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Chapter Text

Icarus still remembered the taste of salt. He hated the taste, the feel of water purging his lungs of their oxygen and choking him, the weight of feathers floating with the bubbles above him as he was dragged down into the depths. He could remember his father telling him not to fly too close to the sun or too close to the sea, but it was so warm, so bright, he couldn't resist. He was 13 then, on the cusp of manhood and full of curiosity about the world outside his prison, the one his father created for them both with his bare hands and a corrupt king. He couldn't fathom something so beautiful ever being so dangerous, so searing, and so, so unmerciful. So Icarus fell like an angel from the sky, slamming into the ocean below. Drowning wasn’t a forgiving death. Memories of salt and water invaded his mind in the wee hours of the morning and woke him up at night with fresh gouges on his skin, crescent moon fingernail marks. It was then that he cried, his shoulders shaking and breaths heaving quietly for hours at a time.

He’d been in the cell for millennia, it seemed. Days bled into night with little consequence, and when the stars came out at night, they gave him little comfort. He was sure he was in the Underworld, but he didn’t know where. Was this his fate?

He didn’t hear the door open, nor did he see the tall man who entered, staring at him silently. It was only when his visitor stepped close did he look up from the floor on which he was sitting. Hades himself looked down upon the boy, taking in the halo of blonde hair, eyes that seemed to be leaking like a faucet even still, and a blush made permanent by the searing arms of Helios. The god of death was taken aback, momentarily, for several reasons. One, the boy was just that - a boy, not even close to military age, and the other was the wings. They were made of hollow bone, singed at the edges, but still very real. They were no small appendages either, about half the boy’s height and wider still. Hades assumed that they had to do with the nature of his untimely death, and although they were lovely to look at, he wondered if Icarus could actually fly.

“Are you crying?” Hades asked, as gently as he could manage.

Icarus wiped furiously at his tears, muttering a pitiful sounding “No.”

“Good.” The god replied. “Because now is no time for tears.”

Chapter Text

Persephone sat on her throne of gold, watching the boy. Being the queen of the Underworld had its advantages, one of them being that she was not subject to the rules of the mortal realm. As such, she could see everything that went on in her husband's domain, and the gift treated her well. 

Bring the boy to me.

It would be unwise, too soon.   Hades responded.

Death cares not for the boy's life, I am certain. What is it you hide?

I hide nothing.

Lies. Fetch the boy regardless, I will see for myself.

I follow your wishes blindly, my queen, but your whims are not wise to heed.

You would be wise to heed both, love. Persephone replied.

Hades scowled, dissipating into smoke, which curled in strange patterns across the marble floor. Persephone returned to her throne, awaiting the boy's arrival. It wasn't likely to be a long wait, as Hades moved as he pleased around his domain, often appearing and disappearing in mid-air only to be somewhere else entirely within seconds. It was a practicality that Persephone had grown to accept. 

The boy appeared before Hades did, collapsing onto the floor. Hades looked at him with mild disgust, like one might regard a particularly mangy dog. He met Persephone's eyes as he stepped over the boy's shaking wings, giving them a little kick. 

Death is often casually cruel to those it encounters. Persephone said.

Death is not cruel, love. Death is merely indifferent.

Then leave us in your indifference. We are not your concern.

Very well.

He dissolved into shadow. Persephone turned to the boy, who was still trembling. His white wings wrapped around him in an imitation of an embrace, no doubt to comfort him. 

Pitiful little boy. Dead little boy with no mother.

Hush, Hades.

The shadow retreated back to the corner, twisting and contorting until it dissipated completely. Persephone turned to the boy, who was now sitting up, looking at her with wide eyes. He wasn't crying yet, but it seemed a distinct possibility. Persephone remembered tears, crying, misery. She remembered helplessness. 

"Stand up, boy." She said sharply. "You have not been deprived. You know nothing of what you have lost."

Chapter Text

Icarus stood on quivering legs, looking up at the goddess through blurry sight. She ascended upon him, walking around him, occasionally brushing a light hand against his wings, before pausing to wipe a golden tear making its way down his face. He bled ichor now, not blood, and his tears were the same.

"Do you have a name, child?" Persephone asked, meeting his eyes. Their color shifted almost manically, from the blush of a rose to the green and gold of new-fallen leaves, then to the dark gold of ripe wheat, the earthy tones of tilled soil. He looked away quickly, threatening to overflow once more.

"It's Icarus...my name is Icarus." His voice shook with every mere mention of his name, of himself. Oh, to lose the self, one of the greatest crimes.

He wished he could, more than anything, feel beyond the natural heaviness in his heart. It scared him, feeling the weight. 

"Follower...a fitting name for one such as you. That is what it means, correct?"

"I...I'm not sure."

"Well, follower, what is it you want?"

Icarus thought for a moment, his wings twitching involuntarily. He didn't want to go back to his father, wherever he was, but he didn't want to stay here either. The Underworld was dark, claustrophobic despite the expanse.

