Chapter Text
This time I did not waken immediately.
This time, I was anointed in burning hellfire before the oil-warmth of blood and flesh.
This time, the agony of reanimation extended beyond the realm of the damned, to the scalding waters of the wretched and amenable and ever-unoffensive.
And when I went in, I burned like the least forgiving tinder the world could have imagined. All was ruin, all was ash, all was memory wasted away. Such memory could only give breath to a pain-wreathed future with little promise of anything other than screaming, hateful heat and light.
I must admit.
The voice shook the depths around me, somehow jostling the bones I did not yet have.
I’m surprised such a tiny thing has garnered the attention of so many deities. Although –
I was startled by a pinching sensation as my stomach was drawn into being.
– Being tied to one has its advantages.
Tell me.
A cool wind rushed through me. I heard the rustling of forest trees, tasted wild mint on my suddenly-present tongue.
Why is it that the god’s offer such gifts to you? What makes you worthy of divine power?
I shook my head into the water against the cranium that rose to encase my consciousness.
Nothing then?
The river prodded me, but I refused to answer.
Nothing it is.
. . .
Zagreus rose from the pool of Styx serenely.
A deep breath in, followed by an exhale through his nose as a cloud of blood-tinted mist.
He could hear Achilles approaching from his station in the West Hall. Hypnos floated drowsily before the pool in which his prince had just emerged. Rather than break the silence, Zagreus shook the blood from his hair, waiting for his squire to rise.
When she emerged, she spit her blood back into the river, shaking out any jitters before blinking at the three expectant faces before her.
“Well?” Achilles asked. Hypnos was already aiming a towel at her head.
Zagreus made his way to her, taking her hand. “Would you like to tell them, or shall I?”
Both of their friends grinned at the prince’s words. Achilles clapped both of his students on the back as they found their footing on solid ground.
Hypnos, contrastingly, groaned in annoyance as the girl wrapped him in a bear hug, soaking his cloak. “I'd just gotten this cleaned!”
“Yes, well—“ She mumbled through the dense fabric. “thank the heavens it’s red.”
“I suppose…” He muttered, flicking blood onto Achilles’ face, who rolled his eyes with a good natured smile.
The demigod turned to his pupils. “So you really did it? Made into Asphodel?” Zagreus just patted at his blood-soaked clothing, a smile playing on his lips when the girl turned to their teacher and nodded at him.
“Well done you two!” The warrior hugged her then, squeezing out a gasp from the underworld squire as he lifted her into the air. Zagreus let out a bark of a laugh at the display, and the lord of the House’s voice echoed from down the hall.
“Keep it down.”
His order was gruff, condemning any and all merrymaking for the present moment.
When Achilles sat her gently back on her feet, the girl humphed at the figure at the other end of the hall, balling her towel in one hand.
"Easy now." Hypnos eyed her, dabbing his blood-soaked chest. “We should be celebrating!” The girl let out a quiet sigh through her nose before he went on. “Care for another outing sometime soon?”
She nodded emphatically as the slumber god clapped his hands together. “I’ll keep my ear to the ground for you, Dearest.”
The Chthonic god winked, flicking the blood from his shirt back onto the girl as best he could. Achilles seemed significantly less bothered by the odious fluid dripping from his student, given that he wrapped an arm around her and led her down the hall.
The underworld prince watched the two stroll down the hall, trailing blood all the way. Once they'd generated a fair distance, he spoke. “A party may be-”
Hypnos interrupted him with a mild groan. “Worry not, my dear prince. She’ll have time to rest.”
Zagreus studied him for a moment in silence, then he nodded at friend’s words.
“And if you’re in the mood, you might join us.” The slumber god cut him a glance out of narrowed eyes before muttering, “mark your territory and all that” with a sly smile.
“Hyp–” The prince warned.
Sleep merely shook out his curls with a chuckle. “I know, I know. Protective. Not jealous.” He waved a hand at Zagreus’ attire. “Go bathe–” then put a hand over his mouth while gasping in mock-surprise. “Maybe if you get there fast enough she’ll let you wash her–”
He was cut off by the wet slap of the prince’s towel acquainting itself with his face. When it fell, he whined in disgust. “That got in my mouth. You are uninvited–”
Zagreus didn’t wait to hear the rest as he hustled down the hall.
. . .
I approached the grand desk at the end of the Great Hall slowly, looking into the narrowed eyes of the god of the dead. I could already hear Zagreus’ footsteps approaching myself and Achilles, my brow furrowing in annoyance when Hades looked him over coldly. When the prince slowed at my side, I lifted my blood-laden towel and lobbed it at the underworld king’s face.
Unfortunately, due to my teacher’s intervention, the dripping mass of cloth only made it to the desk, never reaching my intended target. But it did splatter his chiton in blood when it hit the wooden desktop.
It’s in the little things.
Rather than erupt into a cloud of fury as one would expect, Hades merely grumbled in annoyance before shooting his son, who was currently snorting in laughter, a glare. “Thank you for that, Achilles.”
