nymphs that swarmed Zeus’s home.

      Son of Poseidon Aeolus liked to pass through a party or two in his spare time, but sailors didn’t sleep, so his duties obsessed him constantly.

     And Hades, King of the Underworld, with cautious Persephone, sitting alone, mimics of each other in their nectar-sipping and silence. It was not often that Hades came to visit, for his presence even among the gods felt cold and lifeless. But Persephone liked to, to see her mother and to get away from the necropolis Hades ruled. Hecate, goddess of the Underworld, of the keys of Tartarus and baneful magic, was often Persephone’s companion. Rhadamanthys, son of Zeus and Io, infernal judge, would sometimes float upwards and show up at the palace entrance, act like it was a stroke of chance than he’d ambled from the underworld to the heavens, and help himself to plates of ambrosia.

     Demeter was not at all a fan of her former lover, and so being a guest in his home was usually unappealing. But if Persephone was at a party, then Demeter was there also, either sitting close as possible to her child or skulking in the halls to indoctrinate nymphs to the fall harvest. It was her only way of getting back at Zeus, really.

     Aphrodite, Ares, and Athena. They were mostly late, or they mostly did not come. Ares and Aphrodite were together often. Having sex, was always a good guess. And despite their clashing personalities, Athena and Ares liked to spend time mapping out battle plans, or strolling through the mountain paths, or traveling below. Athena always had a way with men. She could understand them better, she liked to say.

     It would be impossible to name all the gods and goddesses that frequented the palace of the almighty Zeus. Most divine were welcome, though few were acknowledged by the King of Olympos. He did what he wanted; ate and drank what he wanted; talked to who he wanted; fucked who he wanted. That meant he did a lot of drinking, and talking, and fucking, so it was hard for him to keep everyone straight.

     The list of those in the pantheon banned from Zeus’s parties was slim. Eris, goddess and personification of discord and strife, twin sister to Ares. The sons and companions of Ares, who was barely invited. The Titans, incestual children of Uranus and Gaia, were stuck below in Tartarus. Limos always got ahead of herself at parties, and the food was gone within an hour.

     It was at these common, predictable parties, that Ganymede found himself most often. He was designated a cupbearer to the most powerful being in heaven, the father of all gods. Ganymede would live forever, in a perfect body; a perfect existence. Zeus treated Ganymede generously. He could drink all the nectar he liked and eat all the ambrosia he wanted and dance to all the music he desired.

     Unlike the others, Ganymede was born a mortal. He was the son of a king, a man named Tros, the founder of Troy. Once a prince- the most beautiful man in his kingdom. A lithe fighter, horse lover, wanderer.

     Then he had caught Zeus’s eye. When one caught Zeus’s eye, it was impossible to escape the net. A giant eagle, uncomfortable flight, and great protest from his father later, and here he was, pouring wine and warming the thunder god’s bed whenever Hera could not stand to (which was often, so Ganymede found that despite the comfort of Zeus’s mattress he was sore most mornings).

      There were much worse fates than what Ganymede had suffered, but he could not help but find himself uncertain of the eternity that was heaven. As a human he lived comfortably. Comfortable could not even begin to describe the grandeur of his existence anymore.

     “You should be happy that Zeus swept you up,” Pelops, lover of Poseidon and another cupbearer to the gods, murmured to Ganymede. For the hundredth time, as he filled a cup of grape wine for himself, casually leaning over the gold tablecloth. “Better him than another. You could have been like Tithanus, all shriveled and locked away, with Eos as your lover.”

      Pelops was the only figure in the long hall that was similar in size to Ganymede. The other gods towered over him, minor or major, regardless of status, and so he always felt very small, and weak, and very much like he did when he was a mortal.

      “I am happy,” Ganymede replied blandly as he took up the vase next to his left arm, poured nectar carefully into Zeus’s giant bejeweled chalice, and set the vase back on the table. He could not recall how their conversation started, or why it had started at all, or why Pelops wasn’t busying himself with his cup bearing duties. Probably he was criticizing Ganymede for looking “so downtrodden”, as he did often.

     Ganymede took up the chalice and held it before him. It was heavy in his hands, much heavier than anything he should be able to carry, but there was something special about heaven, or his divination, that gave him supernatural powers. Powers that helped him carry particularly large cups.

     He felt very lucky.

      “Any man or woman would leap at the opportunity to fill the bed of a god,” Pelops added, his arms crossed over his long silk chiton and the pin on his shoulder glowing like it were under the sun. His body was perfectly toned, pale and slim, a product of his past cattle-driving and overall handsomeness. A single ivory shoulder was a constant reminder of his favor among the gods. There was a smug look on his face, as if he felt he was better than Ganymede, as if he wasn’t in the exact same position as Ganymede. As if he was not in a lesser position, still a mortal, constantly at risk to be sent back down to earth. To become old and withered, and undesirable.

      Ganymede spun on a sandaled foot and headed for the Father of the Gods. “I am no longer a man,” he murmured to himself. He placed the chalice just to the left of Zeus, who was busy fawning over Hera, his face tangled in her hair and neck.

     “Beautiful bride,” he heard Zeus whisper into her skin. He shivered. It was still overwhelming, being so close to so many divine. Living among them, hearing their voices, interacting with them personally. How had he, of all people, managed to get himself into this position?

      Zeus shifted away from Hera, as if he felt Ganymede’s presence. The god took him in, his gaze dark and intense, his face tan and strong and altogether the epitome of godliness. Dark hair fell in waves over his forehead and around his ears and tapered off at his lower neck. A sunflower yellow chiton flowed over his torso, complimented by a blue chlamys, pinned by a bronze badge at his shoulder. The colors matched those of Hera’s, adorned in a beautiful pink peplos and golden chlamys.

     Hera’s golden eyes locked onto Ganymede’s as well. Her golden crown seemed to pulse with light, and her posture was perfect, unyielding and intense. “Ganymede. Ask the table if they would like more to drink.

     He turned his head to the rest of the gods, who had clearly heard the mighty voice of the Queen of Heaven. They all looked at Ganymede, their gazes like dizzying portals, making his heart beat loudly in his chest.

     “More nectar!” Dionysus shouted, thrusting his cup into the air and then sinking resolutely into Hermes’s lap. Hermes cradled his head in his arms, laughing, and then sunk down loop his arms around his neck.

     “Ganymede.” He turned his head to Persephone, who was expertly avoiding the obsessive gaze of her husband. Hecate, beside her, held up her cup wordlessly.

     Ganymede swiveled his head about the table one last time before deciding it would be better just to take the vase of nectar around the table and feed cups individually. He avoided Pelops’s disapproving eyes as he found the vase and moved languidly through the crowd of gods, dancers, and other guests that surrounded the table. Poseidon held his cup out mutely as Ganymede passed, and he filled it. Persephone thanked him as when he finished her off, and Hecate gave him a satisfied smile before diving into the drink. Lastly, he made it to Dionysus, who was very focused on extricating himself from Hermes’s steely grip around his neck and shoulders. Ganymede supposed they were wrestling, but it looked more like the messenger god was trying to murder his younger brother.

      Ganymede reached over the two, pouring more nectar into both of their cups. Then he took himself back to the table, set down the wine, and heaved a sigh. It would be another couple of hours of this (his internal clock still ran on obsolete mortal time), and that would mean much more running around, much more threading through guests, much more meeting the eyes and words of gods he never expected to see in his lifetime. Who he feared to believe were real before he was swept up to heaven.

     He wondered when he would finally be used to all this. Probably never. Fatigue set into him, non-physical but existent, overpowering her godly perfection.

     Something tapped on his right shoulder, and Ganymede shifted, locking eyes with Echo, mountain nymph and non-select mute. They had met a few times, which was enough for him to figure out that she could not speak freely and only repeated what was last spoken to her. She was an eerie reminder the power that Hera’s anger could wield. A warning to him, and also a constant reminder that even the Queen of Heaven’s godlike power could not keep Zeus from sharing his bed.

     She was taller than he, but not enough that he had to crane his neck to look at her, and she had beautiful black curls, adorned with bangles of gold, that trailed down the back of her black chiton. There was a permanently haunted expression in her grey eyes, as if by taking her voice, Hera had taken something uniquely precious to her. She wasn’t the same without it.

     It hadn’t been all that difficult to crack the impossible code Hera had put upon Echo. Ganymede strictly asked her yes or no questions, and she could repeat them in a specific order as a reply. Or say nothing. Apparently the Olympians didn’t know how to nod or shake their head, which Ganymede thought would be a much better way to communicate, but that was strictly for mortals. Sometimes he could ask her even more complex questions, but it really depended on the context.

     “Are you enjoying the party?” Ganymede asked.

     “—enjoying—party?” Echo said, with identical inflection. She pushed her face closer to his. It was still odd after so many weeks, and it sort of felt like Ganymede was talking to himself, but he didn’t mind Echo, so he shouldered the discomfort.

     “You look beautiful,” Ganymede said, gesturing politely with a bow to her clothing. Echo looked down at herself, and a smile spread across her face.

      “You look beautiful—,” she replied, and Ganymede watched as she repeated the gesture at him.

      “Me? You think I look beautiful?”

      “—You— beautiful?” She blinked at him.

      Ganymede grinned. “Thank you, that’s very kind.” He turned back to the other gods before she could see the blush crawling up his neck. Poseidon had thrown his cup at Hades, spilling the drink across the table and all over Hecate’s dress, and blathered something about him being too sappy with his wife. Hades, in a sudden fury, was standing from his seat. Long, blue waves of hair floated around his head, pulsing in a supernatural breeze.

      “Speak one more word of my wife, and you can forget finding another fisherman lounging in the Elysian Fields for a thousand years, you miserable ass!”

       Poseidon slammed his fist down on the table, which groaned in pained surprise. “I control Acheron, old man. What will you do when dead mortals begin to crowd the shores of Styx like pebbles in a stream? Will you give up to my poor fishermen then?”

       “Acheron? Where’s that? There’s… two rivers to the Underworld?” Dionysos slurred, pulling himself back into his chair and staring confusedly at the table before him, which was swaying from the brute force of Poseidon’s blow. Apparently Hephaistos’s automatons could only handle so much godly punishment.

       “I am not the god of the seas,” Zeus jumped in, “but I don’t believe that’s possible, Poseidon. The rivers are made of souls, not water.”

     “Oh, back off, drunken whore, and bed-sharer. I’ll not take the advice of those who are slaves of wine and sex!”

      The only god still confined to their seat was Hecate. A grin had settled onto her face, and she concealed it with her drink as the quarrel grew more intense. She seemed completely fine with the deepening purple stain on her green peplos.

     Ganymede found himself tugging on the fabric of his tunic, but he couldn’t tell if he was more afraid of getting thrown into the debacle or having to clean up after it.

      Hestia flowed over to the table just as Poseidon was ready to leap for his dark-haired brother’s neck. Her purple robes waded around her on an ethereal breeze, drawing the room’s sudden attention. “I’d like to argue that this entire quarrel is meaningless and we should all dance.”

     The gods went silent. They stared at each other, overcome by the pleasurable nature and power of the goddess of the home. Hades sunk back down into his seat, deflated, as did some of the others, and the tension seemed to ease.

     “Dancing? Please, let me be a part of that.” Phoibos Apollo, Far-Shooter, cherished god of the Greeks, suddenly and mysteriously appeared behind Hestia with Artemis, who looked like she’d just been pulled from a rose bush. She was covered in twigs and leaves, and in her dark hair was a wreath of flowers. One leg of her green chiton was hiked up to her hip.

      “I was in the mortal realm, with the nymphs, and the girls,” Artemis said tiredly, sensing that everyone was looking at her. “If anyone touches the crown on my head, I’ll shoot them through the eye.”

     Behind her, Hebe appeared, flushed and grinning, full of contagious energy. Her violet peplos was sinking off of one shoulder, exposing half of her left breast. She left it.

     “I’m here!” she cried breathlessly. “Heracles is here too, he’s ah.” She grinned. “He’s getting dressed.”

     At the flick of Zeus’s wrist, the sound of the Muses’ song grew to an almost unbearable volume, and Ganymede watched the various gods’ mouths move without sound as they tried to continue arguing over the ruckus. Soon realizing their defeat, and when Hebe suddenly leapt onto the table and began dancing with her hips rather aggressively, everyone’s minds went elsewhere. The chairs and tables suddenly scurried off to make room for dancing. Ganymede watched as his vase was carried away, nearly toppling off the table in its doglike running.

