Chapter Text
He noticed first the flutter of feathered wings. It was an odd thing to hear in the underworld, and even odder still to hear it come from the outer gardens–-the place poor, pitiful Zagreus was barred from.
Father won't tell me anything of this. And that was true--Hades was anything but straightforward and honest with his son. So, to the real parent of the house was where the prince went.
“Erm, Nyx?” Zagreus asked, shooting glances back at the iron gates as he met his mother-figure. “I've got a question for you, if you don't mind.”
“I do not mind. I will do my best to answer, my child.” She followed his gaze to the forbidden outdoors before her easy stare floated back to him. “Is something the matter?”
“No–-well, maybe? Not sure, but. Well.” Zagreus rubbed the back of his neck. “Just–-are there birds outside?”
Nyx blinked. “Birds?”
“Yes. I keep hearing something fluttering around every now and then, and I swear I've seen something moving around in the garden. You know, the one I'm not allowed to enter?”
“Ah.” The goddess nodded. “Of course. There is a new servant of the house, one who was chosen to tend to the gardens.”
“Really.” Zagreus planted his hands on his hips and rocked back and forth on the balls of his feet, gaze returning to the gate. “Well, that's the first I've heard of it.”
“He does not linger long; he arrives with the sun, and leaves only when the work is done,” Nyx explained. “He is a diligent helper of the House. Your father is quite pleased, I've noticed.”
“Well, I've never thought that Father could be pleased in any regards.” Zagreus’ mismatched gaze flickered back to Nyx. “But why now? The garden's never needed a tender before.”
“A flower wilted,” Nyx sighed. “And your father has grown concerned.”
“Hah. Concerned for the plants? Good to know he can still give a damn about something,” Zagreus bit, sending a scalding glare to the throne. “Guess that's why he locked it up, kept it from me.”
“You do have a reputation.”
“One that I must uphold,” he agreed, heart light and spirit lifted higher. “Thank you, Nyx. I should get back to ransacking my father's domain.”
Nyx nodded and reached a hand up, fixing the tilt of Zagreus’ burning laurel. “I would hope for nothing less, my child.”
“You play music?”
Your voice startled Zagreus, sending a Zeus-like jolt through him and holding him in place with a numbing fit of static. Thankfully, it was not the bite of the sky king.
“You heard?” Zagreus asked, face somehow both paling and burning in tandem as he backed out of his room.
You, whilst leaning against the iron gate, nodded. “I did."
“Oh.” Zagreus rubbed the back of his neck and sighed. “That's unfortunate. Sorry for the bother.”
“Ah, don't misunderstand me, godling." Your spectral eyes bore into him with an easy confidence that suited the prince's fancy quite a bit. “You played much like a dying pigeon at first, I'll admit, but you've improved.”
Interest piqued, Zagreus headed towards you. “Well, now I know you're lying.”
“Lies are useless, are they not?” Your words came so bold, the prince had no choice but to believe you. “I can hear it, besides; the notes, they come easier to you. Sweeter, even, like figs ripe on the tree.”
“Figs?” Zagreus tilted his head much like Cerberus might. “Huh. Can't say I've had one of those.”
“Well, then I shall see to it that you wonder no longer, godling.” You leaned away, nearly out of sight of the iron-barred gateway, and jostled through the leaves of a bush or tree of sorts before the sharp snap of something announced your return.
You stuck your arm through a gap in the fence where your glowing skin was threatened by a cascade of decorative thorns, but you didn't much care. That care, instead, found itself funneled into the deliverance of a ripe fig to the prince of the underworld, apparently.
Zagreus stared for a moment. He wasn't used to receiving gifts unless he bestowed one upon another, first. To him, this almost felt like–-could it be--?
“If you don't take it now, I'll eat it myself and not hand you another,” you groused.
“Hah.” He snatched the fruit from your hand. “You wouldn't dare.”
“I've dared much worse, godling, believe me.” You withdrew and drummed your palms against the iron softly. “Well, enjoy. And be sure to clean your hands before touching that lyre again.” You looked him over, face placid as it'd been for his entire short history knowing you–-but your eyes, the strange things, they hinted at hidden curiosities. “I'll be listening.”
