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Chapter Text

“I need them out,” Circe finishes. “I need them gone. ” 

Athena nods slowly. She doesn’t ask further questions about the situation, and Circe is grateful for that. Just thinking about what those men did to her nymphs, her friends, her sisters and daughters in everything but blood….

Aeaea was supposed to be a sanctuary, for girls and women like herself. For the outcasts, the orphans, the ones with nowhere to go. Those who were told you’re too curious for your own good , those trying to escape a marriage to a man they despised. 

Come inside . I’ve got you. Don’t worry, Circe’s got you now.

Lies. Ever since that fleet set foot on their island that accursed day last week…

Rage flares up inside her, and she doesn’t try to extinguish it. She needs all the rage she can get if she’s going to get fifty fully armed soldiers out of her home. 

It’s not often that Circe interacts with Athena, but she asked Hemes to send a message to her, and by some miracle the other goddess was there within the hour. If there’s anyone who will understand the severity of the situation and be able to give Circe a way out of this, it’s Athena—a female goddess, a virgin goddess, a goddess of war. Not to mention her reputation for what she does to mortals who annoy her…

“I’ve heard that you have the power to turn mortals into bugs, and I was wondering if you could show me how.” 

“Not with that spell in particular. Casting it on fifty men all at once, or even one man fifty times, is likely beyond your capabilities.” 

Half of Circe bristles at Athena’s tone, and wants to demand to be taught anyway just to prove Athena wrong. The other half knows that it isn’t worth fighting over. Not when she needs Athena’s help to survive this. And not when Athena is likely correct—if Circe had the power to cast a single spell that could take down fifty men, they would already be gone. 

“I could just kill them,” Athena muses, her tone as casual as that of a mortal saying We could have olives with dinner.

Circe wishes that she herself had that power. If she did, those men would be dead without so much as a body to bury. Murder is fitting for what those men have done to her nymphs. If anything, a clean kill would be too kind. 

“But that will only deal with the current problem,” Athena sighs. “It won’t help if you wind up in this situation again.” She pauses. “You specialize in potions, correct?” 

“And spells. Magic of all forms. But if I went to battle with them—”

“You’d risk the lives of your nymphs,” Athena finishes. “You need some way to target all the men without putting your nymphs at risk.”

“Exactly. I considered poisoning their wine, but the chance that they would figure out what was happening before the poison took effect was a risk I couldn’t take.”

Athena nods. “I think we could transform the spell into potion form, and then you could imbue it with magic over time. If we have the potion induce confusion as well, they won’t realize what’s going on until it’s too late for them to inform the others.”

Circe grins for the first time in days. “Oh, I like where this is going.” 

Athena lets slip a small smile. “You mentioned that your food stores have been depleted. How do your nymphs feel about bacon?” 

They spend the rest of the afternoon working together, perfecting the recipe. It’s a common spell of Athena’s, but she’s never put it into potion form before, and they are limited to ingredients Circe can source from her island. They work until Circe has every step drilled into her memory, can recite the recipe backwards and forwards, knows exactly how much is needed to drug a vessel of wine and where in the forest to find every single ingredient.

“Use it whenever you need,” Athena tells her. “Whenever you feel is necessary. Put your emotions aside; it is the only way to ensure the safety of those you love.”


Then, in a flash of golden light, the goddess of wisdom is gone.

***

When the last man turns into a pig, all Circe can feel is relief. 

When she slits the first pig’s throat, maybe she should feel guilty, but that guilt is replaced with a mix of resentment and satisfaction. 

You did it to yourself. If you hadn’t hurt my nymphs…

Her nymphs are safe. The men are gone. 

Bacon has never tasted so good before. 

***

Slowly, they begin to recover. To replenish their stores of food and drink. To learn how to feel safe again, to fight the instincts installed by everything the men had done. 

Circe cloaks her palace in layer after layer of shielding, trying to hide it from prying eyes. It isn’t enough.

The next fleet of sailors finds them. They are forced by the laws of xenia to let them in. 

The men drink heavily and laugh nasty comments, and it’s only a matter of time. Circe thinks about how Gaiane crawls into bed with her on the worst nights, how Ana still has nightmares, how Isidora’s hands shake when…

Circe finds the bottle she made with Athena, drugs the amphora of wine, and gives orders to bring it to the great hall, where the men are blissfully unaware of the fate that will soon befall them. 