     The sounds of the lyre filled Ganymede’s chest, calling to him like a siren. He found himself swaying to the music against his will, softly swaying on his toes. Once, he had been a powerful prince, a mighty cattle-driver, a brave of Mount Ida, a force among mortals. Now, he was a young creature, feeling the music of the gods with his body, with the company of the gods themselves. The thought was dizzying.

     Once the tension in the room died down, so did the clamor. Conversation grew whisperlike and coveted between couples. Ganymede could hear again. He turned to Echo, who was shifting awkwardly on her feet beside him.

     “Dance with me, Echo?” He held a hand out to her. She took it eagerly.

     They locked hands, and they moved this way and that, letting go and taking each other again, spinning, letting the music decide what to do with them.

     Pelops appeared beside them suddenly, Poseidon on him. The god followed Pelops’s movements with a lustful gaze, bringing his hands up to touch his face, his shoulders, his stomach, his-

      Ganymede swung Echo away from the couple, a reflexive protectiveness overcoming him. His shoulder brushed an arm, and he looked up to see Hera, her gaze regal and perplexed, and Zeus, watching with an inscrutable look on his face.

     “Apologies, Hera,” Ganymede said, bowing his head to her.

    “Please,” Hera laughed. “There is no need to be afraid of me. I have no power in the arms of my husband.”

     Her words were plain, but there was something in her voice that Ganymede couldn’t help but pick up on. Something secretly upset. It had slipped from her imperious mask and revealed itself to him, cupbearer of Zeus and servant to the gods. Was it what he thought it was?

     He was nothing to her. At yet, he was something she could not control, some aspect of Zeus’s power that she couldn’t touch. What forced her to do such things to Echo and refrain from such things when it came to him?

     He and Echo moved well away from them, across the hall, where Artemis shifted from foot to foot and sipped a glass of nectar. She watched her brother, who glided from woman to woman in the room, an irresistible charm to him that begged to be appreciated. Each god or goddess he touched accepted him easily.

     “You like my brother?” Artemis spoke suddenly, her powerful gaze on Ganymede. He suddenly found himself beside her, as if, through the music, she had beckoned him. Echo was nowhere to be found. Ganymede considered her question carefully, letting his back rest on the cool marble wall behind him.

      “He is a charismatic man.”

      Artemis was a towering height and covered in incredible muscle. She posed like a wildcat, her bow and sleeve of arrows permanently perched on her back. They glowed softly, pure as pieces of Selene’s own flesh.  

      “And that is an answer to my question,” Artemis replied, taking a sip of her drink. She seemed unsatisfied. Ganymede had always thought her and Apollo got along easily. Two pillars of strength, like-mindedness, born from the same mother Leto. But he had begun to realize that, while humans could be confusingly complex, the deities were outright dizzying.

     Perhaps Ganymede was overthinking everything, and he needed to partake in some of the nectar he had been serving. He noticed Pelops again, moving easily with his godly lover, looking completely natural. How did he do it? How did he act so… normal? Did he not remember home? His life before?

     Why did Ganymede care? Shouldn’t he be just like Pelops, taking advantage of this random and unimaginable opportunity, to live forever holy among the gods?

     “I was thinking,” Artemis said, her voice easily penetrating his cloying thoughts. “You’re a god now. Do you get to be the god of anything?”

     Ganymede laughed, out of pure surprise. “You should know more about that than me, Artemis. I… don’t know anything. About anything.”

     Artemis looked down at him then, amusement lighting up her eyes. “The man who warms my father’s bed would know more about the state of things than his forest-loving daughter.”

      No, Zeus hadn’t said a thing about Ganymede’s divinity or power, other than that he would live forever. In fact, he and Ganymede hardly talked about anything other than sex. Though, to be fair, Zeus threw so many parties Ganymede didn’t have any time to talk to the father of the gods. Or think about himself. But he also hadn’t been here long, so maybe that was the reason behind it all.

      “I don’t really want to be the god of anything,” Ganymede admitted. And that was the honest truth. His life had been completely upended, and now he had no idea what to do with it. Again, he felt the urge that he should be enjoying himself, but it just felt wrong.

      “I’m not used to being like this. Being among gods.”

      “I imagine.” Her voice was sardonic.

      Ganymede sighed. “I mean, being in your divine presence. You are people that we learn about in stories, all our lives. You are feared, you are prayed to. Kings spend fortunes building temples in your honor. The poor become rulers from your blessings. Heroes that take over countries share your blood.”

      “There are many here like you,” Artemis said. “My brother’s sad love life often ends with some kind of eternal life for the man or woman. Maidens of mine have enjoyed eternal life by my hand. Dionysos wouldn’t be sitting at this table without Zeus’s affection for him, and now he’s one of the most popular gods among the Greeks.”

      Artemis ran a hand through her hair. The flower crown slipped from her head, and she caught it easily. A warm smile spread over her face as she stroked it with a thumb. “Ganymede, you don’t have to be the god of anything to be a god. Being a god means living forever, not spending time worrying about all the things you’ve got to do for that forever. You’ll understand eventually.”

      Ganymede thought that explained the general lackadaisical behavior of the Olympians. But it’s what also separated them from humanity- humanity had worries, worries than lived past even their deaths. Without responsibility, why should the gods feel pressured to do anything? Or was this just the sentiment of Artemis, who loved her way of life as dearly as a mother adores her children?

     “Must you wear that inside the house, Athena?” Zeus barked suddenly. He was spinning Hera about gracefully in the center of the throng, but his eyes were on his daughter, wearing the giant Aegis on her chest like a breastplate. Medusa’s head twitched within its bronze prison, radiating power and intimidation. “And the helmet. Take the helmet off, Pallas Athena.”

      Her and Ares were at the left threshold of the room, watching the crowded dancing take place with utter boredom. At Zeus’s outburst, Ares’s eyes widened just a fraction, as if expecting a conflict to erupt. He too had on a bronze helmet, and both were matching in a black chiton and golden chlamys. The tassels draped from Athena’s clothing curled and snapped like snakes.

     “Must you call me by my full name, father?” Athena pulled her helmet off, exposing a head of wild brown curls. Ares mimicked the behavior and tossed his helmet to the floor. Zeus said nothing to the goddess and went back to wading through the sea of dancers with his wife.

     “I see we’ve arrived too late for drinks,” Ares stated. His warrior gaze slowly turned to Ganymede, and Ganymede shuddered. Eyes of pure, horrible flame. Could a god’s gaze alone cast you into the depths of the Underworld?

    “Take this.” Artemis commanded, holding out her cup to the god. His gaze flicked to her, becoming slightly more amicable. Then he flowed to her, his red cape blowing behind him, took the chalice, and swallowed it in one breath. He shoved the empty thing into Ganymede’s chest, who nearly slammed into the marble wall behind him. Even if as a god he had more strength and power than even the strongest mortal, Ares was a giant, a vessel of pure energy and power. And rage.

      Ganymede took the cup and himself down the hall, to the rest of the tables and chairs and utensils that the automaton had carried away. It was silent there. He put down the chalice on the closest table, then he leaned both hands on it. Heaved a sigh.

      His thoughts were cyclical. His home, his new life, his new power, his new weakness. Pelops and Zeus and Hera and Ares and all the gods and goddesses and their secrets. What should he do now? Should he be the god of anything? How did one become the god of something?

     What would happen if he visited some of these other “mortals turned gods”? He’d met Heracles, the force of nature, protector of Heaven’s gate. And Rhadamanthys, technically. He had poured the man’s wine. Dionysos, a constant presence.

     But maybe he should get to know some of the others. Maybe then, he wouldn’t feel so out of place.

     Yes, that was something to do. That was something that made him feel excited for the end of this damn party, besides how tiring it had already become.

     He had never really been a fan of parties.

      “Ganymede! What are you doing here by yourself! I’ve just arrived, and you already look tired. Tell me what’s wrong.”

      Ganymede looked up, and there was Thetis, a Nereid, goddess of the sea, adoptive mother of Hephaestus and true mother of Achilles. Also, wife to Peleus.

     No one really bothered to talk about him. There was a strange dichotomy where a mortal was cherished and where he or she was shunned. Really, it was hard for Ganymede to understand. He honestly hoped he never would.

     Thetis was wearing a beautiful flowing tunic, covered in pearls and beads. What looked like a hundred necklaces covered her chest, all surely made by Hephaestus, her beloved fire-wielding son. Ganymede supposed she wore every trinket he made her. Her round face was that of pure, ethereal, creamy beauty, her eyes two seas of roiling water. She had on her face a look of amusement, and knowing, as if she could read Ganymede’s thoughts.

     “Thetis,” he said, snapping upright and bobbing his head politely. “You look beautiful.”

      “Your words are kind, but I’d rather you answer my question.”

     Ganymede steeled his shoulders, as if he were a soldier staring down his enemies on the battlefield. “I admit I’m still overwhelmed by the beauty and nature of the gods of Olympus.”

       Thetis waved a hand. “Oh, child. The gods of Olympus are stupid, unlike the gods of the sea and the land. They do not understand humans, the very creatures that adore them. Trust me, Ganymede, you are not alone in your weariness of them. I only come here to see my beautiful children.”

     Ganymede was afraid to agree with the goddess, should Ares prick his wolfish ears and have him cast down from the heavens. Of all the gods, he was Ganymede’s least favorite. There wasn’t even room for comparison. At least the others pretended to like him.

     He nodded curtly, then held an arm out for Thetis to take. The goddess smiled, then slipped her arm through his, flowing like a blue breeze while he led her to the party.

     “If you’re so tired of Olympus, why don’t you make friends with Hephaestus? Or visit one of the other realms? You’re a god now, Ganymede. You can do as you please.”

     Again, with this “doing whatever he wanted”. It was easier said than done. At least, it was frightening and he wasn’t sure he could overcome his apprehension.

    The dancing and noise was just as destructive as it was before, and now there were even more creatures within the crowd. Ganymede spotted glowing Aphrodite, sensually and slowly rubbing the front side of her body over Ares’s chest and stomach. He seemed to enjoy it immensely. His eyes were aglow with lust and he had a hand firmly around her waist. One part of Ganymede begged to look away from the uncomfortable sight, but another demanded the spectacle to be witnessed. Perhaps it was part of the goddess of love and beauty’s powers that she should have the eyes of anyone who dared come into her presence. It was incredibly uncomfortable.

     Thetis pulled her arm away and fled into the crowd, leaving Ganymede behind. For the rest of the night, Ganymede perched on a wall to and watched the scene, considering what it was to be what he had become, and what he should do with it, and how he should figure that out.

Chapter Text

     Later that night, Ganymede was called, as he frequently was, to Zeus bed. It was extremely late- some might have even considered it very early morning- and the light from Helios’s chariot was peeking from somewhere behind the great mountain.

     It was Zeus himself that called for him. When Ganymede entered the giant bedroom, with its giant windows and giant silk curtains and giant mattress, he gripped the front of his tunic, willing his heart to calm. He saw him there, in the pooling darkness, the god above all things, of the sky, of kings and heroes. His eyes burned, two blue flames set within a holy face.

     He was laid out on the bed, a thin sheet covering the lower part of his naked body, and an arm propping up his cheek. The covers were disturbed- Ganymede was certain the god had very recently bed his wife.

     “Ganymede.” The voice was like a sudden wave of sensation, a pool of command that slunk its way straight into Ganymede’s brain. It wasn’t difficult for him to will his legs toward the bed. Something like a tether was pulling him to Zeus, some invisible force that wanted them to touch. He sat carefully on the edge of the bed, neck craned toward him, shoulders erect. For a while the two were frozen, their breaths the only sound in the air besides the crickets, and the whole mountain seemed to still.

     Then Zeus pulled himself toward Ganymede, slinking easily over the sheets. His firm and warm hands wrapped around Ganymede’s shoulders, and he could feel the god’s warmth through the fabric of his clothing. The mattress shifted, and suddenly Zeus was around Ganymede, his chest to Ganymede’s back, and his lower half around Ganymede’s waist. Their legs pushed against one another. Ganymede felt something protruding angrily from below the god’s stomach. A shiver of warmth soared into Ganymede’s throat.

       Zeus’s soft lips went to Ganymede’s neck, and he leaned into the thunder god’s touch instinctually. Strong hands slipped over his ribs, crawled up to squeeze his chest. He licked and bit and trailed over Ganymede’s skin, and the young god slipped his hands over Zeus’s strong legs as a warm, almost liquid pleasure filled him up completely.

