Chapter Text
The Styx was many things.
Grim. Unnerving. Constant.
Charon, in turn, resembled all those many things as well. He is the ferryman of the dead. The keeper of the underworld. Souls departed from their frail, perishable bodies trudged on towards the Styx. Charon was not a guide to their final destination. He was no escort, paying mind to their needs as they transitioned into the eternal realm of the dead.
Charon was the Styx.
He was grim, unnerving, and constant.
Even among the gods of the underworld, Charon was not well-liked. A creeping shadow from which they respectfully averted their eyes. An inevitability of the realm. A leftover entity from the time when chthonic beings alone inhabited the underworld.
Younger gods shied away from Charon. In general, all beings did. He did not blame them. His nature had been called… ‘creepy’.
Charon gazed down at the Styx, glimpsing his own reflection.
‘Unnatural’ was a term often thrown around for his appearance. On its face, not harsh, but Charon was not so dull to understand the meaning. It was simply a passably polite version of the more accurate descriptor: ‘uncomfortable’. To beautiful, smooth-skinned gods and vibrant mortals, perhaps it was uncomfortable to gaze upon him.
One purple eye glowed in the rippling Styx, peering back up at him. His skin was taught and greyed. Ivory waves of his hair fell below his wide-brimmed hat, resting just below the gilded collar of his cloak.
“Hrrrhh…” Charon sighed. He pushed his oar into the water, dashing his reflection. He paddled further along the river, but even the soothing current of the Styx could not drown out his nagging thoughts.
Most gods shrank at his presence. His looks, his sounds, his severity - most avoided the Styx entirely, just to ensure they had no chance of running into the intimidating ferryman.
Except one.
Fearless, flighty Hermes. The shining messenger god from Olympus. His… 'business associate’.
Charon did not think much of the newer gods on their little mountaintop, but the little winged god had become an exception. Where the other gods on Olympus thought far too much of themselves, Hermes managed to be much humbler, braver, and far more interesting than all the other gods combined.
Hermes was an aberration in his realm. He was… Charon struggled to put words to the essence of him. The beat of an Elysian butterfly’s wings. Torchlight dancing off his obol. Ripples in the Styx as his ferry sailed along its eternal path. He was light, and he was rhythm. He was a noise in the echoing caverns of Tartarus, and something to fill the void Charon had not realized existed in his realm.
Hermes was the heartbeat that Charon did not have, and had never known that he wanted. He was the life that Charon had not realized he basked in. Humanity, not mere Olympian nobility. Virtue, but not without excellent, interesting vice.
Charon had not known how much he desired Hermes until he considered the possibility of having to begin with.
But such a thought was misguided. Hermes did not feel the same current pulling him towards the ferryman, and Charon could not simply take Hermes. Charon might hoard his obol and collect his gems. He might store away his wealth and treasures in his vaults, hidden deep within Erebus. Mortals paid their way into the underworld with such things - a fee for his services and a show of deference for the laws of the Styx. Charon filled his vaults with tributes from mortals and gods alike, and he had no shortage of these generous prizes.
But Hermes was no tribute. Bright as he shone, he was no obol or gem for Charon to keep away in his vault. Charon could not cage his fluttery wings, or trap his glowing light in a glass jar. And strangely, the thought only made Charon want him all the more. Though Charon did not fully understand the mortal (or immortal) way of things, he understood this much. If Hermes did not stay of his own volition, then he would be unhappy.
Charon did not want him to be unhappy,
It was quite simple, at its core. Charon would allow himself to enjoy Hermes’ light on his brief visits to the underworld, and he would content himself with what little time he had. If not long enough, Hermes’ visits were at least frequent - even more so now that Zagreus was foolishly attempting to escape the underworld. Perhaps he should have thanked the prince for his unintended benefits, but Zagreus would not understand, even if he could parse Charon’s words.
Charon did not precisely understand the… ‘feelings’ he had for the little messenger god. He knew that Hermes entranced him - such that he had difficulty looking away when Hermes’ face lit up as he told his most interesting tales of the surface realm. He knew that he found Hermes to be more interesting to look at than the shifting Styx itself (though perhaps that was only due to his past many millennia spent staring into its tides). He knew that Hermes was alluring, like a baited hook to a fish. But he did not want to devour Hermes, so he supposed it was different altogether.
Such feelings were foreign to him. They were too mortal, too… mundane for his comprehension. Charon had always thought himself too abstract for such things. His chthonic nature had befuddled the other gods often. Now, their humanity befuddled him too.