It becomes routine, after that. She can’t keep men from stumbling upon her palace. She can keep her nymphs safe or keep her conscience clean, but she cannot do both.

So it becomes the default, what she must do to survive.

This is the price I pay , she tells herself. The blood is on my hands, but it is not on the hands of my friends. It is my burden to bear.

It is your choice , her conscience argues. It is your choice to spill this blood, even when you have no sign that it is necessary.

She shoves her conscience away. 

***

Of course it was Hermes.

Few gods or mortals know what Aeaea is; even fewer know where it is. But Hermes, as the messenger god, is required to know due to the nature of his job. Even though Circe is wary about giving a man access to her domain. Wary for good reason, evidently, given this.

Of course it was Hermes who gave this mortal Moly, threatening Circe’s life and the lives of her nymphs. Once Circe defeats this mortal, Hermes is next. 

“You’ve lost,” the man hisses, his blade against her throat. 

No weapon in her hand. No potion she can shove down his throat. And of the spells she has the strength to cast right now…

There’s only one option left, one way to keep her nymphs safe. If she can’t overpower him by force, she’ll seduce him.

He resists, struggling, and she presses harder, strengthening the spell, she almost has him—

“I can’t!” he shouts, and Circe takes a step back in shock.

“My wife is waiting for me. My Penelope.” His voice is as tender as the one Circe uses to comfort her nymphs. “She’s my everything, all my power, my entire world, and we have a son who I don’t even know yet, because I haven’t seen them for twelve years. Ten years at war, and now Posideon’s out to get me. Please , Circe, let us go, that’s all I ask. I just want to go home.” 

It flips a switch in Circe’s brain, cracking a door, showing her a glimpse of who she was, what she was, before that fleet of men ravaged her island. A person who would be outraged by who her current self has become.

Her care for her nymphs. Odysseus’s care for his fleet and his family. He hasn’t so much as looked at one of her nymphs wrong, wouldn’t have attacked her if she hadn’t dealt the first blow. Maybe, they’re more alike than she thought. 

She’ll let them go. They won’t be staying on her island; they pose no threat to herself and her nymphs. She’ll let them go, and in addition to that…

“Poseidon?” She thinks for a moment.

Circe doesn’t know how to evade the god of the sea, but a prophet might. She remembers Tiresias, blinded by Athena but given the gift of prophecy in exchange.

“There might be a way for your fleet to evade him and return home,” she begins.  

***

Just as the ship sets sail, Hermes swoops down from the sky, landing directly on the pathway in front of Circe.

“How’d it go, darling?” He grins. 

“You gave him that Moly.” It’s a statement, not a question. “You know how I feel about strange men in my domain, you know what happened the last time I tried to embrace xenia, and you gave him the power to overcome me.”

“And? How’d it go?”

She sighs, crossing her arms. “He….he was very devoted to his wife. I’ve never met a mortal man like him before.” She hasn’t met a god like him before, either; most of the gods, especially the male ones, could learn from Odysseus about not cheating on your spouse.

Maybe showing one act of kindness leads to kinder souls down the road.

“It went better than I expected,” she admits.

How was trying to coerce him into sleeping with me any better than the men I tried to protect my nymphs against?

Would things have gone differently if I had given his men a chance from the start?

Hermes winks at her, and Circe realizes: that bastard . By giving Odysseus the Moly, by making sure Circe no longer held all the power—Hermes wanted her to grant mercy, and she had . 

And yet….

It had been a wake-up call, one that she didn’t know she needed. Those soldiers…they had parents, siblings, spouses or children in many cases. Families. A fleet of tired sailors, just wanting to return to the home they’d not seen for twelve years.

“Perhaps there are a few things I need to rethink.” It’s the most she’ll give him.

“Excellent, darling,” he says, confirming her suspicions. “Care for some tea?”

“What?”

“Care for some tea?” Hermes repeats, and suddenly two cups of a fragrant brew are hovering in the air in front of him.

Circe takes her mug, casting the briefest of spells over it as she does so. No obvious drugs or poisons, but Hermes is an Olympian, more powerful than Circe; he could have contaminated in a way she won’t find out about until it’s too late…

“Trust has to start somewhere,” he says, as if he’s reading her thoughts.

She takes the smallest of sips.

It’s not drugged. It’s just tea. It’s odd, buzzing with far too many flavors for her to name, several of which she’s never tasted before…but it isn’t unpleasant.