     “Lay down with me.” It was a command. It was a plea. It was a request that Ganymede could not refuse. Zeus pulled himself away from him, and he watched closely as Ganymede shucked his clothing, exposing his bare, toned, and newly powerful body. A body that any man would fear, and any god would want to make love with. Ganymede felt no shyness or discomfort. He only felt full, and empty, and a longing that he knew was not his but that he could not ignore.

     A wave of apprehension filled his chest as he fell back onto the bed, a familiar emotion. One that he always felt before Zeus bed him. Each night felt like his first time. His armpits began to burn and his head grew light.

     The god waited a breath, then he pulled his torso over Ganymede’s and planted his hands on either side of his head, forcing him to meet his eyes. Ganymede tried his best to calm his breaths, to keep his face pleasant, to keep his brows from meeting in consternation. He had to admit that Zeus was beautiful, and in such a powerful, indescribable way. His very face was a demand for attention, a softly- glowing beacon of perfection. But he couldn’t help but fear that face. He wished he could look away from it.

     Zeus dipped his head to Ganymede’s, and as soon as their lips touched, some kind of desperation overcame him. He plunged his tongue into Ganymede’s mouth- explored his cheeks, his throat, while his left hand traversed the rest of Ganymede’s body. Ganymede squirmed while the god grasped his neck, stroked his chest, and finally rested his hand on his stomach, between his hips. Every now and then, his fingers would come up and squeeze Ganymede’s throat, and he would gasp into the god’s open mouth.

     Eventually, and with enough preparation, Zeus worked his way inside of Ganymede’s body. The sensation became less painful after a while, and more pleasant for the both of them. Zeus rocked his hips freely, silently, and with the vigor of a man- a god- in his prime. They switched positions often for the eternally unsatisfied King of the Gods. At the end of things, Ganymede was sore and exhausted, hollowly satisfied, and Helios had just begun his journey across the sky.

     For a long time, Ganymede did nothing but stare at the canopy above him and let the soft breeze cool his naked body. Eventually Zeus slipped from Ganymede’s body to perform whatever duties were to be asked of him. He planted a kiss on Ganymede’s wrist before leaving.

     “Rest.”

     And Ganymede was alone. The sudden isolation was relieving, and a rush of thoughts filled his mind, the same as before, renewed by the itchy feeling between his legs.

     To go visit some of the other gods. To meet some of the others like him. To go home, perhaps? Would Zeus let him do such a thing? Ganymede was sure that his spot as lover could easily be replaced. It was never him that Zeus went to first. At least, he thought as much.

     Everything- his life, his responsibilities, his desires- were beginning to feel insignificant, out of place, and Ganymede didn’t like it at all. He didn’t want to be like the other gods, constantly distracting themselves with nectar and ambrosia and heavenly duties, and sex. He wanted to find something important to do. Or, least of all, he wanted to make a friend. A friend who could actually understand him.

    Another party the very next day, but this celebration was special; it was for Helios, the sun-god, as the days were growing shorter and his time in Olympos would be more frequent now that winter was approaching Greece. To celebrate his hard work during the long summer.

     Many of the gods from the night before came to visit, and also the nymphs, and the Naiads, Pan, the pasture god, and even Demeter, goddess of the grain. They would be given respite during the winter months, but they would also suffer. Demeter would lose her daughter, Persephone, to Hades and the Underworld and would be unable to visit her. The couple had gotten used to arrangement quickly, but the mother still had not. The fields of the Greeks and even some of those in Olympos would wither from the depressive mood that settled over Demeter’s body like a second skin, rendering her a wandering husk of herself. She would pace around the mountain of Olympos like a wraith, not speaking, or eating, or sleeping, until spring came again.

     Pan was an anticipated guest. He, like Hermes and Dionysos, was wild and fun, and he loved to strum the lyre and dance with the Muses when he came up to heaven. He spent much of his time with the cattle-drivers in the mountains, and Ganymede had heard Hermes and Dionysos rave about the pasture god for days before the party.

     Ganymede and Pelops prepared, along with Zeus’s other servants, for the party until nightfall. From the moment Ganymede had risen from the lightning god’s bed, slipped on his old clothes, and trudged outside of Zeus’s quarters, Hestia had snatched him up to stir up ambrosia and put out the best fabrics for the floor. The work was simple and Ganymede didn’t mind it because it took his mind off of the melancholic feeling that always seemed to settle in after Zeus and had used his body.

     The party started just after Helios settled his horses and floated back to Olympos. He shucked his helmet and golden armor, but his aura still glowed brilliantly as he greeted the others, and Ganymede was sure that a mortal would be blinded in his presence. He briefly worried about Pelops, but the man had survived long enough in heaven to know who or what to avoid, and he probably would not listen to Ganymede anyway.

      So he assumed the same position he had the night before; he filled cups, he served ambrosia, he made light conversation with nymphs and servants as they passed. He spoke briefly to Demeter, who, upon also perceiving his weariness, suggested that he spend next summer with her and Persephone in the fields and forests of Greece. Ganymede thanked her for the offer and put it in the back of his mind. It was something he liked to do before he had been turned godly. He lived and breathed the outdoors. He was bound to like it.

     The gods appeared in waves, most with another companion, or two, or three. Athena and Apollo arrived together this time, along with Aphrodite, who trailed an elusively innocent distance behind them.

      Aphrodite was the goddess of love, of sexual love and attraction. She was notorious for being the woman behind all of Zeus’s love affairs, and all the other romances between gods and mortals. She herself had fallen victim to mortal love, because apparently not even the goddess herself could refuse the unique relationship. She and Persephone had fought for the attention of Adonis, who was killed in a jealous fury by Ares. And she had many affairs with other gods, sleeping often with anyone other than her husband, Hephaestus.

     Ganymede was wary of her, because he was afraid it was her that orchestrated his love affair with Zeus, and because he did not want to be the member of another unlikely romantic couple. Aphrodite was the kind of goddess who used her power whenever she pleased, not whenever it was necessary.

     Ares was the only god who arrived at the party by himself. He slunk in, like a lion scanning for prey, and loomed for a while in the hall adjacent to the sitting room. His red cloak hung over one shoulder, concealing his armor and making him look disheveled and wild. He always seemed like he was expecting someone to jump up and slit his throat, and expressions like joy or contentment were banned from his face. Ganymede wondered why Aphrodite had any interest in him at all, considering her intensely coy nature.

     When he crossed the threshold, Ares did not take his helmet off, nor did he fix his cloak. He approached Ganymede, and the table behind him, where the nectar of the gods filled vases by invisible magic.

      He leaned over the table, peering at the various dishes sitting there. “Pour me a drink, or I will take one for myself.”

      It hurt Ganymede’s pride to obey the man’s words, and for a sliver of satisfaction, he met the god’s eyes for just a moment before taking up the vase beside him. He poured the nectar wordlessly. Before he’d even set the liquid back on the ornate table, Ares snatched the cup from him and swallowed it quickly.

     “Refill it.”

     Ganymede did so. The war god chugged the liquid, then slammed the cup down, making the very floor tremble. He turned away from Ganymede and sauntered to the god’s table. Ganymede unclenched the fist he had behind his back.

     “I’m glad he favors you and not me,” Pelops said from behind Ganymede, surprising him. He assumed his normal position, his arms crossed and a bored look on his face. His deep brown eyes glowed with amusement.

     “Favors me?” Ganymede laughed awkwardly. When Pelops raised an eyebrow, he frowned. “Are you serious?”
     Pelops sighed, then gave him a look of judgement. “Sorry. I am glad he wants to fuck you and not me.”

      Ares? Have sex with him? Ganymede could not grasp the thought. The god of chaos never expressed any emotion other than anger and lust, and he had never shown the latter to Ganymede. That was reserved for Aphrodite, and the occasional minor god.

      “He wants to have sex with you, but he’s never lusted for a man. It looks like his feelings are confused.”

      Ganymede rubbed a hand over his face. He suddenly had the thought that he was tired, and he wanted to go home. But what did that mean to him anymore? Where was his home? In Zeus’s bed? In the room he had given Ganymede? On Mount Ida, in the kingdom of his father? It felt like none of those places were home anymore.

     “Please, shut up, Pelops, or I will tell Demeter you want her apology for that ivory shoulder.”

     The handsome cupbearer shut up then, the amused look wiped from his face.

     “Ganymede,” a voice cooed, low and playful. He turned to where Pelops had whipped his head in surprise, at Leto, the goddess of motherhood. She had a hand perched on the wine table and her eyes sparked with excitement.

      “How long do you think I am allowed here before your lover’s wife tries to kill me?”

     Ganymede grimaced at the woman. She was beautiful, so beautiful and charming and everything that Zeus could possibly want, and that made her the prime victim for Hera’s wrath. They hated each other. Leto could not even bear to utter the Queen of Heaven’s name after what she had done to her, subjecting her into intense and long labor pains during the birth of Apollo and Artemis. Leto was forced wander Greece when she was heavily pregnant, because all the lands but Delos had shunned her under Hera’s demand. It was the price she paid for sleeping with Zeus, and it was a price that neither of the goddesses would forget for a very long time.

     A breath of anger spilled from the back of Ganymede’s skull. He wished that the son of almighty Cronus, the supreme ruler of all things, would find better things to do than have sex and party and sire children. He wished that he could make him care and respect his wife, as horrible and jealous as she was. They were a perfectly poisonous pair. If only that were enough for them to be faithful to each other.

       “You should not be here, Leto.” Ganymede tried his best to sound urgent and respectful. He did not hate her, not at all. In fact, he admired her bravery, for swallowing Hera’s insults and trying to regain her honor in Zeus’s house. He only wished she would do it some other time.

      “At least let me see my children, you boor,” she reached up and smacked his cheek playfully. Ganymede sighed.

       Leto slunk around the table, and, as smooth as a cat, slid into a chair next to Artemis, whose back was facing Ganymede. He could not see their expressions, but he noticed the way the hunter goddess seized when Leto touched her shoulder. They leaned into each other, exchanging words that made Leto perk up, then slap Artemis on the wrist. Then she laughed, and Artemis laughed, and Ganymede let out a breath of relief.

      If the other gods noticed Leto’s arrival, they didn’t show it. No one but Apollo, who came to sit by his mother and sister.

      For the rest of the night, Ganymede watched the gods as they ate and talked and laughed, then finally danced. This time, he did not dance with them. Instead, he sat on the ledge of a window cut into the marble wall. The curtains billowed, caressing his cheek now and then like a mother’s worried touch. A sad feeling settled within his chest, something calm and painful.

     Something that he missed, but he could not bring to mind.

     Later in the night, when the party was over and Ganymede was alone, Ares appeared to him. He was storing cups in a dish closet when the god was suddenly leaned on the doorway behind him, his eyes glowing red in the darkness. Apprehension rushed like a cold wave over Ganymede’s body, and he immediately stopped what he was doing.

      “Ares? What are you doing here?”

      The war god tipped his head back, his teeth flashing. “Are you in any position to question my actions, Ganymede?”

       Ganymede tipped his head in concession, and he turned to finish putting away the cup in his hand. But Ares suddenly leapt on him, seized his hand above his head and pinned him to a shelf. Its contents rattled angrily at the sudden movement.

      Ganymede swallowed a curse and looked at Ares angrily, despite the fear that rattled in his chest. He would not be afraid, and if he was to be afraid, he would not let it show. That was something his father had told him, a part of him from before he would not forget. Even when he was among the gods.

     “What do you want from me, Ares?”

      The war god’s face clouded over. He did not speak for a long time, only stared at Ganymede intensely. Ganymede weakly attempted to tug his wrist from Ares’s grip, but it was useless.

     “You,” he finally answered. “I want you, Ganymede. I want your body. I want to hear that voice of yours cry out from the pleasure I give to you, and not my father. Not anymore.”

     Ganymede scowled. He imagined that sex with Ares would be painful, and lifeless, the way a dog humps a tree stump. “Is this how you treat Aphrodite when you hunger for her touch?”

     With a sudden growl, Ares reared his free hand back and slapped Ganymede across the face. For the first time Ganymede was happy that he had received godly strength, or the blow might have killed him. Instead, stars erupted before his eyes, and his head grew dizzy, and his face stung. He kept his face turned to the floor so Ares could not see the tears that threatened to spill onto his cheeks.

      “I don’t need you to want me. I only need you to spread your legs.”

      Anger erupted in Ganymede’s chest. That princely entitlement that had crept into him over the years of being his father’s son burned in the back of his head. He would not be treated this way, touched this way, by someone who had no respect for him.