So while Charon did not precisely understand the depths of his feelings for Hermes, he knew that he felt him nonetheless. Nyx had (under the strictest confidence) helped him to put mortal words to the feelings, befuddling as they were. When Hermes flew to his docks by the Styx, he felt ‘excited’ (though he would never present himself as anything other than unaffected, for both of their sakes). When Hermes told his stories of Olympus, he felt ‘fondness’. Not at the stories - certainly not at the subject matter - but at the way Hermes’ voice rose and tumbled along with the words. The way his wings twitched when he got to the most dramatic parts. The way he laughed whenever he told Charon about Dionysus’ latest antics.
He was truly entrancing. Charon felt he could gaze at Hermes for hours and still not know all of him - and he would enjoy every moment. But when Hermes looked back at him, he simply felt… strange. Weak, as though his bones had crumbled to dust. Out of place, even in his own rowboat. Pinned but in an odd, ‘exciting’ sort of way.
Charon rowed to his first, crowded station - the docks of Tartarus. Hermes already flits around the queue, attending to a few of the shades needing assistance. He offered many things to the departed souls. Explanations, stories, comfort, and coin to those who had none. Truly, professionally, Charon could not have asked for a better partner in guiding mortals to the beyond. Where Charon was mute and awkward, Hermes provided the soft light that the short-lived ones seemed to need.
“See, there he is now!” Hermes waved over to Charon as he ushered a few last shades into the queue. He was delightful to watch at work. So quick, so exuberant, but not in the terrible blinding way of other gods who intruded upon his grim realm.
“And there we go! Come on, come on - take your seats now.” Hermes said, speeding over to the boatman, “That’s it, all settled. Everyone’s ready to depart!”
“Graaaaahhhh…”
“Yes, I suppose that might have been faster than average - or maybe you were just a touch slower than average.” Hermes laughed. “I’m not keeping the exact numbers, though. But maybe I should, shouldn’t I? I know how you are about your ruthless efficiency. I’m not going to be the slowest link of the chain, no thank you!”
Charon clutched his oar tight in an attempt to chill his thin chthonic blood to its normal lukewarm temperature. A futile attempt. He could never feel quite ‘normal’ around Hermes.
Hermes turned back towards the now-crowded ferry, each shade stripped of their passage fee. “All settled up? Good, good.” The last few stragglers squeezed onto the ferry. As the last obol clinked into his pouch, Charon closed it up and tucked the coin into his flowing cloak.
“And how about you?” Hermes asked quietly. “Anything I can do for you, my good associate?”
“Hreeh?”
“As in, anything you need,” Hermes explained. “A nice chair, perhaps, to rest in between your trips? Or a book - you seem like the type to enjoy some leisurely reading. Anything of the sort.”
“Hrrroohh,” Charon groaned. He did not know why Hermes’ suggestions made his stomach feel strange, but the refusal came out of him in a cloud of mist before he could think.
“Yes, yes it is necessary.” Hermes chuckled. “Look, you do a lot for these lost little souls. I know it’s your job - and I’ve got my job too. I certainly do. And it’s no slouching for either of us! So I still want to thank you for it, if I can. You’ve been wonderful, you know. Couldn’t ask for anyone more reliable. Anything I can do to get that across, you just let me know.”
Charon thought for a long, silent moment. There were plenty of things he could have asked for from Hermes, patron god of merchants. Material wealth - jewels, gold, artisanal crafts - all things to add to his hoard. But Hermes was far above paying Charon’s toll in riches. It would feel strangely wrong for Charon to ask him to pay tribute in that way (though, why it felt so wrong, Charon did not know - he would ask any other god to pay in such a form).
And he would not ask for Hermes, either, for he had already settled on the unfavorable consequences of such a cold request. ...But he could ask to know Hermes. Information, not wealth, not time. A secret? Perhaps that would sate his strange desires. Perhaps it would free the strange tangled feeling from the confines of his chest...
Feral growls and battle cries rang out from Hermes' pouch, knocking Charon from his arcane, spiraling thoughts. The winged god frowned, lips curling into an annoyed grimace as he checked his pouch to confirm the source of the growling.
“Well, you take some time to think on that, associate - no rush.” He sighed, “Got to answer this one - Ares doesn’t take well to being lowered on the priority list, no sir.”
“Crrrhhh.”
“Ha! For your safety, I won’t tell him you said that! Lips absolutely sealed!” Hermes smirked, “I’ll be back soon enough - you go ahead and ponder on my offer for an eon or so, however long it normally takes you.”
Hermes sped off, leaving only a faint trail of light behind him as he ascended from Tartarus back to the realm above. His realm. Charon sighed. His visit had been cut short, but Hermes would visit again soon. Shades fidgeted in the rows of his ferry, unsettled, yet eager to complete their journey into the afterlife.
Charon could only look forward to Hermes’ next visit. He thrust his oar into the waters of the Styx, rowing on along his eternal path.