"I want to go home. to Athens, not Crete. Not there."

Silence. Then a sound like wind rushing through a field, building into a hurricane. Laughter. She was laughing at him.

"Oh, child. So naïve. You cannot go home. Do you know why?"

His eyes widened as he gazed up at her. She chose her words very carefully, as a queen must, and delivered the killing blow to the boy's heart.

"You have no home. You never did."

He appeared to fold inwards on himself, his russet-colored wings pulling tight against his back as he gasped for air, chest heaving as he struggled with himself. The goddess waited for him to calm down, but there was not bound to be any progress toward this end for a while. 

When he finally did get himself together, his breaths quieting and the tightness in his muscles ebbing, he stood again, looking up at Persephone with a bizarre mixture of wonder, fear, and sorrow. It unsettled the goddess slightly. Those eyes could hide no secrets.

"I think," She paused, sweeping her hand towards him. "It's time for you to go."

Before Icarus could react, the throne room bled from existence, and he found himself back in his cell, still shaking. 

Days continued to pass.

Chapter Text

Hades, what are we to do with the child? 

        The god of death was silent, thinking. Finally, he spoke:

We take him to Olympus and let the rest of the gods decide. Hold a council. The sooner we're rid of him, the better. 

Why do you hate him so?  Persephone asked, looking at her husband, her lover. What has he done to wrong you? 

        Hades sniffed dismissively. 

 I hate to see any pathetic creature suffer. I'm not cruel, I'm indifferent to such filth. 

I find that unlikely. 

He's a reminder of youth, a depressing shadow of a young man. He's weak, needy. It disgusts me. 

There it is...the truth is not so hard to admit, I trust? 

        He ignored her.

I'll go collect the boy.  He said, disappearing.  Pray that is all I do. 

⊹ ࣪ ﹏﹏﹏𓊝﹏﹏﹏⊹ ࣪ ˖

        Icarus had curled up on the marble floor of the cell, his back pressed into the wall, He’d not managed to sleep, and it had started to affect his appearance. Dark circles had etched themselves under his blue eyes, which struggled to stay open. His wings no longer moved sporadically but hung limply from his back. 

“Dearest child, has anyone ever told you how displeasing you are to look at? And every time you disgrace my presence, you’ve taken a turn for the worse. Truly a feat.”

        The boy jumped, turning to Hades with a dead expression. “Yes, my lord. I’ve been told many, many times how I disparage your sight. My apologies.”

        The look in his eyes was almost defiant, an exhaustion-fueled sense of carelessness. Hades might have laughed if it wasn’t so strange…a docile lamb of a boy playing lion. Instead, anger made itself known in his mind.

“Careful, boy. You’ve brushed death before, yes, but you’re nowhere near strong enough- mentally or physically- for any more than that. I could crush you with nothing more than a concentrated thought.”

“I wish you would,” Icarus muttered, turning away from Death. 

        Hades growled, slamming the boy into the wall. “Listen well, wretch,” He seethed through gritted teeth. “You should be gone, in Asphodel with the rest of the insignificant mortals. With your mother.”

“Don’t speak of my mother,” Icarus said, struggling against the god’s iron grip, scraping his wings against the rough stone wall. Ichor ran from cuts and matted his feathers. 

“Stop moving!” Hades commanded, and when that did not work, he slapped Icarus hard, and the boy finally stilled. 

“You’re just like my father!” Icarus shouted. “I suppose he’s glad I’m dead.”

        It was a question not asked but implied. 

“I’m certain he is.” Hades laughed, venom dripping from his words. “How could anyone truly love you? You turn from pathetic to a mockery of bravery on a whim. You attempt to play parts I’m not sure you understand. And the tears. Constant.”

        Silence. Hades continued. 

“I’m taking you to Olympus. There will be a council to decide your fate.”

“And if I end up back here?” The boy asked, still pale and shaking. 

“You’ll be executed.” 

“I thought I was already dead,” Icarus said quietly. 

“You are,” Hades said impatiently. “But somehow, you aren’t completely so. Perhaps my brother took pity on you and caught you gently. Perhaps my nephew’s heart played like his lyre-strings, and he tried to slow your fall, I know not, nor do I care.”

“Between life and death? I could return to the overworld!”

“No.” Hades said sharply. “You can never return to the mortal realm, you simply cannot cross the Styx and face judgment either. Now enough talk, we have more pressing matters to attend to.” He grasped Icarus’ wrist, and they both disappeared into the shadows.

Chapter Text

“Did you really have to drag him through the shadows?”

        Icarus’ eyes fluttered open. He lay splayed out on the throne room floor, his vision cloudy. He turned over, retching. Nothing came up, he hadn’t eaten anything since he’d first arrived in the Underworld. 

“I wrongly assumed he could handle it.”

        No response was made by the voice that spoke previously, one that was decidedly female. Icarus sat up, eyes watering, and peered up at the couple. 

“How will we get to Olympus?” He asked meekly, his voice wavering.