My teacher tipped his head at Hades before turning to glower at me. He shoved me and Zagreus off toward our room, muttering something akin to “ -unhinged children …” before turning back to his usual station.
As we walked on, Zagreus wrapped an arm around my shoulders. “Perfect aim. Let’s hope you can apply it to those knives of yours.”
Rather than respond, I slicked some blood off my cheek and rubbed it down the center of his face, anointing his eyelids and lips.
The prince’s eyes danced and he flexed his arm around me, drawing me in closer. “You’ll have to do that with something other than blood if you want to get a reaction out of me.”
My footsteps faltered at the lip of our bedroom door.
. . .
Zagreus held the door open for his squire, thoughts already turning to a subject he’d hoped to broach upon their return.
The girl slogged in with some difficulty, clothes laden as they were with blood. Laughing awkwardly at the sound of her shoes smacking against the floor, she plopped her messenger pack down then retreated behind the room divider to peel her clothes off.
The prince stalked to his bed, eyes roving the divider while he changed, as though listening to her movements would reveal some anomaly that could connect to her actions out in Tartarus.
“Decent?” She called.
“Decent.”
She emerged wrapped in a towel.
Zagreus stood, his hand going out to her despite the fact that she was halfway across the room. “Actually…”
She looked at him, clasping the towel around her chest in expectant silence.
"I’d wanted to ask about how you’re doing with..."He watched her hair seep crimson into the bleached cotton while he forced the words out. “…what happened this run.”
She tilted her head to the side with a perplexed smile. “With moving on to Asphodel? I’d say I’m quite thrilled, wouldn’t you?”
Maintaining any firm train of thought was an effort. “...No, in Tartarus.”
“Oh.” She tucked a sodden tendril of hair behind her ear, blood streaking onto her cheek when it moved. Zagreus’ eyes lowered as she rubbed one foot with the other. “Which encounter before that?”
The prince kneaded his lip with his teeth. “...What do you remember toward the end?”
She looked at him quizzically. “I remember meeting Sisyphus, I remember seeing Artemis…”
“And before that?”
“Oh,” she looked down at the coarse threads of her towel, a wrinkle forming between her brows. Her heart was audibly quickening - well, for his ears anyway - and she swallowed before answering. “ I don’t… I mean… I don’t really remember much of it…”
“What do you remember?”
. . .
Blood pounded in my ears as the prince's voice cut through the air.
"...I don’t know.” The words came out at a much higher volume than I’d intended. I winced in spite of myself. "Sorry, I just-"
His eyes were dripping concern like tears. “Okay, that’s okay, I just think it might be good if we–”
“Zagreus.” There was an audible pause, as always when I dared to speak his name rather than his title. I looked down to find the towel in my hands stretched out, like my feeble human body would’ve ripped it apart if it could. “I'm sorry, but I don’t want to talk about this right now.”
My roommate's shoulders drew together but he held his tongue, as did I. Another painfully long silence filled my ears to the brim, my mind to the brink of insanity. I need to get this blood off of me.
When I looked back up I nearly jumped in surprise. Sometime between my original remark and my following thought, he'd moved toward me. And then he was there, stooping over me, toppling in both stature and beauty. His body was inhumanly still as his hand went out and carefully pushed a sodden lock of hair back from my nose - tracing my brow bone and curving down my jaw. He tucked the hair behind my ear, his thumb finishing its circuit with a gentle swipe along my cheekbone. When he spoke, his voice barely disturbed the air between us.
“Are you sure?”
. . .
The prince's squire blinked slowly for a moment before replying. “I am.” A ruffle of movement as she adjusted her towel. “...Thank you though, for asking.”
Zagreus tipped his head to her, feeling a strange sort of guilt in the wake of her thanks given the way his body was practically singing for her, bloody or not. “If you do need to talk, I’m here.”
She nodded again, tugging at her earlobe and avoiding his gaze. When he turned around to pull on a shirt, he heard the floor creak as though she’d tilted toward him in hesitation, then whine as she turned and walked down the tunnel. He felt a flux of emotions: worry, confusion, and relief, flush through him and ran a hand through his hair, retreating to his bed.
Some things are better left forgotten.
. . .
I waded into the tub, dunking myself fully under the water to soak off as much blood as possible before lathering my hair. When I pulled my hand away, I found blood running down my wrists in trails that twirled like elegant ribbon into the water before dissipating. I looked over my knuckles.
No bruising. No skinned flesh. Nothing.
My mouth hardened into a frown and I flexed my fist in front of my face. “It’s like none of it happened at all.” I muttered to myself, breath sending delicate ripples through the water in front of me.
I wished for scars.
Each time we returned, I hoped that by some miracle the Styx would make a tiny error, leaving some mark or blemish on my skin to signify that this was real. That the blood and hurt, the anger and pain and fear was real, but the scars never came. The only assurance my body could offer me was the fleeting image of my nightmares before they dissolved into the darkness of my mind. The rawness of my throat from screaming night after night.