     Ganymede wrenched his arm from Ares’s grasp. He thanked Kratos that he managed to break the god’s grip just as a shockwave of pain surged from his armpit. A strained muscle was better than being held down against his will. Ganymede brought his foot up and slammed it into the war god’s crotch with an angry cry. Ares doubled over immediately, in pain and surprise, and a spray of spit left his mouth as the air from his lungs was forced through his clenched teeth. He snapped upright and made to hit Ganymede again across the face, but Ganymede struck the god between his legs again, this time with his fist. Then, before Ares could get his hands on him, he ducked and sprinted through the doorway.

     Ganymede ran for a very long time, out of the palace, past the fields of grain and flowers that Demeter had grown for her brother. The nymphs stared at him wordlessly as he passed. The sky was clear and the air was thin and cool, and instead of burning his lungs the running seemed to calm him. Finally, he jogged through the grass plain and into the quiet forest surrounding the mountain’s peak.

    The woods of Mount Olympos were the refuge of Artemis, and the other nature creatures that lived in heaven. Deer waltzed past Ganymede as he stood, panting and shaking. The plants seemed to reach out to comfort him. Selene’s pale light passed through the trees and shone in the air like a curtain, dancing on his tan skin. He closed his eyes, turned his face to the sky, and sighed.

     Is this what his new life was to be? Avoiding eyes, bowing to others, hoping that he would not be attacked in the night? Praying to the Fates that Zeus would not force him into his bed? Wishing that he at least was given some semblance of a choice in things?

     His face began to crumple, but he commanded to himself not to cry. He would not let Ares scare him, or scar him, or change him. He would not let this new reality overwhelm him into submission.

     Ganymede sunk onto the forest floor and watched the shadows cast by tree leaves shift with the wind. A rabbit approached, and he cautiously stroked its back before it could realize its fear. The world around him seemed to shift into something calmer, and simpler. The thunder in his chest calmed. His eyes found a Hyacinth, and he plucked it from the ground.

     Once a man, like him. It felt strange in his palm, like he was holding a part of a person’s soul in his hands. Lucky that he should have a different fate than Hyacinthus.

     He did not feel grateful. He was just as much a toy to Zeus and the other gods as Hyacinthus was to Apollo. Was it truly his moira[1], his fate, to be nothing more than a cupbearer and a sex mate?

     What if he wanted more?

[1] The word for fate in Ancient Greek

Chapter Text

     Themis was yet another one of the gods that did not have her palace amongst the crowd that Zeus attracted. Her home was high and proud, almost at the mountain’s peak, where not even the clouds dared to go. The powerful constellations, Orion, the Minotaur, the Pegasus, all sat so close to the palace that when Ganymede was trekking up it he was nearly convinced he could reach out and touch them. They seemed to shift in the void that Selene’s light could not touch.

     It had been another day after Helios’s party, and Ganymede had spent it pondering how he should figure out what to do with himself. He wanted to visit Greece again, and perhaps find someone or something that called to him, but he was not sure how to go about it. He did not want the other gods to know he had left, and he did not want Zeus to punish him for “wandering” in his own.

     He considered things to do as he hiked up the giant mountain to the palace of Themis. Should he find a Greek Hero, become his supporter and protector? It did not sound too difficult, but Ganymede was sure that the presence of someone like Heracles or Perseus would not be enjoyable, considering his rather uneventful mortal existence. Should he walk amongst the Greeks and cull a cult for himself? Something like Dionysos had, with constant parties and drinking and psychedelics? Or something like Artemis’s, those incredibly devout to their hunting craft? Ganymede doubted that anyone would be interested in his cult, considering they had nothing in particular to worship him for. Maybe he could make the friend of a Dryad or a river nymph, and they could explore Greece together. No, never mind, he thought, Dryads are tree goddesses, they cannot move, and river nymphs are coy and do not like mortals or gods.

      Ganymede’s hope fizzled out for just a moment, then he remembered why he was climbing up the steep rock, and he walked just a little faster. Themis was the goddess of justice and order, and she was a close companion of oracles. Zeus himself went to her for advice. If anyone on Olympos was to know what Ganymede should do to find purpose, it would be her.

      When his eyes touched the palace, his nerves threatened to fray. It was huge. The marble that it was built with a warm orange, like the glow that Hera’s precious apples cast across the late sky. The pillars were tall and held up a giant, curved roof. The entrance was wide and open, much like the temples in Greece. Candles burned within the giant hall, casting warm shadows across the smooth, multicolored floor.

     Ganymede wondered if he could let his dirty sandals touch the pristine palace. His head spun to his left, where a nymph suddenly burst from a copse of Laurel trees, a bundle of pomegranates in her arms. She fled into the palace, her chiton flapping from the wind she kicked up in her running, and her feet slapped against stone as she disappeared within the palace.

      Ganymede decided he would not be struck down if he simply walked inside without permission. He strangled the strap of his satchel, filled with two figs and a faded green chlamys in case the wind finally pierced his godly skin. He took a deep breath, then slowly entered the palace.

     What looked like a hundred pillars lined the hall, and there were nymphs everywhere, exchanging things, talking, laughing, dancing. It was as if there were multiple celebrations going on at once, and all of them bled easily into each other. One nymph might sashay across the room and encourage another nymph to sway with her, and then a group of them would join in, and laugh and sing. Ganymede felt strange, like he was walking into a ceremony that men were not allowed to be a part of. He walked quickly down the hall, to the very end, where he hoped Themis would be.

      The goddess of justice was perched in the very back of her own palace, on a throne carved from white marble. Tapestries lined the walls that had suddenly crept in, making the room smaller and more private. A bowl of grapes perched on one arm of the throne, and a golden-violet rug rested beneath the goddess’s feet. Despite the grandeur of the space, Themis showed a demure smile on her face, and her robes were modest, and she looked at Ganymede as if she had been waiting for him.

      “The newest god of Olympos,” she whispered, her voice blowing like a breeze to Ganymede’s ears. It was a powerful voice, one that filled his brain and threatened to steal away his thoughts. He wondered if anyone else could hear her. Then he wondered if anyone could ignore that ancient voice.

     “Themis,” he said, then dipped his head to her. When he looked up again, there was a darker smile on her face.

      “What brings you up the mountain, new god?”

      Ganymede considered how best to explain himself. “I would like… some advice.”

      Themis leaned her head forward curiously. “Advice?”

      “Yes. Advice on my path. My future.”

       The goddess brought a hand up to her face and rubbed her cheek. “It has been a very long time since a god last came to see me. Not even Zeus has bothered to visit.”

      Ganymede felt a twinge of sympathy for the goddess. Not only was she powerful, but he was sure that she was more amicable than the other gods. Being the goddess of civility, and all. The gods tended to act according to their traits, which explained why Artemis spent her days with the animals and why Hera became so tyrannical when Zeus shared their bed. He wondered why Themis chose to live away from the others.

     “What kind of advice would you like, dear new god?”

     “My name is Ganymede,” he replied. “I am… unsure what to do with godhood.”

      Themis’s smile grew at Ganymede’s introduction, and she leaned even further forward in her throne. A pair of nymphs blew past them to an adjacent room, but her eyes bore into him, as if unaware of the interruption.

     “Most of Greece would kill to be what you are. Do you know that, Ganymede?”

     He did know that, and while it did make him feel glad he did not survive a different fate, it did not help him understand how he should begin to use it. Zeus had plucked him from earth on a whim, but Ganymede wanted to be sure that he wasn’t so fleeting with his actions as a god. He did not want to be like Zeus, or Ares, or Hera. He wanted to be… well, that was why he came to Themis, wasn’t it? To figure that out?

      “Themis, when you were born. Created. Did you know what to do with your power?”

      “Oh, Ganymede. Your birth and mine were very different. I was bestowed a purpose. You must find one.”

      Ganymede frowned. “Find my purpose?”

       Themis raised her eyebrows. “I am the goddess of oracles, not the goddess of purposes. You are the only one who can find one for yourself, dear Ganymede.”

      Ganymede nodded, feeling a little foolish. He squeezed the satchel strap over his chest.

      “I used to worry about normal things. Lost cattle. Loose stone. Dinner. My friends, and my brothers. Now I can only worry about what I should be worrying about. Does that make sense?”

      He looked at the goddess tragically, begging that someone so different than him could understand. Themis watched him silently for a long time. It seemed almost like she was studying him, reading his features for the information he so badly wanted.

      “Ganymede,” she said finally. “You are no longer a man- you are a god. You must accept what had passed, and become what you are. As for going about that, well. Why not find someone to take you back to Greece? That is where you were born, and that is where most of even our kind live. Many of the Olympians have the power to take you, other than Zeus. If he protests, I will support you.

      “The power you hold right now, dear Ganymede, is choice. Not even the gods can control such a power. Use it wisely. Use it to find what it is you need, this purpose that you desire. And if you should not find it at first, come back to me, and I will help you as best I can.”

     Ganymede nodded. His thoughts felt warm and thick, and he was suddenly very tired. He thanked the goddess and stumbled back home, down the peaks of the mountain, into the palace of Zeus and his modest quarters. His satchel thudded against the marble floor. Even before he pulled the covers over himself, before he had the chance to think about the holy words of the justice goddess, his eyes slipped closed and his mind sunk into sleep.

Chapter Text

Ganymede spent the next few days mulling over what exactly he should do and where exactly he should go to find his moira.

     He briefly considered finding a way to his father, but decided against it, because Zeus himself had given Tros the finest horses in exchange for Ganymede’s undying attention. And his father would suggest the kind of homecoming feast that not even the gods could ignore. And, he could not look at his father now- older, grayer, unknowing of Ganymede’s hollow life.

     Instead, Ganymede considered which of the gods would be willing to help him out of heaven for a while. Which gods would not tell Zeus he happened to be in the fields with Demeter, or the mountains with Pan, or alone, wandering the earth like a regular explorer.

     He could only think of one god- other than Dionysos, who would probably force him into every mortal party in Greece- that could help him, and that had just the right amount of rebelliousness in his blood to be willing to disobey his father.

     Hermes was playing a balancing act of keep his winged hat on his head and slipping Talaria on his feet when Ganymede found him, just outside the gates of heaven. Herakles slumped among the soft clouds surrounding the grassy perimeter of Mount Olympos, a small, prone form behind the messenger god.

     The Seasons flickered in and out of vision like bursts of sparks high in the sky, their voices ancient and incomprehensible. Ganymede approached Hermes carefully, and the god did not hear him until he was very close, not until Ganymede tapped him lightly on his arm.

     Hermes was taller than Ganymede, but not by as much as Artemis. Only a few inches separated them, but when Ganymede dared touch him, he seemed to shift into an extreme height. Something like anger flashed on his face for just a moment, dark and familiar, then he realized it was Ganymede, and his expression turned pleasant. Golden eyes turned soft within their sockets.

     “Ganymede. It’s early, no? Why are you about right now?”

     Ganymede looked up. Helios had already galloped a fourth of the way through the sky. He wasn’t sure if it was the brightness or his disbelief that made him frown. He was nervous. He felt like he was doing something that could get him into trouble. He stroked the satchel strap over his chest anxiously.

      “Hermes, I want to go someplace interesting. Will you help me?”

      The messenger god laughed shortly. “Someplace interesting? Are you not there already?”

      His Greek accent was much thicker than the other gods. The inflections were a comfort to Ganymede. The others spoke Greek as well, but there was some kind of… normalcy, to their voices that felt almost like their words were being translated from some ancient, primordial language. Perhaps it was because Hermes couldn’t help but spend all of his time sending messages back and forth from heaven to earth.

       Ganymede sighed. “I mean, somewhere interesting, not here.” He jabbed a finger down below, through the clouds.

      “Ah.”

      Hermes rubbed a hand over his chin and tapped his golden feet. For a while he stayed that way. Anxiously Ganymede shifted from foot to foot, his hand eventually occupying itself by twirling the fabric of his tunic.

     “I can think of a good place. An exciting place, to be more exact.”

     He perked up. “Really?”

    “Oh, yes. A place that not even the gods are allowed to go, without permission.”

     Ganymede searched his memory. Perhaps he meant the Hesperides, where the godlike artifacts heroes like Perseus used to take kingdoms, where Hera’s sacred tree of golden apples was guarded by powerful goddesses. Or the forests where Artemis frequented, where the maidens of the hunting deity were allowed to roam free. The temples of private gods like Ares and Hades, who people feared more than they exalted. Places where monsters squatted, waiting for someone to antagonize them. None of those places sounded particularly fun, but Ganymede supposed that wasn’t what he requested, or really what he wanted.