“The same way we got here, child,” Hades said, not even attempting to hide his bitter grin. Icarus backed up instinctively, his wings bristling. But, of course, the god was faster, and they slipped into shadow again. 

⊹ ࣪ ﹏﹏﹏𓊝﹏﹏﹏⊹ ࣪ ˖

        Olympus looked stunning from the floor. They were in a long hallway, no, a foyer. Murals of the gods adorned the limestone walls. Everything was colorful, and Icarus felt his next exhale hitch in his throat. The roof was nonexistent, and clouds hovered so close that if he jumped, he could brush their undersides. The whole thing was beautiful. Hades didn’t seem quite so moved. 

“Stand up.” Hades sighed, sounding bored. “We don’t want to make a bad impression, correct?” 

        When Icarus didn’t make any motion, Death hauled him up by his collar. 

“Stand. Be a man.”

“I’m not a man yet,” Icarus muttered. 

“Why not?”

“I’m too young,” The boy said. “Only thirteen.”

“So you are useless as well as wretched?”

“I am not useless.” Icarus insisted, but he sounded unsure. 

        Hades opened his mouth to retort, but didn’t get the chance. The room dissolved into light, and when Icarus could see again, twelve sets of immortal eyes gazed back at him. He knew them all instantly, assigning faces and names quickly. The god on the biggest throne was Zeus. on his right side sat a long-haired sailor. Poseidon. The gray-eyed warrior could only be Athena. Then came Hermes, the flaxen-haired trickster, and Ares, the Violent-looking god of War. Finally, the stunning goddess Aphrodite completed Zeus’ right side, excepting an empty throne that was made of gold-plated wood, curled with grapevines. To his left, aside from Hera, directly to his left, was Hephaestus, who looked as though he’d just come from the forge, the all too familiar face of Demeter, which she shared with her daughter, and the Twins, Apollo and Artemis, looking at him with contradictory expressions. Hestia came last, her brown eyes softening as they met his. 

        Talking erupted immediately. 

“How-?” Apollo gasped.

“What are we to do?”

“I don’t want it!” Ares bellowed. 

“That is a child, love, not an animal.” 

“No difference.”

Zeus raised a hand, and the room quieted. “We come to council,” He said sternly. “To decide the fate of Icarus, son of Daedalus.”

“Will he be present for the council?” Hera asked incredulously, and a few of the Olympians muttered amongst themselves. 

“I will abstain from voting and accompany the child from the room," Hestia spoke, not much above a whisper. “I, of course, will vote if you require me, and it will ensure Icarus does not interrupt proceedings. I think his arrival might have been…emotional for some.”

        Icarus noticed Apollo still staring, not quite open-mouthed, so still that Artemis had turned to look at him, and even Hermes had stopped smiling. Zeus cleared his throat, nodding at Hestia, and the Sun god appeared to rouse himself. The goddess approached Icarus, seeming to float, nothing like the harsh footfalls Hades produced as he stalked toward the center of the room. Death began to speak, but Hestia gently took his arm, and they dematerialized in a rush of embers, which lay cooling on the floor. This transition was much easier, as if Hades had been purposely unpleasant. 

“You’ve come a long way, Icarus. Rest.” Hestia soothed, her small smile of encouragement warming him and putting him at ease. His eyes slid closed moments later, and he slept, his head in the goddess’ lap. 

⊹ ࣪ ﹏﹏﹏𓊝﹏﹏﹏⊹ ࣪ ˖

Inside the throne room, however, calm was in short supply. Many opinions flew loudly, none striking anyone but the original speaker. Each one of the present Olympians had their own stance, but for the sake of agreement, sorted into two loose categories: For life, or for death. Only Athena remained initially neutral, taking in each argument and dismissing some without question, such as Ares’ proposal to have the boy fight for his life. 

“It’s been so long since we had real entertainment! Zeus has his Cup-bearer, yes, but the rest of us have had so little to do. It would be quick, brutal, and above all, spectacular. Imagine those wings at work…it would be like watching a harpy fight a Boread. Imagine the fun!”

Apollo’s jaw ticked noticeably. She wasn’t sure how, but he had his hand in this somehow. A searching look at Artemis produced nothing more than a shrug. Chatter mounted to yelling, then mounted further to physical threats.

“Silence!” Zeus commanded. “Let us vote.”

        Ares, Aphrodite, Hades, and Demeter voted for his execution, as did Artemis. She ignored a mutinous glare from both Hermes and Apollo, keeping her gaze level. The answer was clear: I answer to none here but myself. 

“Of course Aphrodite votes with Ares,” Said Hermes carelessly. “Should she not vote with her husband, Hephaestus?” 

        This caused another uproar, and the thief looked around innocently, winking at Apollo as he worked his subtle influence. 

“Enough!” Zeus shouted again. “Aphrodite is free to vote how she pleases, as are all.”

        Hermes sat back, smiling, and was silent. 

