Work Text:
Gently, he thinks of the princes’ words.
Gently, he thinks of time, wherever that may exist in this realm of the dead, lost to his own grief.
Gently, he thinks of her smile. Her voice. Her laughter. Her eyes as he gazed upon them in those final moments.
And, gently, he lifts his fingers.
One chord.
Then another.
Soon enough, the strings, led by his fingers, begin to play unto the house a mournful tune, underscored by the crooning of his own voice, soon singing of his greatest guilt- of his request, his loss, his victory- his defeat.
Now, he supposes, his lament.
The eyes, this time, do nothing to stop him. They do nothing but accentuate his own feelings of sorrow, of regret, of loss- something, he muses to himself, that being a shade should have taken care of.
He feels the song coming to an end; yet he cannot bring himself to stop playing. To conclude his singing, maybe, but not to stop what he’s already begun.
Gently, Orpheus sways as the chords continue after his voice stops.
Beneath the notice of the musician, Hypnos dozes on. Beneath his notice, Thanatos closes his eyes, allowing himself a moments reprieve from his endless work; Achilles heaves a sigh, his mind beginning to trail elsewhere at the mention of lost love.
Hades’ shoulders loosen as he dutifully continues sorting through the piles of paperwork on his desk.
How much supposed time passes was anybody’s guess this deep below the surface. The voice of the prince distracts him from his daze, excitement over Orpheus’ decision to play again.
Orpheus smiles.