     “Yes, I have a perfect place. Come, with me.” Hermes waved Ganymede onward, through the giant, cloudy gates that made the entrance, past Herakles and to the edge of the white tufts. He could see below, where Greece lived, where the palaces and temples of man marked the earth. Where he used to live. Well, near where he used to live. He supposed he was looking at Delphi, or somewhere close to it.

    “We’ll go that way,” Hermes said, then struck the air westward with a hand. Ganymede searched for anything significant he could pick out. It was impossibly hard; there was too many things, which all looked like specks of dust on dirty glass.

      “Can I ask where exactly you are referring to, Hermes?”

      Hermes turned away from the earth below and looked at Ganymede, his face stretching to a grin. Something like wild amusement filled his eyes. “Of course not. That would ruin the surprise, no?”
      “Well, it does not have to be a surprise-”

      Hermes clicked his tongue and wagged a finger at Ganymede. “Ah, ah! Do you distrust me, Ganymede?”
      Ganymede guessed that disagreeing with him would probably be a bad idea, so he just shook his head. Unlike the others, Hermes seemed to pick up on the gesture, and the smile returned to his face. “Good. Now, let us go to Iris. I would carry you on my back, but I worry you will refuse. And then if you refused I would have to wack you with this,” with a sudden flourish a wand appeared in Hermes’s hand, “and then you would not get to enjoy the scenery on the way down.”

     Before Ganymede could decide the seriousness of the messenger god’s words, he padded away, where a rainbow patch had sprung from the clouds, and Ganymede was forced to follow him. The trek was short, but difficult. The clouds sunk like wet sand when he tread through them, threatening to pull him into their misty depths. When they made it to the colorful stream of light, Ganymede immediately scowled. It was beautiful, but it didn’t look like any kind of path he wanted to cross. He could easily see through it to the earth below, and it flickered, like a dying torch.

     “Iris!” Hermes called, his hands over his mouth to strengthen his voice. “Iris, we want to cross!”

      A moment of silence, then from within the rainbow itself Iris burst upward, her snow-white wings engulfing her. Small specks from the bridge floated through the air, like bubbles from a bog. Then she pushed her giant wings outward, sending a rush of air to Hermes and Ganymede and revealing her physical form; a young woman, with dark blonde hair and wide, multicolored eyes. She grinned at the two of them.

     “Hermes! Ganymed!” She held her arms out to them. Hermes took a small bow.

     “Ah, -mede,” Ganymede corrected, and Iris waved a hand at him.

    “I do not have any mead. Sorry, I am not a drinker.”

     Ganymede grinned. “No, my name is Ganymede, not Ganymed, Iris.”

     The goddess’s wings flapped in surprised, and her eyes flashed with delight. “Apologies! I learn many new names each day. And none of you gods come to visit me! I’m surprised I remember your name, Hermes!”

      Hermes used his wand to scratch his shoulder awkwardly. “Are you still upset with me, Iris?”

      Iris sniffed. “Of course not. Why would it bother me that a man has decided that a man is better at being a messenger than me? And, that he should have her Caduceus?”

      “You sound upset, Iris.”

      “Do I? Ganymede, do I sound upset to you?”

      Ganymede put his hands up. He did not want to be a part of their debate. “You both sound upset.”

       Hermes smacked the wand to his chest, leaning toward Ganymede. “You think I sound upset? I did not bring the whole thing up!”

      “Yes, you did, you amathés[1]. You are not making me want to let you cross!”

     Ganymede stepped forward. He did not want to ride on Hermes’s back all the way down to Greece. “Forgive us for being inconsiderate. Please let us cross.”

     Hermes turned to him them, giving him a look of annoyed acceptance. Iris glared at the both of the silently, her wings shifting up and down angrily. She tapped her foot a few times. Then she looked up, cocked her head to the left, and sighed.

      “Very well. You two may cross. Be careful, it gets steep quickly. And Hermes!”

      The messenger god seized at her commanding voice. “Yes, Iris.”

      “Take better care of my wand. I see you’ve dropped it more than once.”

     Hermes rubbed the top of the wand, where twin snakes bit at the air. There were a few scuffs in the golden heads. “Yes, Iris.”

     And so Hermes led Ganymede onward. The rainbow grew steep, along with Ganymede’s nerves, and he stumbled many times on the way down. Hermes marched easily, his legs accustomed to the strange height and sensation. He looked back at Ganymede every now and then, as if to check he had not plummeted into the ocean.

       They landed where Ganymede guessed Hermes was pointing- along the western coast of Greece. A place where Ganymede had never been, where the ocean was big and wide and somehow more blue than he remembered. As Ganymede finally put his feet on solid ground, the rainbow pulled itself back up to Mount Olympos. And, despite the people surrounding the scene, no one seemed to notice.

     Ganymede raced to catch up with Hermes, who was wading through a crowd of Greeks. They were on a dirt path, with the coast to their left and a city to their right. None of them stood past the messenger god’s waist. They all looked tiny, even to Ganymede, carrying their little wares and chattering amongst themselves.

     “Can they not see us?”

      Hermes didn’t turn to look at him. He kept sweeping through the throng. “They cannot. They can probably sense us pushing through them, like wind catching a sail. But they cannot see us.”

      “Is that something all the gods can do, or is it only something you can do?”

      “It is something I and a few other gods can do. Gods like Zeus, who cannot help but be incredibly opulent, are a presence wherever they go. Demeter, as well. To the farmers, she is often seen wading through wheat and tall grasses.”

      “And me? Why can they not see me?”

      Hermes stopped then. Swiveled on his foot to look at Ganymede. Then he slung an arm over Ganymede’s shoulders and pushed him onward. “Already so many questions, and we have not made it to the interesting place yet.”

     They traveled for a long time, along the same road, with the salty breeze from the sea clogging the air. Eventually, the traveled farther inland, and the sea went away, along with the boats, and the hordes of people. Stone homes and workhouses and temples began to line the street. Before one home was a pile of rock, stacked neatly and as tall as a regular human. Hermes stopped beside it.

       “I do not remember this from last time. They must have put it up recently,” He rubbed the stones with his hand. Something like adoration passed over his face, and his shoulders softened.

     “I do feel sorry for Iris. I wish the both of us could help the mortals together.”

     “Why is she no longer the messenger?” Ganymede had heard stories of Iris from his father and brothers, but she was not deity that many Greeks still worshipped. Any cults of hers lived far from where he had ever traveled.

      Hermes grinned. “Because I was a stupid young god and got into enough trouble to convince Zeus he had to keep me busy with something. So he made me the messenger. He gave me the Caduceus, and my Talaria, and my helmet. He replaced Iris with me.”

      Ganymede also felt sorry for Iris. Her very nature as a deity was to be a beacon for the gods. It must have been heartbreaking for her to lose that sense of her identity. After all, what was a god without his or her purpose?

     They continued on for some time, and the structures gave way to rock, along with the road. A river appeared, and on a small beach a single boat sat on the sand. There were no Greeks about. All signs of life had disappeared- even the animals were nowhere to be seen. An ominous feeling seemed to waft from the water, though it looked harmless.

     An interesting place, Hermes had promised. Ganymede’s curiosity grew to an unbearable level.

     Hermes suddenly took Ganymede by the hand, and he led him down to the beach.

     “From now on, you must listen to me closely. Do not fall off this boat!”

     He shook his free hand at the last statement, stressing it’s importance. Ganymede nodded. His mind flooded with questions, but Hermes had expressed more than enough times that answers were discovered, and not given. Instead he stood silently as the chief of robbers pushed them off the pale sand, then leapt back into the boat. The thing shuddered as his feet slammed into wood. The god took up the single, tall paddle that rested over the lip of the boat, and then used it to push the two of them well into the current of the river.

     Quickly the surroundings turned to steep, looming rock, and Ganymede realized they were coming to a cave. It’s murky depths were concealed to them by bitter darkness. Suddenly, the air grew cold, lifeless, and Ganymede began to shiver.

     “Hermes,” he said. “Will you tell me now where we are going?”

      Hermes shifted from where he was, his leg perched on the boat’s bow, and gave Ganymede a wild grin. “Do not worry, Ganymede. It will be exciting, like I promised.”

       “That is not what I’m worried about,” Ganymede huffed, tired of the god’s ambiguousness. He stared limply as the cave crept closer, until it swallowed them whole in a rush of cold wind. Ganymede lost all of his bearings in the darkness, and he suddenly understood why Hermes commanded he stay on the boat. If he fell into the water, he was sure he would drown. The entrance had suddenly disappeared.

      “Hermes? Are you still there?”
     The god’s laugh echoed over rock. “Hermes? I am Zeus, mighty wielder of the lightning bolt!” He made a growling sound in his throat, then rocked the boat back and forth. Ganymede sunk down on his knees to keep from pitching backward.

      “Aphòdeuma[2],” Ganymede gritted under his teeth, his legs shaking in fear and surprise. He was glad it was dark, so Hermes could not see him cower from his bullying.

     “Alright, alright! No more questions!” Ganymede cried, waving his hand in the air as if Hermes could see it. The messenger god said nothing, but Ganymede could feel the soft sway from his feet as he shifted his weight back and forth on the boat. What did that mean? Was he excited, or nervous? Ganymede expected to go somewhere he was at least partially familiar with, but this was not that at all. He didn’t remember any stories about caves, or utter darkness, or caves filled with utter darkness. It seemed even more terrifying in its regularity. He wanted some familiar monster or nymph to jump out at him, so that he could understand a little of what was going on.

     Within the blackness, shafts of blue light began to appear before them, like the morning sun bleeding through a dark curtain. It did not burn Ganymede’s eyes. It was a part of the sudden night, like a necessary contrast. The light was soft, and it came from a single source, far away and taller than anything Ganymede had ever seen.

      The structure came into focus as they came steadily closer, as did everything around them. Ganymede looked down, to where he could finally see his feet. A wriggle of movement flitted from the corner of his eye, and he turned to it.

      He fell backwards, his butt hitting the belly of the boat and sending Hermes stumbling backwards.

      “Ah, Ganymede!” he cried, clutching the oar to keep his footing. He turned to scowl at him. “What is the matter with you?”

     Ganymede was speechless. All he could do was point to his right, into the water surrounding the boat. Creatures, many of them, pale and long and misty, curled and spun in the river water. They had faces, and something like arms and legs, but they were ill-formed. Something like a horrified expression filled the creature’s faces, which seemed to force unease into Ganymede’s bones.

      “Those are the dead,” Hermes said simply, and when Ganymede looked up, he was leaned over him, peering at the water curiously. “Easy to ignore them, once you travel this way long enough.”

      “They look like they’re in pain,” Ganymede admitted. He had to grimace when he looked at them. He knew the myths of the dead, that good people would live in a field of flowers and the bad people, people who had murdered their families and neglecting their fates, would be given harsh, unique punishment. He wasn’t sure what he expected the way to the land of the dead would be, but it was not this.

      “River Acheron. River of Woe, it is called,” Hermes said. “All the rivers of the Underworld are roads for the dead, but this one. This one is for the specially ill-fated.”

      Did you have to take me along this one? Ganymede thought angrily, his fear fueling his nerves. He held his breath as they continued onward, the world becoming sheerer, starker, more detailed.

[1] Fool in Ancient Greek

[2] The equivalent to “shit” in Ancient Greek

Chapter Text

When they finally reached a shoreline, an end to the wandering Acheron, Hermes beached the boat and the two gods stepped onto dry land. The Underworld, the heart of the thing, had revealed itself to them. The entrance was a giant, rock-hewn gate glowing from the red lava that surrounded it, it’s own deadly river. The Acheron continued and swirled before the front of the gates, and spirits leapt every now and then, like dolphins, from the misty water.

    Of course, the biggest spectacle was the giant three-headed dog that paced before the gates, a giant creature made of black fur and viciously dark eyes. It reared its snout and sniffed the waters. The stench from its maw was like death incarnate; the horror of it, the fear. Ganymede knew there was a god specifically of death, his name he could not recall.

      “You did not tell me the exciting place would be the underworld!” Ganymede’s voice was harsh, but he could not find it in himself to care. Finally, Hermes’s ambiguity and tricky words had fallen into place. This was a place where not even the gods were allowed to roam freely, and it was certainly what one might consider an exciting place. There were fantastical things, like death gods, and giant dog-beasts, and anguished spirits. Other terrifying things.

     “Would you have come with me if I told you where we really going?” Hermes watched him with a satisfied expression, his arms crossed over his chest.

    “The name “chief of robbers” is starting to make sense,” Ganymede grumbled under his breath. He pointed to the giant, black, wrought iron gates. Cerberus paced before them, his tail lashing angrily, his six eyes all pointed to the two of them.