“I vote that the boy be elevated to status as an Olympian, then,” Apollo spoke,  voice flat. “Since we are expecting to do the impossible. Why kill the boy? Why not spare him? What harm could he possibly cause?”

“His father is Daedalus, yes? The very same that pushed young Calos, son of Perdix, his own sister’s son, off of the Acropolis? Athena, is it not true?”

“It is.” 

“And is it not also true that you saved the boy?” Apollo said, and Athena again nodded. “And if sons are to serve for the sins of the father, then I suppose I owe Hera a great amount of blood.”

Zeus’ eyes flashed with rage, “I vote for the boy to be executed. Brutally. And I vote that Apollo is the one to do it.”

“I vote against the execution entirely,” Poseidon spoke up for the first time. “If the boy survived the sea and the sun, then I’d say he’s earned a reprieve.”

        Hephaestus nodded his agreement, and Hera did as well, clearly moved by Apollo’s earlier comment. She gazed at him strangely. “Something has changed in you, child.”

“Perhaps,” He replied. “But perhaps you all have changed.”

        Hermes voted with Apollo as well, and Athena stood up.

“It would, in my opinion, be wrong to try to sustain Icarus’ life. He is in limbo. He can never return to the mortal world, nor can he pass on to the underworld. Therefore, I believe it is best to execute him and allow him to pass on as he should have initially.”

        The room was silent. 

“As it is, we’ve reached a conclusion. Seven for and Five against. Now, we must decide how-”

“No! Father, please…you would send an innocent lamb to the slaughter? This is madness. Cruelty for cruelty’s sake. Please, let me take him. He will live with me, and none of you will be affected.” Apollo cried. 

“This request comes after you insult me, in my own throne room? spare us.”

“Father, please. I…I’m begging you. I admit, I was wrong. Please, don’t make Icarus suffer for it.”

        The king of the gods sat back, stroking his beard and looking at his son, who looked just a step above kneeling at his feet and begging. “Answer this, child: Why do you care for the boy?”

“I…I think I saved him. I’m not sure, entirely. He flew too close to the Chariot while I was driving, and I heard him scream…” The god’s voice wavered into silence.

“You Did this?” Hades snarled, stepping towards him. “Do you know how long I’ve been dealing with this Wretch? Days! Only to find out that it was because of you?”

“And yet the world spins,” Hermes muttered, and Hades spun towards him. The thief sat up straight, grinning. “As does my second favorite Uncle!”

As the two started bickering, Apollo turned back to Zeus. “You will regret this.”

“You said that of Asclepius.”

The sun shone brighter, filling the room, Apollo’s eyes blazing. “Do not.”

        Thunder was quick to follow, this time inside the room, and Athena quickly stood again. “Father, if I may. It would do no harm to you to let Apollo keep his boy. If he were to fail, however…it would be a worthwhile lesson, yes? If you two fight now, there is a message being sent. It is not a message mortals should be receiving, and yet there is a mortal in our halls. We must be unified. Allow him the chance. If not for him, for me.”

        Zeus finally relented, nodding at Apollo, jaw clenched and eyes narrow. “You should find my leniency both rare and charitable, most favored of my daughters. Very well, Apollo. Go forth and claim your soul.” 

Chapter Text

“Speed up, brother!”

“If I speed up much more, I’ll no longer be the one following,” Apollo could feel his sister’s irritation from his place behind her. She surely thought he was acting foolishly, as she often did. In fairness, he often was. He ran faster, becoming more of a blur than a distinguishable form. He was a sunbeam, beautiful and above all, necessary to life everywhere…they would worship him even outside of Greece.

        An arrow whizzed past his ear, lodging its silver point in a nearby cypress tree, the feathered end vibrating from impact. It seemed to laugh at him. He reached for it, snapping it in half, leaving the point lodged in the tree.

“That arrow was still good!” Artemis growled, ill at ease about losing yet another projectile to her brother’s temper. “They don’t grow on trees, as you’re aware!”

“They’re one of the few things that do, actually,” He shrugged. “Being made of wood, and all.”

“Stop looking for a fight and use your mind. They’re made of bronze. Hephaestus made them for me, as a favor. You’d know that if you thought of anyone besides yourself.”

“I don’t understand what you mean.” He said, carefully extracting the rest of the arrow from the tree and handing her both pieces.

“You betrayed our entire family, not to mention our laws and the integrity of our democracy.” She seethed. “All for what? A child?”

“Yes.” He said simply, handing her another arrow, this one from his quiver. She took it, her silver eyes meeting his gold ones.

“There could be war.” She warned solemnly.

“There will be.”

“You sound resigned to your fate, brother.”

“I am. If it’s a fight they want, then I will fight to my last, rather than let him die knowing I could prevent it.” He gazed out over the sunset, a favor from Helios. “The world, the gods, they could manage without my presence. Helios could drive the chariot. You already lead the hunts. Hermes could add music to his list.”

“And our mother? What of her?”