“Say, Meg, do you know much about the new House attendant?” Zagreus asked, flourishing his Stygian blade as he walked towards the Fury, prepared to fight after a quick chat.
Megaera's eyes narrowed. “You're talking about the flirt.”
“The flirt?” Zagreus rested his sword down, digging its infallible tip into the cracked ground. “Is that really what he's known for? Flirting? He doesn't seem like the type.”
A heavy sigh left Meg. “Ask Than. He might be more willing to endure your rambling and answer questions. I am not.”
“You know, I think we really need to work on your patience.” Still, he flicked up his blade, and lunged first.
As the Fates would have it, Thanatos was already at the House. Even more fateful, still, was where he stood-–not by the river Styx, no, but by the garden’s gate for a change. Death's presence on that side of the House seemed…odd, despite his infrequent visits to the lounge. Never before did he show interest in a coworker, neither, not unless it was his very twin who needed some firm and stringent guidance.
“Admiring the flowers?” Zagreus asked.
Death flinched. “No, I–-” He sighed and spared a look over his shoulder. “What do you want, Zagreus?”
The shorter shrugged and stood beside his age-old friend. “Came to find you. Is that so odd?”
“If you're going to shove more nectar in my hands, then you can forget it.” Thanatos looked away and scowled through the iron bars. “You've made your bed.”
Zagreus rubbed the back of his neck. Why did Death need to be so tricky to deal with all the time? “I–-well–-in all honesty, I had a question, one that I'd hoped you could answer.”
“Then ask.”
“Right to the point.” Zagreus cleared his throat and shuffled closer to Thanatos. “Who exactly is the new gardener? Meg said you might know.”
Thanatos graced him with a wide-eyed look. “I thought you'd know by now.”
“I wouldn't be asking if I knew.”
“He is–-” Death paused, his jaw tightening, tendons threatening to snap. “Why do you want to know?”
Somehow, Zagreus convinced himself not to pry. “We haven't had a new servant of the House in, well, eternities. Father wouldn't allow just anyone in here.”
“Sure, but don't you think you should ask him yourself?”
“It's hard to catch him. He's quite flighty, as Fate would have it. Must be the wings.”
“Must be.” The lilt of a smile threatened to lighten Thanatos' words. “Well, I don't think it's fair for me to spoil the introduction. But I will say this-–he was a servant of the House in life, and now continues on as such in death.”
“Really?” How could someone be devoted to the house before even arriving?
“Yes. He made my job easier, in some regards. Assisted, at the very least."
“Huh.” Zagreus crossed his arms and scuffed his sole against time-worn stone. “Guess that explains that. I don't suppose you'd be willing to go into elaborate detail regarding what exactly our avian gardener did in life to earn yours and Father's favour? Or, even just give his name?”
“No.” A luminous wash of turquoise licked off Death's shoulders, his scythe. “Ask him yourself. I've work to do.”
And with the toll of a bell, he was gone.
It took a while to catch you again. Apparently, you really did keep to a strict, self-imposed schedule that Zagreus couldn't even begin to understand despite its simplicity. Nyx told him you arrived come morning, at the very least. That may have been helpful, if Zagreus could tell the damn time in the Underworld.
So, he resorted to guessing; if he could not find you through the convenience of your daily routine, he'd swing by whenever he died. He was bound to run into you at some point--and he did.
It was when he wandered to the lounge, eager to deliver a wealth of fish to the head chef, that he caught the ghostly sound of feathers against leaves.
Zagreus backed out of the lounge in time to see your curious glance. A rush pulsed through him–finally, finally, he'd get his chance to interrogate you.
“Hey!” He called.
“Hey,” You called back.
“Just--don’t go anywhere. I need to hand over some river denizens and then I need to speak with you,” Zagreus rambled off as quickly as he could.
Your brows furrowed, but you offered a shallow nod. “I'll wait.”