     “If I ask whether we’re heading that way, will you actually answer? Or will you give me another vague response, in an attempt to further disorient me?”

     Hermes’ grin widened at Ganymede’s outburst. He’d lost any pretense of manners, which seemed to delight the messenger god rather than insult him. “Dear Ganymede. We are passing through the gates of the Underworld.”
     “Do you have some trick, to prevent us from being eaten?”

     Hermes waved a hand. “Oh, no need for that. Follow me.”

     With that, he swiveled gracefully on his feet, and the two of the treaded across the black rock and sand that made the path to the gates. Acheron shrunk significantly before it, so all Ganymede had to do was make a well-aimed jump to cross it. Hermes stilted over the thing easily.

     As they got steadily closer, Cerberus’s excitement increased. The rumble in his throat grew louder, and his tail lashed wildly, kicking up great bursts of wind. Ganymede remained frozen as Hermes approached the creature, one hand out as if to placate him. Cerberus leaned toward the messenger god, taking whiffs of his scent. He blinked slowly, in careful deliberation.

     Cerberus opened his pitch mouth and ran his brown tongue along Hermes’s palm. The god laughed, taking his other hand patting the beast’s snout.

     “What a good guard dog,” Hermes cooed, giving him a hard smack between the eyes. It must have registered to Cerberus as an affectionate pat, because Ganymede watched as his butt began to shake with the power of his wagging tail.

     “Let’s go, Ganymede,” Hermes called. With one last cautious look at the terrifying creature, Ganymede followed Hermes through the gates of hell. The rock gave way to more rock, concealing everything, but there was that hollow blue light glowing far off again, beckoning Ganymede. Hermes seemed to be leading him toward it.

     “I thought there was a boatman that took souls to the Underworld. Why are they trapped in this strange river?”

    “There is a boatman,” Hermes responded. “Charon. He works on the banks of Styx and Acheron, but he prefers the former river. More eventful, he claims. The souls in the river, well. This is probably their punishment.”

     “Punishment?” Ganymede admonished, his hands wrapping around the strap of his satchel. He’d never heard of such a thing. Was it terrible of him, to be a god and know so little of how the supernatural world worked?

     “Yes, punishment, Ganymede. The souls of all humans receive their immortal condition based on the merits they received as living creatures. Do not worry, this is not a fate you will suffer.”

     That is not what I’m worried about, Ganymede thought to himself. What a terrifying concept. Being judged, based on a single life. What if you made mistakes? Had accidents? Chose fates that society did not respect? Prostitutes, and herdsmen, and farmers? Did they receive bad afterlives, simply because they did things that other people didn’t deem honorable? Or were those paths feared only by humans, fears of which the gods had no qualms?

     You’ll discover soon, as Hermes would say, Ganymede decided.

     “Have you really never been told stories of this place?” Hermes asked him, giving him a curious side eye as they walked onward.

     “I watched cattle in the mountains. I was on my own very often. Stories were not something I heard.”

     That was partially a lie. Ganymede’s father would scold him for listening to storytellers in the palace or the city, and often stressed the uselessness of the imagination. At the time, he hated the man for reprimanding him. His wandering imagination was not his fault. Now, the memory felt dear.

      “I’d heard of the gods, or course,” Ganymede added. “I’d heard of all the especially grand things you’d all done. The kings you blessed, and the heroes you raised. I prayed to Apollo for a keen eye, and Demeter, for rich apricots so I would not go hungry in the mountains. Beyond that, I didn’t know much. I-”

     He snapped his mouth shut in surprise. Was he really going to say something like that in front of a god? An Olympian? He shook his head.

     “I had little need for divine aid,” Ganymede ended.

     They were silent for the rest of the journey. Ganymede finally discovered the source of the eerie light. It was the glow of candles, within a giant, lavish temple made of the palest marble he had ever seen. The structure was clenched within the rock, starkly contrasting its gloomy surroundings.

     “The temple of Hades,” Hermes announced, spreading his arms out as if to take in the sight. “Now, the temple of Hades and Persephone, and all the other gods who work and live down here.”

      “This doesn’t look all that frightening,” Ganymede admitted. It looked homely, if a bit dry of color. There was a warmth coming from within the temple. He felt called to it.

      The two gods entered the temple slowly, carefully. Ganymede took in the interior with wide eyes. The walls were lined with blue torches, identical to their orange counterparts outside of their hue. Just like in Themis’s temple, there were nymphs everywhere. They looked different from those in Olympos however. They were pale and dark-eyed, and a sort of emotionless expression filled their faces.

     “Lampades, they are called,” Hermes leaned to whisper in his ear. “They are goddesses in the service of Hekate. Don’t worry, they warm up once you start conversation.” He gave Ganymede a delighted wink.

     One of the Lampades passed Ganymede, and he swore he saw her face perk up just slightly, as if in curiosity. He smiled back at her out of courtesy, but she flickered away before he could see her reaction.

     He turned his gaze before him, to the rest of the temple. It was wide and long, and there were many pillars inside to support the giant room. The hall seemed to be an entrance to an even larger room behind it, concealed by a white stone wall with a single door cut out of it. Hermes led Ganymede toward the passageway.

     “Are we going to see Hades?”

     Hermes seemed to have dropped the mysterious act, and he nodded immediately. “Hades, and Persephone, and the Infernal Judges. And the Elysian Fields, you’d like. But I don’t imagine you’d want to go any further.”

     Ganymede stopped himself from wondering what exactly that meant, even though he was already sure. The second entrance welcomed them to even more light, a warm pink and yellow glow from torches adorned with softer colors. He imagined that kind of design was a product of Persephone’s touch.

     The King and Queen of the Underworld sat on a pair of twin thrones. Hades’s was made of black stone and deep blue fabric. His wife’s chair was covered in bright green vines and purple violets, the only splash of life within the temple. It struck Ganymede as romantic, even if it were an evil reminder of Persephone’s past life. The life she had before she was taken from her mother.

     He wondered how long it took for her to warm up to her husband, her captor. Dark veil to her sunshine.

     Persephone spotted them easily as they crept along the even larger hall. There were more Lampades, carrying torches, and baskets of food, and other various items. Hermes and Ganymede had to push through a crowd of them to meet her, and by that time the three of them were breathless.

     Persephone beamed at Ganymede. “What are you doing here, boy? Oh, this is wonderful, I never get visitors!”

    Hermes gave her a scathing look. “I come here often enough.”

    Persephone shooed him with a hand. “You only come to do business with my husband. You hardly even say hello. And I have to deal with the blubbering nymphs you abandon just as they’ve fallen madly in love with you!”

     “I can’t help that I’m attractive, dear sister.” The messenger raised a smug eyebrow at her.

     “Yes well. I only wish you spent my time with your clothes on in my home rather than not.”

     Ganymede grinned at the goddess’s smart outburst. Persephone beckoned them toward the twin throne. “Come, we’ll have dinner. Hekate’s here, as well as Thanatos. We’ll play a game or two.”

    Thanatos? Ganymede shuddered. He’d certainly heard the name before. God of death, death itself. His touch was soft, his act quick and painless. Not even Zeus could dismiss his power.

    He could have certainly gone without meeting the man, ever.

Chapter Text

     Ganymede couldn’t tell if it was some special occasion, or it was common that hundreds of nymphs and other creatures of the dead would flood the temple, dancing and singing and eating and drinking and sitting and doing various things that Ganymede felt he was not allowed to watch. Persephone glided through the crowded rooms- there seemed to be hundreds of these rooms (full of nymphs, all of them), and she took them through each, a maze. A clearing sat at the end of it all.

     The circular clearing was made of black stone and guarded by impenetrable darkness. Beyond a hundred paces or so, it was impossible to see anything at all. Blue and purple torches hung on the natural outcroppings, and elegantly crafted tables and chairs were scattered throughout the space.

     Persephone gestured to the scene with a hand and a billow of her silk skirts. “Hades dear doesn’t like it when I wander off. He says it’s too dangerous.” She grinned cheekily. “I suspect he’s hiding something lewd from me.”

      Her husband appeared from behind Ganymede and Hermes, a black-cloaked creature following him. He stopped at his wife’s side and gave her a serious look, staved off by the affectionate arm he looped about her waist.

      “I’m only thinking of your safety, wife.”

       Persephone crossed her arms. “You don’t have to worry about my safety, husband. I am a goddess, I know how to take care of myself.” The humor in her voice remained, but some of it gave way to what sounded to Ganymede like resentment.

     He could understand the distrust Persephone felt. It was likely the two of them argued over the same circumstances often. He assumed it was the spring goddess’s only way of fighting back against her captor. Her husband. The man she loved.

     Hades ignored Persephone and gestured to the figure beside him, still thoroughly concealed beneath his long, black cloak.

     “Thanatos,” he announced, and the figure swept the hood from his face with an almost dramatic flourish.

     He was a blue thing, humanlike in his features, his powerful shoulders, his strong, thin nose. But his skin was blue, blue like a clear sky, and his eyes were two pools of orange fire. He almost had no pupils, they were so small, but so dark and deep that they might as well have engulfed his entire face. A golden amulet hung from his neck and glimmered in the dim light, and a silver scythe hung on his back. His hair was dark and blue like ocean waves.

     “I am Thanatos.” He took a bow, his hand slipping over the crown of his head to pull away his hood as he rose. “God of Death.”

     Persephone grinned openly at the display and clapped at the end of it. “You don’t have to do that every time you meet someone new, but gods, do I enjoy it when you do.”

     The god’s lips pursed, but he said nothing. His gaze turned to Hermes, and then Ganymede, and when his eyes landed on the lesser god, his brows drew together.

     “I know you,” he murmured. He turned to Hades. “Tell me his name, brother.”

     The ruler nodded to Ganymede. “Ganymede. God of-” he hesitated. “A god, Thanatos. He is a god.”

     “Ganymede,” Thanatos murmured, his blazing eyes locked on the lesser god. “The Fates, they spoke about you. They do not like it when Zeus meddles in their affairs.”

      Ganymede said nothing, feeling strangely guilty for the actions of his lover. The two stared at one another, a match gleaning and intense. The young god was surprised to realize that he was not as afraid of the God of Death as he assumed he would be- but he supposed that made sense, considering his lack of mortality.

      “Should we all sit?” Persephone offered, flourishing a table full of fruit and wine that magically appeared behind her. Hekate was already sat, ever an ambiguity, a chalice one hand and her purple gaze flicking from one face to another. The goddess of spring slipped into the seat beside her, and then Hades beside his wife, and so Ganymede found himself sitting between the god that had snuck him into hell and the god that had once planned on imprisoning him there.

     “Ganymede,” Hekate started, plucking a grape from a golden bowl. “I see you’ve finally pulled your hand from Zeus’s cock and realized Heaven is a bore.”

      Shame licked at Ganymede’s neck, and Persephone smacked at her friend’s wrist. The magic goddess continued to stare at him. “Must you be rude, Hekate? Maybe you are the reason I have so little guests.”

        As if conceding, Hekate turned her gaze away from him with a slow blink. She considered the table before her, putting her hand over Persephone’s casually.

       “You are Zeus’s new prize, and the gods always lust after their father’s spoils.” A blue tongue flicked over her white teeth. “You should be careful, Ganymede. Hermes is a more honorable god than some. You should not be quick to accept every hand that is offered to you.”

       Ganymede didn’t completely understand what the goddess meant, but he felt the imperious aura that filled the air from her presence, and so he nodded. Ares had already tried to claim him. Ganymede didn’t like to consider the idea that there were others in Heaven that also planned to pursue.

     A god with no purpose- small, weak, and quiet. What could they possibly want with him? He, a prize? The idea was so absurd, he fought the urge to dismiss it entirely.

       “Heaven is a stupid place,” Thanatos offered. “Too bright, too many people. Dionysos is the only god that is somewhat pleasant when he is drunk. The others are unbearable. I wish I could claim their names and send them here to suffer in the silence.”

       Ganymede blinked at the death god as he casually nipped at his wine. He turned his gaze to Hermes, who was grinning delightedly at the candid outburst. He had never heard a god be so blatant about his disgust for the palace of the King of Heaven. Ganymede briefly considered whether or not Zeus had heard them.

       “Why do you think we avoid visiting?” Hekate looked at Ganymede as if he was stupid, and Ganymede couldn’t help but grin, feeling like he understood them, these gods. At least, he understood them more than the ones that stayed un Heaven.

      “I wish you would visit more often,” Hermes said, popping a raspberry in his mouth. “Dionysos does not come much anymore. He is too busy with the mortals. I am bored out of my mind at those parties. But I must go, because Zeus forces me to.”