“She’ll live.”

“The grief would kill her! She needs you.”

“She’d have you.”

“That wouldn’t be enough,” the Huntress said quietly. “And if you wage war, then I shall as well.”

“You shouldn’t,” He said quickly, clasping her hands in his own. “This isn’t your fight. It isn’t now and it will never be.”

“It was my fight the moment it became yours, Apollo.”
“Why is that?” He asked, slinging his bow over his broad shoulders. He offered to take hers, and she let him.

“Because we’re two sides of the same drachma. The wild ones, the hunters. The god and goddess of light and darkness, so prideful it’s fatal, so spiteful it’s frightening. The twins. We’ve slaughtered scores of mortals for committing the same sins that we commit. Their only wrong was that they were mortal, and we proved that with each transgression. Numerous times, one of us has disagreed with the other, and yet, do you recall a single time that we didn’t face battle or massacre together?”

Apollo sighed. “No, there has never been such a time.”

“And there never will be,” She said with finality. “Even still, I would like to meet the child I’m so humbly laying down my life for.”

Chapter Text

        Ares stood before his father’s throne, fuming. It was customary to kneel, but the war god knelt for no one, least of all his father. He remained standing as the king spoke. 

“Yes, my son? Is something the matter?”

“That boy, the one who faced judgment. He needs to be put down. I want to be the one to do it.”

Zeus sighed. “And your reasoning?”

“The vote was in favor of execution. The action must be taken, or democracy fails. Apollo, no matter how favored he is, should not be able to ignore that and change these sacred rules.”

        The king sat back against the headrest of his throne. As a younger god, Ares had admired it, the ornate gold inlaid with silver filigree, made to mimic the bolts of its owner. It was the largest of the thrones in the room, reflecting his status as the most powerful, and was certainly fit for a king. But as Ares grew, he envisioned his throne as it would be: tall, commanding, intimidating…yes, his seat would be befitting of a general. It would be a warrior’s throne, and it was, a large throne of shield metal and spears discarded in battle. The throne, his throne…

        It was a testament to blood.

“So, father?” He demanded, throwing his hands out to the side, gesturing to Olympus as if to say This is yours for the taking. “What say you?”

“I think your motives are not quite so pure. Why don’t you come forth with your true desire?”

The war god smiled wickedly, pulling his sword from its sheath. “I wish to feel the pleasure of true bloodlust again, Father. These mortals fight and die for me, at my behest, but I feel nothing. Their lives are worth so little.”

 “And what of Apollo?” Zeus asked, a dark gleam in his eye. The king knew a thing or two about lust. 

“What of him?” Ares snarled. 

“There could be war.”

“Not if I do this discreetly. The boy is so fragile, it wouldn’t take much encouragement for an accident to happen.”

“And if I forbid it?”

“I’ll be forced to challenge Apollo outright. We’ll fight, and I’ll win. The boy dies either way.”

        Zeus relented, confidence in his decision bordering on arrogance. “Do what you will, my son. But heed my warnings. Do this quietly, avoid further conflict, or I swear by Olympus, your consequences will be your own. Whatever my son deigns to do to you, I will allow to happen.”

“Your son? Why does he alone receive that distinction, Father?”

“He does not. Hermes, Dionysus…even Heracles and Perseus. They are all my sons, and are befitting of the title. Perhaps you may be, in time, deserving of it as well.”

“I am your son.” He was pacing while Zeus watched. “I am. I will be. If I have to kill the rest of them to prove it, I will.”

        The god sighed, and Ares realized how decadent the throne was. How superior Zeus held himself. How disgusting the power made him. He was still watching, saying nothing. 

“We shall see.” He seethed, striding from the hall. 

        Zeus sighed, summoning a few of his servants, sending them for ambrosia, for wine, to set a council table. He sent five to summon the others, those that would make the council whole. If Ares was involved, there would be war. 

Chapter Text

       Hermes sipped slowly from his goblet, watching the six Olympians who sat around the council table. Zeus, Hades, Poseidon, Athena…and oddly enough, Hestia. His aunt, although one of his favorites, was not a warrior goddess. Although his father hadn’t said it directly, this was clearly a war council. As such, Hermes planned to be suitably drunk before the conclusion. He was tired of war, yet he’d been part of every single one since his birth, in some way or another. As the messenger, he’d carried tallies upon tallies of those who’d died on the battlefield. Often, he included the cause, if it was known. He’d wept many times over the sheer loss of it all, of seeing broken body after broken body laid to waste. As the trickster, though, or the thief, he’d turned the tide of many a battle. He’d caused tallies and tallies himself. He felt himself slipping into the same memory, over and over. He let himself slip into it now, as Hades started arguing with Athena. 

⊹ ࣪ ﹏﹏﹏𓊝﹏﹏﹏⊹ ࣪ ˖

       War raged bloody around the thief. Clashing steel and the cries of dying soldiers seemed to roar so that even those on Olympus could hear it. But they paid no attention, they heeded no call for help. None but two even involved themselves. One was Hermes, the thief himself, who had sat at dawn looking out over the Grecian countryside, and Ares, who had stood at the same time, looking at all the lambs brought for his slaughter. 