With that, Zagreus sped by the gossiping Meg and Dusa and a gaggle of other patrons to all but throw his catch to the head chef. It was a good haul today. Hopefully that meant–-ah ha.
Zagreus rolled the bottle of nectar over in his hands. “Pleasure doing business with you,” he sang, and ran off, tucking the gift away before approaching the gate.
You were toiling away, a little farther in the garden than before, but not too far to escape the prince's presence. It gave him a chance to take a good look at you: simple black chiton on a well-muscled frame, wings full of bronze feathers, wild hair tied back into the smallest of ponytails. You looked quite ordinary, save for the wings.
But your eyes had been strange: they glowed. Not with the morose cold of Ixion, but with the exact opposite. Warm. Bronze. Sunlit, maybe. He'd never known sunlight, but you must have kept a drop of it in your very soul.
“So?” You said as you meandered back to him. You walked with unbothered confidence, much different to Zagreus’ sprightly impatience. “What important matters must we discuss?”
“Your name, first of all,” the prince requested. “I am Zagreus, son of Hades and--"
“Prince of the Underworld,” you added. “Well, I figured you were him. Good to have a proper introduction, I suppose.” You took a breath. “As for me...”
Zagreus repeated your name the second he heard it. It held a fullness in his mouth, something sweet and foreign, too much like the fig you'd offered him not too long ago. Maybe you were the minor god of figs (wouldn't that be something?).
“Pleased to meet you, then. I trust the garden will be well-kept in your capable hands. And wings,” Zag said. “Oh! And, ah, here--a token of thanks for your hard work.”
Your brows raised and Zagreus’ chest filled with hope; for once, your blank mask changed, and you looked less like a gorgon-born statue and more like a human. Somehow, it was a relief.
But your expression crumpled into furrowed brows and narrowed eyes, and Zagreus crumpled, too.
“Nectar?” You wondered aloud.
Zagreus nodded and slipped the bottle best he could through the gap. “Yes, I…I hope you will take it, if it pleases you.”
You leaned a shoulder against the gate and examined the drink after it fell into your hand. “Odd. Why is it in the underworld?”
The tension in Zagreus' muscles ebbed, somewhat. “Not a clue. Maybe Olympus ferries some down here from time to time to try and liven things up.”
“Hah.” That laughter almost sounded genuine. “Dionysus would, from what I've heard of him.” You held the bottle up, watching the light reflect shards of gold and ghostly greens. “He's not so bad, that god of wine.”
Oh? “You've met him?”
“No,” you said. “But I've met gods, when I once lived. No man should have to meet them in life. They bring misfortune, even the supposed good ones.”
The prince took a sure step forward, not heeding the way your eyes steeled.
“Well, you're right about Dionysus,” he assured instead of scorned. “He's good. I'm sure he's had his moments, still. But I get on with him well.” I'm sure you would, too, he decided against saying; the more he took in your features, the more he realized the god's work carved into you, painting you unnatural colours and robbing you of something only humans could have. He didn't think you'd much enjoy being forced into a hypothetical with them.
“Then I shall take your word for it,” you said. “And I will pretend this bottle was made by Dionysus' hand, to make it more tolerable.”
“Well, whatever pleases you.” Zagreus smiled. “But, if I may ask, which gods have you–-”
“Boy,” Hades’ voice thundered, echoing down the hall. “Do not disturb the rest of the House and distract them from their duties. Unlike you, they do not wish to disappoint.”
Zagreus clicked his tongue and looked over his shoulder. “Yes, of course, Father. I'll get right to ignoring every blasted person in this damn House. Perhaps I'll consider a life of solitude while I'm at it!”
“Do not test me further, boy.”
Zagreus rolled his eyes, but silently conceded to his father's demands. “Well. I'd more than happily argue with my father all day–-or night–-about this, but I wouldn't want you to bear the punishment.”
You nodded and glanced from the prince, back down to the bottle. “I appreciate this, really.”
“It's nothing, really.” Though Zagreus did indeed beam with delight. “Well, then I'll leave you to your work.”
“Be sure to come back. I need to return the favour,” you said as you turned. “Until then, Prince.”