     Hermes pouted his lips at Ganymede. “Being a favorite is a pain, is it not, Ganymede?”

      Hades scoffed. “At least you do not have to fuck him.”

      Ganymede couldn’t help but laugh. The table flicked their eyes to him, all surprised. The young god rubbed at his jaw, feeling suddenly self-conscious.

      “What? What is it?”

      Persephone grinned. “I don’t think I’ve ever heard you laugh, Ganymede.”

      Ganymede blinked. A few of the others nodded in concession. Thanatos just continued to stare at him. He seemed more generally alarmed at the emotional outburst rather than the fact that it was one of happiness.

      “I can manage it, sometimes,” Ganymede murmured, rubbing the back of his neck.

     Persephone kept her eyes on him for a long while, and did not speak until Ganymede finally worked up the courage to meet her gaze. “Know that there are many beautiful places in the world, Ganymede. Just because Zeus heralds Heaven, does not mean it is where you are forced to stay. Where you are meant to be. Do you understand?”

      There was pain in the spring goddess’s face, pain that Ganymede could see clearly. He understood what Persephone implied- that his freedom was his strength, and that it was best not to be idle. A unique pain filled his chest at the thought that Persephone could not explore outside of the Underworld when it was not summer. And then, she was shackled to her duties as a goddess, and to her doting mother. Very soon, she would be alone in the dark and cold for a long winter.

      He resolved to visit her again soon.

Chapter Text

      Hermes decided for the both of them that they would stay in the temple for the next several days. Ganymede was not upset at the decision, but he did feel apprehensive still, being in the realm of the weary dead.

     “Of all the places you’d want to show me, Hermes, I am surprised this was the first.” Ganymede plussed the covers of his bed, softer and cooler than anything he felt in his whole life or afterlife. The stone walls surrounding them were adorned with red and black shrouds. A single candle hung in the open window, illuminating a few feet of their complete darkness outside.

     Hermes was already laid out on his own bed, his winged sandals still on his feet. His helmet rested on the ground beside him, exposing a head of wavy brown hair which hung just below his golden shoulders. Ganymede couldn’t help but stare at him, so brilliant and superior, even stretched out on a bed of pillows like an overgrown cat.

     “You have to start from the bottom, if you want to make it to the top.” The god shifted in his bed and turned to look at Ganymede, who had begun to take of his sandals. “I had to test the waters. If Zeus will allow you to roam the underworld, then he probably will not notice if I take you a few countries away from home, yes?”

      The thought that Zeus should come down from his palace to fetch him made Ganymede's palms begin to sweat. There was no hiding from the King of Heaven. He would surely have to return soon, or Zeus would punish both him and the messenger god who had been stewarding him. He hoped that he would find his “purpose”, his duty, sooner rather than later, so that the sneaking would not become a problem. But he quickly thought the wish was rather foolish.

      “Hermes.”

      “Yes, dear Ganymede.”

      “How did you figure out what you wanted to do with your goodlihood?”

        Hermes propped himself up on an elbow, his eyes aglow. There was something dark in his expression that Ganymede couldn’t decipher but set him on edge. He stared at Ganymede for a long while. “I was not given a choice. Zeus commanded I be the messenger of Heaven and a guide to the dead when I was very young. Would it surprise you to know that many of my family did not have a say in their statuses, Ganymede?

     Ganymede sat down on his bed, clenching his knees tight. “Yes.”

      Hermes waved a hand. “Surprise. The gods do not have as much independence as you may think, little immortal. Rules exist on Heaven and Earth, and some are more oppressive than others. Persephone is not the only woman that has suffered due to Zeus negligence, and she is certainly not the only god.”

      Ganymede sighed, rubbing a hand down his face. “Every day I discover more I don’t know.”

     Hermes only grinned at him. “Don’t worry, dear Ganymede. We will return home tomorrow. You can go back to your cup bearing and weaving, and Zeus won’t suspect a thing.”

      Ganymede laid down on top of his covers, tucking his hands behind his head. The ceiling swirled as he became lost in his thoughts. Perhaps he had no control over his fate at all. But then why did Thetis give him hope that he could choose?

     “Thank you, Hermes.”

     “Oh?”

     “For taking me here.”

     “You’re welcome, dear Ganymede. It was my pleasure. You’re quite the entertaining fellow, I must say.”

     Ganymede sighed and slipped under his blankets, sinking into a dark, heavy sleep.

     “You’ve returned.”

      A field behind Zeus's palace, where the dryads liked to roam. Ganymede looked up from the handful of wildflowers in his hand. Zeus stood before him, his hair longer then when he saw him last. There were golden cuffs in the dark waves which gleamed in Helios’s light. Another pair of golden cuffs were fastened around his wrists. Ganymede saw the intricate circles carved into the gold as Zeus tucked a hand under his chin.

     “Stand up, Ganymede.”

     And Ganymede stood, brushing the dirt from his lap and clutching the bundle of wildflowers to his chest. Bring the flowers to Zeus to soothe whatever mood he was in about Ganymede’s disappearance, that had been Ganymede plan. He always tended to be in some kind of mood, anyway.

      “You were with Hades. I can smell his stench on you.”

      Ganymede’s heart kicked against his chest. He pulled a Hyacinth from his bundle and offered it to Zeus. “Hermes took me to see Persephone. She and I are… becoming friends, I think.”

      The thunder god took Ganymede’s offering. After a moment of consideration, he threaded a finger behind Ganymede’s ear and slipped the stem of the flower into his hair. Then he leaned down and put his lips to his forehead.

     “So you are getting more comfortable.”

     Ganymede had a hard time deciphering whether the hand gripping his ribs was comforting or possessive. “Yes.”

     Zeus brought his lips down to Ganymede’s face, and the young god numbly accepted the kiss that he planted on his lips. His mouth opened obediently as Zeus slipped his tongue across his teeth, and then along Ganymede’s own. The scent of pine and ambrosia filled his nose as Zeus enveloped him completely.

     “You should tell me when you do things such as these,” Zeus breath was hot, and Ganymede closed his eyes against his imperious gaze.

     “Yes,” he gasped as Zeus slipped a hand down his back and onto his ass. “I’m sorry.”

      “You are very important to me, Ganymede.” The thunder god gripped tighter, and Ganymede leaned against his chest as his legs weakened. He tipped Ganymede’s chin again, a grin on his golden face. “So serious. But so gentle. You and Hera are so different.”

     Ganymede’s pride wrinkled in his chest, but he kept a pleasant look on his face. He reached up to his tiptoes and planted a kiss on Zeus’s lips. An expression of pleasure and poorly concealed lust filled the god’s face.

      “Meet me in my chambers tonight, Ganymede.”

Chapter Text

     A night at the whim of the Thunder God, and Ganymede was sore the next morning when he awoke in Zeus's giant silk bed. He laid there for a long while, feeling the aches in his body where for days he had been free of them, and he fought the urge to find his petulant lover and strangle him. On his own Zeus did little more than wander- Heaven and earth. His boredom was the main cause of his unbridled lust. Surprisingly, since Ganymede had become his bedmate, the thunder god had yet to find another poor sack to warm his bed, but he was sure it wouldn't be long. 

     Athena’s palace was one of Ganymede's favorite places to visit when he wanted to clear his thoughts. It sat in the center of a field of white lilies, far east from Zeus’s residence. The halls were made of gray marble, and unlike the others, did not bustle with many servants. The warrior goddess preferred a unique amount of solitude from gods and nymphs alike, and Ganymede could almost always find her in the palace center, sparring or meditating or practicing some other patient form of sharpening. Each of the gods had some kind of immortal following, be it strictly servitude or reverence. A great deal of creatures- nymphs and centaurs and other sprites- came to Athena to listen to her teachings, watch her feats of athleticism, and spar with her more experienced followers.  

     A field lay in the center of lady Athena’s grounds. The grass was always shorn and there was always a few of Athena’s young disciples practicing their sword fighting or shooting or hand-to-hand.

     A short, young blonde with a tangle of braids in her hair ran up to Ganymede as he entered the familiar grounds. “Medei. Are you here to practice? Do you need a partner?”

     Ganymede put a hand to the young girl’s head. A flower nymph, he guessed. One he had seen before in Athena’s palace but could not recall the name of. “Thank you, but I’m here to speak to Pallas Athena. Do you know where she is now?”

     The little nymph led him into the south halls of the palace, where Athena kept beds for her disciples- they were not the most comfortable, but they could be better than the obligations that followed the beds of other gods. Athena had a room of her own in the southmost area of the palace, which is where the girl took Ganymede.

     Her quarters were exposed to the open air. Four white pillars and a roof over the bed were the only structures that kept them from the woods outside. A woman with a beautiful silver lyre sat on a stool beside the war goddess’s bed. He pale fingers played slow, sleepy music to the pile that lay out on the mattress.

     “Athena. You have a guest.” And before Ganymede could protest, embarrassed to wrestle the great goddess from her slumber, Athena slipped from under gray sheet, completely naked. Her deep brown hair hung in waves over her chest and back. She stretched her neck and snagged the chalice from her bedside, draining it of its final spoonfuls of ambrosia. Then she turned to look at him, a sharp look in her silver eyes.

     “Hello, Ganymede.”

     “Hello, Athena.”

     “I think I know why you’re here.”

      Ganymede couldn’t help but grin, and he began to tip his head. “It would be an honor, dear Athena, if you would-”

      Athena raised a hand. “Please Ganymede.” She pulled herself off the bed and stood proudly, her skin tan and smooth, her body comprised of tights cords of muscle. She was beautiful, and terrifying, and Ganymede immediately suspected her of trying to shake him before their practice. She could be quite coy, when she wanted to be. “What weapon will you use today, young god?”

     “I’d hoped you’d shoot with me.”

     Athena sighed. “Generally, one wants to hone the skills he is less adept with.”

     Ganymede hooked a hand to his side. “I wouldn’t want to lose my edge.”

     “Very well. Pick your tools, and I will find you when you are ready.”

     Ganymede plucked a familiar bow from Athena’s armory (there were three, each placed equidistant from one another within the inner quarters of the palace; just the kind of design Ganymede expected from the goddess of strategy) and headed into the woods. There were a few figures working target practice already when he arrived, and they greeted Ganymede as he entered. The whistle of arrows hung in the air as the group loosed them at will. But the few quickly cleared to let Medei practice. There were only so many things Ganymede prided himself on, and his arm was one of them. That was how he first won Zeus's affections- his beauty, and his sharpshooting. Now he knew the skill as a double-edged sword, but it still made him happy to practice. He lost himself in the rhythm of the bow and string, the tug of the arrows from the sheath, as he brought them before his eye and pressed his breath on every feather. Everything seemed to fall away when he practiced, and he could forget where he was, even if it was just for an hour or two. 

    “Of all the gods and monsters I’ve witnessed wield a bow, you are by far the most impressive.”

     Ganymede tried his best not to grin as drew another arrow back, pressing the string to his lips as he carefully eyed the red target opposite him. A thunk, and the arrow landed in the very center, vibrating for a few second after from the impact.

     “Thank you, Athena.” He hitched a hand to his side and turned to look at the goddess, who stood against a thick fig tree. “It is a great honor to receive your compliments.”

     Athena clucked her tongue. “Do not let it get to your head, Medei. There are other things with which you need more practice.”

     Ganymede brought down his bow. “Like what?”

     “Your hand-to-hand is, in comparison to your aim, severely lacking.”

     “Well, if my aim is better than gods and monsters alike, then my hand-to-hand must not be all that bad.”

     Athena gave him a cross look, and Ganymede sighed. “You want me to spar instead?”

     A grin, white and terrifying as a bolt of lightning. “I want you to spar with me.”

     Ganymede shifted on his left foot, his eyes on the shining figure before him. Even without her armor, Athena gleamed like a blade in the sunlight, her face dark and impassable. They paced in the common area of her palace. A crowd formed as soon as Athena shucked her cuffs and loosed her hair for the match.

     “They’re fighting,” a servant murmured, a vase hanging in her hands. The god beside her shushed her. He was one of few males that frequented Athena’s lair, his name Alastor. The skull of an elk rested over his face, a pale white, concealing all but a pair of bright green eyes. Black braids fell down his shoulders and almost to the golden tassel securing his dark green robes.