       And slaughter it had been. The once golden hills were now black with blood and rife with broken bodies. Soldiers were cut down as they ran, arms outstretched to their brothers who weren't alive to help them. And Hermes watched it all, rooted in place, looking to assist but finding no one who could be saved. Ares was too thorough. Too brutal. Hermes was no god of medicine, no healer. But he had to do something. So there he found himself, wading amongst the corpses, clinging to hope that there might be something worth doing. But there was nothing, and he came to a halt on the hill. Ares appeared beside him, clapping him on the shoulder. 

"Why all of them?" Hermes whispered, his words carrying over the silence.

"Why not all of them?" Was the war god's reply, but this was no whisper, it was a harsh laugh. An insult added to a deadly injury. 

"Ares..." He searched for the words but found none.

        Then Ares was gone, leaving the thief alone. Hermes picked his way carefully through the carcasses, flinching as he heard an animalistic cry pierce the silence, then a gurgle, then nothing. The sheer nothingness crashed in on him, cutting his breath short and strangling his will to be numb. What was the point of existing in all this cruelty? In all this death?

        His knees hit the dirt before his mind registered where he was in space, his white clothing now irreversibly stained with some unknown mortal's blood. His tears streamed unrestrained down his face, salt finding no wounds to sting. His hands shook as he moved to wipe them away, the tremors growing more pronounced as he tried and failed to breathe. 

"Death hurts only the naive, Nephew."

        He knew without looking up it was his uncle, Hades, who was beside him now, looking down as always. 

"I am here to collect the souls." The god of death put simply, as though that wasn't obvious. "Why are you here?"

"I…I thought I might be able to help." 

"Help." It wasn't a question. "Have you considered that they are beneath you?"

        Hermes stood shakily, staring Death in the eye. 

"Have you considered that we bleed just as they do?"

       Hades laughed sarcastically, his pale hand extending to graze Hermes' cheek briefly. The thief stood still, glaring into the calculating eyes of his uncle. 

"I see no blood on your face, Hermes. Just tears. Perhaps you have some growth in you yet, but heed this: tears are not befitting of a man, much less a god. These men were mortals. They die. It should not affect you so profoundly. I expect to see you in Olympus tonight, and you need not bring this forth. Is that understood?"

        Hermes stepped back, nodding as Hades dissolved into smoke. Even if it should not affect him, it did. And he would not let it happen again.

⊹ ࣪ ﹏﹏﹏𓊝﹏﹏﹏⊹ ࣪ ˖

         It had happened again. It was happening now. Hermes drained his goblet, then set it back down on the table, leaning forward.

“So, Father, would you like to tell us why we’re really here?”

The king sighed, his brows creasing as he chose his words. “The Crete boy, Icarus. Ares has decided he should die.”

        The table was silent for a moment, then promptly exploded into chatter. Only Hestia was quiet. 

“Enough,” Hermes snapped, bringing his hand down on the table. “Idle talk will get us nowhere. Obviously, the child can’t die, so what are we to do?”

“Why can’t the child die?” Hades spat. “Are you going soft, nephew?”

“Soft? No, I’m being compassionate.”

“Compassion is the first step to passivity.”

“That shouldn’t concern you if this,” He gestured wildly. “Is your idea of passive, I fear to see your idea of action.”

“As you should,” Hades said, his voice wavering slightly in anger. “You would be horrified by the things I am capable of.”

“That’s hardly a boast, what horror can you offer besides exile to Tartarus? Death isn’t your domain. You aren’t Thanatos. You’ve tried to assume the role, but we know.”

“Enough, son.” It was Zeus who now spoke. “The question stands. What can we do?”

“We should offer him protection. Ares has gotten away with far too many atrocities.” Hermes said, his voice dropping. 

“We don’t want war,” Athena replied. “Preventing it should be our priority. Olympus cannot fall to Chaos.”

Poseidon laughed, sitting back in his chair. “As if Apollo wouldn’t start a war himself if the lad died.”

“This is no laughing matter!” Hades growled at his brother. “All of you are stalling the inevitable. We should have killed the wretch when we had the choice before he fell under the protection of the one who sat idly as he fell!”

“We’ll put it to a vote then. Father?” Hermes was now glad he hadn’t drunk more. 

“A vote…acceptable.”

Hades sighed. “Because votes have worked so well.”

“Brother,” Zeus warned. “A vote is our way.”

      Hades rolled his eyes but fell silent. After a moment, he smiled cruelly. “I vote to allow Ares his fun.”

“I vote against,” Hermes said quickly. 

“As do I,” said Poseidon, and Hestia nodded in agreement.

“I align myself with Hades,” Zeus said carefully, after a moment of deliberation. “Daughter, what say you?”