“Thank you. For the tea.” Given everything that could have gone wrong, that ‘thank you’ does not apply to giving Odysseus the Moly. But she will reserve judgment on whether or not Hermes’s choice was to her benefit or not. 

Over the course of their conversation, they work out a deal: Hermes will spread rumors of her powers far and wide, ensuring that all sailors know about Circe’s ability to turn men into pigs. In exchange, she will not immediately turn men into pigs the moment they set foot on her island. 

“You have to understand,” she tells him. “If it’s a choice between my nymphs and xenia, I’ll choose my nymphs every time.”

“Darling, by all means, defend them when you see fit.” Hermes grins. “Watching that potion take action is always fun. But don’t do it on sight, that’s all I ask.” 

***

Two months later, when Hermes drops by with a message for Circe, he conjures a teapot and two cups from thin air, and pulls her into an easy conversation about a comical feud he’s been having with a water nymph. She can’t remember the last time she laughed this hard, and in exchange tells him about how Chloe climbed onto the roof during a game of hide-and-seek.

It becomes their routine. Every time Hermes delivers a message to Aeaea, he and Circe catch up over tea.

He gathers new herbal blends from across the world on his travels, and when she comes up with a new drink she likes, she’ll give it to him to try. Their conversation is always light and flowing; he spills all of the gossip from Olympus, and she tells him about the latest antics of her nymphs.

It only happens a few times a year, but it’s one of Circe’s favorite occasions.

She still keeps a vial of the potion in her pocket at all times, but the rumors of her powers are on her side, and when worst comes to worst, the threat of being turned into swine is enough to send any man fleeing from her island. There are even occasional mortals who she has interesting conversations with, learning about trade and politics and new inventions from far-off lands.

“Glad you didn’t turn these ones into pigs?” Hermes asks, years later, when Circe pours him a cup of the tea blend she received as a gift from the most recent mortal fleet. 

“Oh, that was ages ago. Stop rubbing it in.”

Chapter Text

“Then who?” 

Hermes could tell him, but where’s the fun in that? Not to mention that there are over a dozen messages waiting to be delivered—his work has really piled up over the time that he’s spent with his great-grandson. 

If only those were his only reasons for keeping it a secret.

After seven years of being trapped on a tiny island with no escape, his great-grandson is finally out on the open sea, headed towards home, smiling again. Odysseus needs all the cheer he can now if he’s going to survive Charybdis, and telling him about everything that happened in the arena that night…

No. He won’t mess with this. 

“Good luck!” he says, letting the blessing wash over his great-grandson. Then, he takes to the skies. 

***

Truth be told, Hermes wishes that he could stay with Odysseus instead of returning to Mount Olympus. He has to go back; he has messages to deliver, a job to do. But with everything that’s happened since the games..

The tension hasn’t ceased over the past several days, the air crackling with electricity both literal and figurative. Hera has been directing all her energy into keeping Zeus’s mind off of the games and his presence far away from Apollo’s infirmary. Apollo has barely been sleeping, trying and failing to find some way to cure Athena’s damaged eye. Artemis and Dionysus have both disappeared to spend time in the mortal world, and haven’t been seen on Mount Olympus in days. Hermes hasn’t seen Demeter, either, but judging by the withering flowers all over Mount Olympus, her usual quiet dislike for Zeus has boiled over into fury. Ares has been even more tense than usual, making Aphrodite worried for both her lover and her sister, and Hephaestus has buried himself in his forge. To repair Athena’s armor and shield, he says, only that can’t possibly be taking him six days. And Athena….

He stopped by the infirmary, once, to deliver the news that Odysseus was free, and had ended up staying with her for hours so Apollo could get some rest. She was still unconscious then, and Hermes had to hold his own breath to be able to hear hers, shallow whispers that barely qualified as breathing at all. Most of her body was covered by a blanket, but the parts Hermes could see were wrapped in layers of bandages, ichor bleeding through far faster than it should.

There was nothing he could do but sit there. And wait. And hope like anything that Athena wouldn’t stop breathing. 

It was after that that Hermes decided: if Athena couldn’t help her favorite mortal, he would do it for her. 

He stopped at Aeolus’s island to cash in a favor from two years back, anything to give Odysseus an easier time home. Getting the wind god to trap Poseidon’s storm hadn’t taken much persuading; Aeolus has always shared Hermes’s love of chaos. And then, he joined his great-grandson on the raft, teaching him dance moves and helping him fight and keeping watch while he slept. 