I never told Zagreus this but for the most part, I slept in the garden for a reason.
The more I washed, the more uncomfortable I became. It felt as it someone else’s veins were woven through mine, coursing with power along my own. My skin itched whenever I looked at my reflection. I rubbed it raw trying to get that feeling out, and the resounding scrapes helped lessen the itching.
When I exited the bath, I made my way back to the room before wrapping myself in some sleepwear and falling into my sheets. Slumber claimed me with an unyielding fist and I fell into the respite of dreams.
. . .
Zagreus had fallen face first onto his bed once his squire had left the room and he did not rise until long after the other creatures in the House had fallen asleep.
The youthful prince stared at his ceiling for a while, watching the false clouds move about his head as though he stood at the pinnacle of the universe. Despite their monotonous movement, he remained restless. I'll never get back to sleep at this rate. He rubbed his chin, a yawn cleaving the air in front of his face with steam. I shouldn’t have fallen asleep so early.
He needed to work some of this energy out. He grabbed a sweat cloth and made his way to the training courtyard.
After working himself to exhaustion, the not thoroughly drowsy prince moved to the small fountain near the back. He gathered cool water into his hand and slurped it up, throwing some over the nape of his neck and his shoulders. Leaning back against the wall, he ticked his head toward the doorway at the soft shuffling of mortal feet approaching from down the hall.
Zagreus’ roommate emerged with a satin sheet wrapped around her nearly-bare shoulders, her hair tumbling and re-tumbling down and over them. The underworld prince eyed her silently, feeling her weariness enter the periphery of his consciousness as she drew closer. He stretched out his neck while she made her way toward him, casting his eyes away from the movement of her nightdress and back up at the phantom sky. When she stood fully before him, she looked him over, head tilting to one side.
After a moment of silence where the prince bathed in the ecstasy of her presence, the girl lowered herself to the floor. Falling to her knees, she let the sheet pool around her hips and crouched between his outstretched legs before taking the sweat cloth from the lip of the fountain. Without so much as a word, she began running it over his chest and collar bones, wiping up the excess water, her face devoid of any emotion despite the heat he could feel building in his body.
Heat she can surely feel as well.
The prince of hell lifted his hand to wrap his fingers gently around his squire's wrist. Her eyes rose to meet his and he held them for a moment before sliding his thumb up into her palm. Once she'd let go of the cloth, he pulled her hand gently and held it to his chest, just over the unwavering beat of his heart.
She stared at where their bodies met before lifting her gaze to his. When she saw what lay there, her cheeks darkened to a shade he could see even in the underworld night.
Her quiet intake of breath was all he needed.
. . .
I had the strangest dream that night.
I walked through the halls of the house alone, strangely light despite the brevity of my rest. Upon returning, I found the princes’ bed empty. Hearing noise from the courtyard, I pulled a sheet around my shoulders and made my way to the training circle.
Zagreus was on his knees when I saw him, running water over his hair and back from the small well in the corner. When he turned to look at me his gaze caught on the godfire lamps around him, sending green and red sparks into my eyes.
My feet brought me to him of their own volition. I knelt between his legs, helping him cool off with a fountain-dipped cloth, running it over his chest, feeling his eyes burn into me all the while. After what felt like much too long to wait with such baited breath, I met his eyes. His gaze was not searching, neither filled with mirth nor righteous anger, but held a heaviness of a sort. He reclined against the wall behind him, far too tired to withhold the feeling that suddenly doused my consciousness in something… new. The air became very thin with my hand pressed to his chest and his face so close to mine.
Zagreus leaned down to cup my face, and the sheet I'd clasped around myself fell from my newly relaxed fingers. I shivered as my shoulders were bared to the cold of the underworld night and then his arm was around me, and his body was so warm that the chill was a welcome one.
My eyes were closing then, as I lost myself in the infinity of him, in the hum of want that the bond between us emitted like a homing beacon. I felt the silk of his forehead pressed to mine, the calluses of his hands, his thumb tracing my lips down to my jaw, then his nose nestling itself next to mine. I swallowed, my mouth suddenly dry, and heard him mutter.
“Gods, you’ve no idea what you do to me.”
. . .
Zagreus’ lips parted in anticipation of her as he leaned forward.
And forward,
And forward,
Until he found himself falling toward the sand of the training pit rather than his squire’s embrace.
The underworld prince shook himself awake, running a hand through his hair. Looking around, he remembered his late-night practice session, and groaned as he realized he'd drifted off before making his way back to bed. That said, his neck didn’t hurt enough for him to have been there long, and the house was still eerily silent. He looked toward the blackness of the Tartarian ceiling in exasperation, then strolled back to his room to wash before trying his hand at sleep once more.
. . .
I woke to the muted sounds of my roommate running a bath.
When I looked down, I could just make out how I'd balled the bedsheets in my hands, my knuckles whiter than the cloth they grasped at. Taking a sip from the water on my bedside table, I rolled over and squeezed my eyelids shut against the memory of my dream.
You've got to be fucking kidding me.