     The Ruler of Retribution, he was called by many. He was the spirit of vengeance and a god both Athena and Ares held dear. Ganymede had met him on a number of occasions on account of Alastor constantly asking to train with him. At first he was incredibly frightening- even more so than the giants that surrounded him like Ares and Hera, due to his appearance. But in truth, he wasn't all that intimidating. There was an air of antagonism that followed him almost everywhere. Medei wasn’t sure if the god had some kind of complex, or if he was truly curious about him, but either way he was averse to the attention.

     Just as averse as he was now. He tried his best to avoid the sights and sounds around him as Athena gestured him forward. And as he drew near, she grasped his hand and held them out on her palms. She began to blow on them.

     “Athena.”

     “Yes, Medei.”

     “What are you doing?”

     “Blessing your hands. I bless the hands of every warrior which has my favor before they go to battle.”

     “I think the blessing will be worthless against the bearer herself.”

      At Athena’s sharp gaze, Ganymede shut his mouth.

     “Don’t worry, Ganymede. You will not die.”

     Medei laughed, his nerves spiking. “I worry more about being beaten to a pulp.”

     "Will you go easy on me, Goddess?" Medei pulsed on his feet, finding his balance on the grassy arena. 

     "Would you like me to go easy on you, or would you like to get better?"

     The crowd around them let out a wave of laughter. Athena held her arms out and gestured him forward with a flick of her hand. Her arms were rife with muscle which Medei tried his best not to be intimidated by. He focused on his breathing, flexing his fingers, loosening his shoulders. He advanced, his fists tight. Athena would ridicule him if he held back against her, and so as soon as he came close, he threw his left leg, landing a strike against her thigh. He brought his fists up before him, expecting a responsive jab to his face. 

      A blow to the stomach, and Medei folded over in pain as his lungs constricted. 

      He looked up just as Athena struck him across the face with the back of her hand, and he fell back. "You are slow, Medei."

     Ganymede pulled himself off his ass. His cheek smarted, and so did his stomach, but he stood up, frustration rising in his throat. Athena held out a palm. "You give a man a second to breathe, and he will think of a way to beat you. Do not give him that breath. Come." Another flick of her hand, and Ganymede let out a short sigh. He pushed forward, his arms up, his face burning with embarrassment. He landed another kick, and then threw a fist at Athena's face. She absorbed it easily with her forearms, and so Medei threw his other fist at her side, which did little but send a shockwave of pain down his knuckles. Athena's skin was like iron, hard and heavy and impossible to put any dent in. Still, he was happy to have landed more than one strike. And in his small fit of happiness, Athena brought her knee forward, throwing him onto his back. 

      Ganymede gasped as the air rushed out of him once again. He held a palm to his stomach, willing himself to breath. Through his half-lidded eyes, he could see that Athena was smiling. 

     "You give a man a second to breathe, and he will think of a way to beat you. Get up, Ganymede."

     Medei rose on shaking legs. "Can we go back to target practice?" Out of the corner of his eye, he could see that Alastor was watching him, his eyes glowing with something more than that characteristic primordial vengeance. There was a hunger there, one that he had seen before in the eyes of men that meant to claim him for themselves. It snaked down his body, his chest and hips and legs, exposed by his thin white chiton. He looked away quickly, feeling naked before it. 

     "One more time, Ganymede. I know you can do better." 

     He advanced. Before he could land a blow, the goddess shoved him back with a kick to his chest. He gritted his teeth, an anger rising in him that felt strangely intoxicating.

      Ganymede couldn't shake the sight of those hungry eyes. The pain in his stomach and the sting on his cheek melted away. He was tired of feeling helpless. He had given men like Zeus and Ares more than enough breaths, more than enough victories in the time that he'd come to Heaven. As confident as he felt with his bow, there was little chance of skewering on his part in the places where he wanted to fight back. 

     He advanced yet again, his fists up and his legs ready for whatever attack might loosen his footing. With a sudden fury he spread out his arms and drove his shoulder into Athena's stomach, tackling her to the ground. He focused on her core, landing a few good punches to her ribs before she planted her hands on his shoulders and twisted. Then he was beneath her, holding his arms up to block what blows he could that she loosed at his face. He shifted his hips wildly, attempting to shake loose beneath her, but it was hard to think when each strike made his head ring. With a frustrated growl he pushed his upper body forward and snaked his arms around her neck. She began to beat away at his ribs, turning his insides to hot liquid. But Ganymede managed to get a leg out from behind her mount, and he shoved his heel into her stomach as hard as he could, throwing her off of him. 

     She began to laugh. "Oh, that was good, Medei." And then she lunged, engulfing him with her body. Before Ganymede could respond, she had her thick arms around his neck, and his throat closed. He struggled limply against her grip, but it was fruitless. 

     "You have more fight in you than I thought, dear Medei." 

     Ganymede drifted into an uncomfortable unconsciousness. 

Chapter Text

     Athena stood in the flat just below the mountaintop, the pads of her feet tingling with excitement. Before her stood her father, the God of Lightning, in all his golden splendor. His chiton was black and embroidered with silver across the neck and hem, and a silver tassel cinched his nearly exposed waist. As always, there was an air of superiority that surrounded him as he stared her down.

      Themis would surely hear them, if not all the petty gods that Athena called family below. She hoped they would. She hoped it would plant unease in their minds, fear and want of rebellion.

     “It’s only been a month, daughter.” Zeus’s eyes glowed in the moonlight, his expression relentlessly brutal. He had never afforded Athena a soft gaze in all her long life, and he certainly wouldn’t now. “What could you have possibly learned in that time to crush me?”

      She unsheathed the giant blade and shield at her back, feeling the familiar weight of them in her hands. “While you sit on your sagging ass and fuck every lily that floats in the pond, I sit in the water, waiting to strike-  you will soon become weak with jealousy, like your father before you.”

      A grin spread across Zeus’s face. “Weak like you will become with fury one day, daughter. There is no point in unseating me, if strength is your only enterprise. I am and always will be the King of the Gods.” He held up a fist. The crackle of lightning spread across his fingers. “I made you, little girl. I can destroy you just as easily.”

      Athena scoffed, resentment buzzing in her chest. Feelings would do her no good now. She needed to focus. “You need me.”

      “For now. But one day, another god or goddess will come, and they will be smarter, and more obedient than you. That day, I will wring your neck like I wrung my father’s, and put another in your place.”

      Athena screeched as she rushed her father, her blade ready. A bolt of lightning rained down from the sky, and she absorbed it quickly with her shield, the buzz of electricity travelling up her arm. She grinned as she brought her blade down on Zeus’s shoulder with a wet thunk. Then she yanked, bringing the length across his flesh before he could grasp it in his golden fingers. The scent of scorched earth filled the air as he hailed down a trio of thunder bolts, each quicker than the last.

     Athena’s shield fell to the earth as she was struck on the elbow, but before Zeus could grab her throat, she rolled to her left, plucking it up again. She snaked out a leg as she spun, bringing the thunder god down to one knee. The rumble of angry thunder filled the air, making her ears ring.

     Zeus managed to thread his fingers into the leather of her sandals, and he dragged her underneath him. His fingernails gouged into the flesh of her back, and he drove a knee into her crotch. She spun, throwing her shield arm into his face, and he fell back from the impact.

    She shucked the blade and shield away and pounced on her father, bringing her fists hard on his face. Her thighs tightened hard around him, and she felt repulsed by the wild squirming of his hips. She bared her teeth as she struck his face, settling easily into the beastly rage inside of her.

      Her body shuddered with pain as the crackle of thunder filled her ears and white light engulfed her vision. “You are weak to your instincts, little girl.”

     She slumped onto her side as her body was rendered limp. Her ears rung, and she looked up weakly at her father, who stood above her, the thunder clouds above him shadowing his face. Only his eyes were visible, aglow with white light, pulsing with fingers of electricity.

      She could only pull herself up onto one elbow, but she did her best to reach his feet as she spit at him. With all her strength she pulled herself onto her knees as Zeus watched. Just as she made to stand, he struck her with his palm, and her mind slipped away from her.

Chapter Text

     Pain. Pain was what wrestled Ganymede from his shallow slumber; pain and the shaft of moonlight that peered through the open window beside him. He shifted on a soft mattress, putting a hand to his side as it smarted from the movement. A bedstand held a lit candle by his feet. He must have been in one of Athena’s guest rooms. The memory of their sparring match, the scent of sweat and shorn grass, made him scoff ruefully.

     “You are a hard man to find, Ganymede of Troy.”

     In the marble doorway, a man stood. His hair was long and black as night, tied in a tail down his left shoulder, and his eyes were as green as an emerald in sunlight. There was something vaguely familiar about him, his graveled tone and pale skin. Medei tried his best to pull himself upright, using the windowsill as support. His chest felt tight, like it was being squeezed by a very large hand. His cheek also ached, but he didn’t mind the pain. It reminded him of home, sheepherding on Mount Ida and practicing his bow in the seclusion of the woods. His arms and legs would ache from the effort of trekking up and down the peaks, and he would lie flat on his back in back to avoid the pain of shifting in his sleep.

       Ganymede squinted at the mysterious person, feeling the tingle of familiarity in the nape of his neck. “I know you.”

       The man grinned. “You’ve gotten to know me very well these past few days, Medei.”

      That voice, Ganymede thought. “Alastor?”

      “In the flesh,” Alastor said slowly, holding his arms out at his sides. “I have been meaning to speak to you for some time, Son of Troy.”

      Ganymede sighed. “I am not a son of Troy anymore.”

      “Of course you are.” There was an air of theatric in the god of vengeance’s voice which unsettled Medei deeply. “Just like Zeus is a son of Cronos, regardless of his tendency to debase his own blood.”

       Ganymede swallowed a wave of apprehension. “What do you want from me?”

       Alastor grinned again. “I wish to speak with you.”

       Despite the fact that she had just beat him to a pulp, Ganymede wished for Athena’s presence. The air was cold and the shadows surrounding Alastor seemed to fill the room.

      “There are things at work on Olympus of which you are ignorant.”

      Ganymede laughed shortly, the act sending a bolt of pain down his ribs. “That truth will haunt me until the end of time.”

       “Things that would excite that anger festering in your blood.”

       Medei frowned, immediately suspicious. The look on Alastor’s face, it was nearly impassable, but deep in the green of his gaze there was something there; a curiosity, that disturbed Medei. The god of vengeance was not a deity that Ganymede ever wanted to earn the favor of. Vengeance could be a tool for strategists like Athena and Ares, and guardians like Artemis and Poseidon, but Ganymede suspected it would only get him into trouble. He also suspected that was exactly the kind of chaos Alastor wanted to stir up. He began to pull himself out of bed.

    “Whatever it is you want from me, Alastor, I am not in the mood or the position to give it to you.”

     “I already have what I want, dear Ganymede.” Alastor clucked his tongue. “Or, I will have it soon enough. I only mean to help you.”

     “Help me with what?”

     “Your endeavors to free yourself.”

     Ganymede hefted himself from the mattress, settling into the weight of his bones. He rolled a shoulder. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

      “I know of your loneliness. I know of your listlessness.”

       A flare of shame filled Medei’s chest. “I am not listless.”

      “Listless, without purpose, living day in and day out as a handsome sack of meat for Zeus to thrust his seed into.”

       Shame, pooling in Ganymede’s mind. He ached, and he was angry, and he stood with his fists balled before Alastor, looking into his crafty eyes. “I don’t want whatever help you are so keen to give me.” He pushed through the doorway, slipping away from Alastor’s fingers, and continued down the hallway. Despite the heaviness in his legs, he tried his best not to limp down the long, moonlit hallway.

     “We will speak again, Ganymede. You will not be able to avoid me forever.”

     “I will for as long as I cant stand it,” he murmured, making his way out of the palace. The air was filled with crickets and the scent of pine filled Ganymede’s tired lungs. His thoughts were muddled by his fatigue and anger but one resounding conclusion rang in his head: If there was some conflict brewing between the gods of Olympus, he wanted no part in it.

      Ganymede jumped at the sound of shuffling, and a loud thump. There was an alcove between two adjacent halls before him, and he snuck around it to spy the source of the noise.

     Athena, goddess of war and combat and all things strong and superior, lay in a heap on the stone floor of her own abode, tracks of blood running from her nose and mouth. A terrified water nymph tugged at her much larger form, tears spilling down his pink cheeks. “Pallas Athene! Athene, anabainó*!”   

     And behind the nymph another man, tall and broad like the goddess. Ganymede saw him very little, at a few parties beside his mother or strumming a lyre with the Muses, but he recognized him immediately. And of all the people he expected to ever see in Athena’s halls, or away from the spotlight for even a moment, it was Apollo he expected least.

*roughly "get up" in ancient Greek