“Poseidon is correct,” Athena said finally, standing up. “Apollo will start a war if Ares kills Icarus. This would, in turn, involve Artemis, and others…perhaps not Olympians, but minor deities often jump at the chance. The safest course as I see it now is to protect the child, but it must be done covertly. If Ares finds out we’re interfering in any way, war is inevitable. We should inform Apollo of Ares’ intentions, and ours. He is so quick to anger, anything could give him cause.”

“Very true,” Poseidon agreed. “You don’t want to make that boy angry. I’ve seen hurricanes with less vengeance. Hades, will you comply with the plan, or are you going to cause issues?”

The god laughed harshly, standing as he did so. “Comply? Comply? No, I do not comply with staving off the inevitable. When this ridiculous plan fails, I will not be a part. Consider yourself lucky I’m choosing to stay passive.”

 Then he was gone, the only evidence he had ever been there was a trace of black smoke. 

Chapter Text

        Persephone sighed as her handmaidens flitted about. They were silly creatures, much more like birds than humans, and she often tired of them. They’d been a gift from Hades, though, and she appreciated her husband’s efforts to treat her to the pleasures of queendom. These pleasures, of course, came with pains as well. At present, the women were talking about the boy, of all things. The queen tried to block them out, but snippets still came through.

“Poor thing…”

“Such a shame…”

“A bit cruel, how they treated him,”

“Enough!” The room fell silent. “You are dismissed. All of you.”

“My lady,” one said, throwing herself against the steps before the throne. “Please, they didn’t mean any harm, please-”

        The queen met her servant’s eyes and saw remorse there. Sincerity. 

“You are dismissed,” She said, and closed her eyes as the room was filled with the wails of damned souls racing to claim more for their ranks. She sank into her throne, surveying the scene. There was ash on the floor.

“Who’s going to clean that, dear?”

She jumped, turning to her husband. “I didn’t realize you were here.”

“I haven’t been. I’ve been to Olympus.”

“What for?”

“They’re protecting the boy at risk of war. I have work to do, love, excuse me.”

        She was alone again. So, the boy was going to cause a war. She smiled for a brief moment, then set to cleaning the ash. She concentrated on bringing a warm rain to fall inside the throne room, washing the ash out into her garden. This is the Underworld. These plants have grown through the ashes of death for millennia. 

She walked among the plants, her biggest refuge. Her blooms were coming in nicely, but she’d have to take care of the vines before they choked the rest of the garden. 

You believe me to be those vines, yes? Stifling you?

        She considered. On one hand, she could lie. Hades was still in his quarters, communicating through the shadows of his domain. On the other, what kind of wife would she be if she lied to her husband?

Yes, love. But I have love for these vines, as I do you. They hold the garden in a certain balance. 

I see.

Silence, for a beat. 

Will you come see me?  She asked, looking at the ash and the flowers. At the vines, looping over the foundation of the room and crawling up the pillars. 

“Always, beloved.” He said, and she embraced him. He allowed this, his body rigid as marble and just as cold. 

“Hades, please stay out of this. If not for the boy, for me.”

He pulled away. “Persephone.”

“Please. I will beg if I must, but Icarus has done nothing wrong, and it isn’t fair to-”

“That wasn’t your sentiment when he stood before you,” Hades snapped, holding her at arm's length. 

“My heart has changed. Please.”

        He shook his head, giving her a long look. Then he disappeared, gone. Always gone. In the earlier days, she would have collapsed in on herself, sobbing and questioning what she did wrong. But those earlier days had passed. As it was now, she felt as though she was being compressed into something smaller, and rage was filling the spaces left vacant. She was wasting away and becoming whole again simultaneously. 

I’m going to see my mother. Goodbye.

        No response. She began the long ascent to light.

Chapter Text

        Apollo had grown accustomed to sharing his home with all manner of guests and visitors, but none of his prior experience had prepared him for sharing the space with a child who seemed to revere every move he made. The boy didn’t seem to harbor any resentment towards Artemis either, accepting her somewhat stiff apology with no question. He promptly asked her if she owned dogs. 

“Of course,” was her reply, and he seemed to light up, asking excitedly if he might meet one. Artemis had looked over Icarus’ shoulder, and Apollo found himself nodding his approval. She had narrowed her eyes, surprised. Dogs were typically outside animals, as far as he was concerned, but somehow the chance to see Icarus happy was too tempting an offer to pass on. Inwardly, he chastised himself. He shouldn’t get attached. Mortal lives only stretched so far.

        Still, the thought in all its rationality did little to stop him. The extent of his attachment made itself known one evening when Apollo was preparing dinner for the boy. He could have had any of his numerous servants do it, but he preferred to do it himself. 

“I’ll get it,” Icarus said, padding lightly against the stone floor.

        Apollo saw the boy reel backward in terror, falling onto the floor as his wings tipped his weight a bit too far. All this happened in just a moment, and in the next, the god was standing between Icarus and the stranger at the door. He didn’t move, even as he realized who it was. 

“I’m sorry, Follower. I didn’t mean to startle you,” Persephone said, lowering her hood, her lips curving into a small, mournful smile. “I mean you no harm.”

“Why are you here?” Apollo growled, aware that behind him, Icarus had struggled to his feet and was backing away slowly, towards a corner. Persephone focused her gaze on him as it became obvious that Icarus was still terrified. “To spy for your husband?”

“Is that all you take me for? A tool to be used however Hades wishes?”

“History has shown that to be true,” He said, stepping forward purposefully, blocking her further entry. 

“What history, nephew? I was kidnapped.”

“Cousin,” He corrected. “And you haven’t answered my question.”

“I come bearing news of war, and of my husband’s involvement.”

        Apollo’s eyes narrowed, but he moved aside slightly, allowing her to come in. She did, carefully studying the boy in the corner, who had found a chair to perch on. His feathers still ruffled occasionally, a nervous twitch left over from his earlier experiences with the goddess. He eyed her warily but made no move.

“Icarus, you can leave the room if you’d like. You know where everything is, roam as you will.”

        He nodded but stayed where he was. Apollo sighed but didn’t press the issue. 

“Sit,” He commanded, pulling a chair out from the table. Persephone nodded, sitting primly and waiting for him to do the same before she spoke in a low tone. He was surprised she didn’t glance over her shoulder, with the way she was acting. He knew Persephone well; they’d been close before the color left her cheeks and her eyes grew cold, and there were only two things she truly feared in this world: lack of control and her husband. The two fears usually came together. 

“There has been a council on Olympus. Hades was summoned and came back with talk of war, but he also said-”

        Another knock came, and Persephone frowned. Apollo strode to the door, jerking it open. Hermes stood there, pushing past his brother, his gaze locking onto Apollo’s visitor. 

“She shouldn’t be here,” He yelled, and then noticed Icarus in the corner, staring over at him. He lowered his voice slightly. “What are you thinking?”

“You can’t come into my home and insult my guests, Hermes.”

“As if you didn’t insult her yourself before I got here.”

“You heard?” Apollo asked, a smile threatening to curl his lips. He fought the urge. Hermes, for all of his faults, was his favorite brother for a reason. 

“No,” Hermes said seriously. “But I know you well. Either way, she has to go. We need to talk.”

“About war?”

“About Icarus.”

“One in the same,” Persephone chimed in, and Hermes shot her a look over Apollo’s shoulder. 

“Still your tongue,” He spat. “War isn’t certain.”

“Take care, nephew. I do not take kindly to orders.”

“I’m not your nephew. We’ve been cousins for far longer than aunt and nephew.” He said, rolling his eyes. 

“Again, all the same.”

“We’re losing focus,” Apollo interrupted, gesturing for Hermes to sit. The younger god refused. “So be it. Persephone, what news do you bring?”

        She leaned forward slightly, lowering her voice. “Hades came home with talk of war. He said he had preparations to make. Exactly what he means by that, I cannot fathom. What I do know, though, is that he wants Icarus dead. I believe he is willing to do it himself, if need be.” 

        She met Apollo’s eyes, and he knew she told the truth. He nodded with effort, a fierce anger in his limbs. He needed to fight something, maybe a wild animal, and the feeling would resolve itself. Athena had told him once, in passing, that he shouldn’t resolve his anger through violence, but it had always worked for him. He was so preoccupied with the need to hurt and kill, to punish, that he hardly noticed as Hermes glanced worriedly over at Icarus. All of the Olympians were aware of the effect their divine forms had on mortals; they’d all learned the hard lesson of mortal fragility and took steps to prevent accidental exposure. But in the throes of emotion, especially anger, one could slip.

“Apollo…” Hermes warned. “Apollo! Icarus is mortal!”

        The sun god caught himself slipping out of control, dragging himself from the ledge he had created long ago. It was the ledge that kept him safe for most eyes, and usually, it was easy to keep away from it. The facade had slipped, no, he had slipped. He fought to keep his emotions in check. When he felt he was safely calm, he surveyed the scene. Persephone sat rigidly in her seat, her eyes shifting color constantly. Her face was pale. Hermes was behind him, standing over a limp figure, and Icarus…Icarus. His mind caught up with his body, and apologies clawed their way up his throat, only to die on his lips. The boy couldn’t hear them anyway. 

“Is he…did I?” He asked numbly, as Hermes crouched down, his fingers gently taking pulse, testing limb movement, checking for any breaks from the fall. 

“No,” the thief said after a moment. “This is more your area of expertise, but I know enough to know he’s alive.”

“What happened, exactly?”

“Let’s get Icarus to a bed first, and then we can talk.”

“Of course.”

        Hermes lifted the boy easily, following Apollo to the nearest bedroom. He laid Icarus down, pulling the blankets over the boy’s small frame. Apollo stared. 

“So,” Hermes said gravely, turning towards him. “Let’s talk, shall we?”