But his godly duties forced him back to Mount Olympus far too soon, where everyone has been scared and anxious and angry. Everyone, except for Zeus, who has been acting like the entire thing never happened. 

Can’t you see how much you hurt her? Can’t you see how much you hurt all of us?

When you live forever, it is far too easy to drown in guilt. It is also far too easy to come up with excuses for why you were in the right to avoid ever feeling any guilt at all, and Hermes knows which path his father always chooses to take. 

So it’s a relief to deliver the latest round of messages to Aeaea, to laugh and chatter and sip tea, listening to Circe’s latest story about how one of her nymphs accidentally invented a potion that gives the drinker purple hair. It makes it easier to not think about spending hours at Athena’s bedside, listening to her shallow breaths and staring at the ichor soaking through her bandages and wondering how something so simple went so desparately, horribly wrong. 

The conversation lulls, and Hermes tries to think of a fun story from Olympus to share in exchange. But it’s been nothing but thunderstorms and fear and the entire mountain holding its breath. 

“Odysseus is finally on his way home!”


There. That’s one story he can tell. 

Circe scrunches up her face in confusion. “Wasn’t he on his way home eight years ago? Men .”

“To be fair, he spent one of those years on the run from Poseidon, and the remaining seven trapped on Ogygia.” And then he launches into a tale of his time with Odysseus on the raft, fighting sea monsters together, trying to teach Odysseus various dance moves when they were both bored out of their skulls. 

“And then he asked who fought for him, and I didn’t tell him anything but I blessed him with good luck, and sure enough, he made it past Charybdis the next day. Giant whirlpool, you should have seen the way the raft almost went under–”

“Someone fought for him?” 

Hermes freezes. “Yeah. Athena did. Anyway, he started yelling ‘OHHH BRING IT ON’ and those vocals, damn, I really think the guy should have been a bard–”

“And yet you were the one to accompany him on his journey, not her.” Circe frowns. “You said that she fought for him. Is she injured? Is that why you were the one to give him the news?”

Of course she hasn’t heard the story. Circe only goes to Olympus when absolutely necessary; Hermes can count on one hand the number of times he’s seen her there in the last century. Technically, she’s a minor goddess and she has access to the realm of the gods, but she much prefers life with her nymphs on her island.

“Darling, there’s a lot you’ve missed out on!” He tries to laugh, but his smile doesn’t reach his eyes. “I can get to that later, wait until you hear about the way he got past Charybdis, so sneaky , that’s my great-grandson all right–” 

Circe crosses her arms. “Was it Zeus or Poseidon?

“What?” 

“In the process of getting Odysseus off that island, Athena got into a fight that left her severely injured. There aren’t many options for who that could be, and there are even fewer options that directly relate to Odysseus’s release.” 

Usually, Hermes appreciates Circe’s sharp wit. Now, it’s working against him. 

“Zeus, or Poseidon?” Circe repeats. 

She’s not going to let him get away without explaning this. Especially not when she already has half the story courtesy of pure logic. 

“It’ll take a while to explain,” he hedges.

“I have the time.” 

Hermes is tempted to delve into a lengthy explanation of the game, of each god Athena faced, of the obstacle course Hephaestus set up, her battle with Ares and dance-off with Hera. But that will just draw this out, will make it last longer and hurt more, so he sticks to the basics. 

“Six days ago, Athena came to our father asking for Odysseus to be released,” Hermes begins. “Don’t know why it happened now, when they fell out ten years ago, but something happened to make her ask. Zeus made it into a game where she had to convince Apollo, Hephaestus, Aphrodite, Ares, and Hera that Odysseus needed to be freed.”

He takes a sip of his tea, then keeps going. “She convinced Apollo and Hephaestus easily enough. Things got a little more heated with Ares and Aphrodite, and she and Ares ripped into a fight, but they both got out without a scratch. And then with Hera…none of Athena’s arguments were convincing, because she kept talking about how he’s smart and stuff, and that’s not really something Hera cares about. So Athena pulled out ‘Never once has he cheated on his wife’, and I almost spat out my wine at that one, trying so hard not to laugh, because that’s the thing Hera hates the most about Zeus, and sure enough, that got Hera to agree to let him go. But then Zeus got really pissed, I think it was the cheating comment and the fact that Athena had out-argued half the pantheon with barely any effort, and our father is a power-hungry asshole, so….

He blasted my sister with lightning until she couldn’t stand. Until more ichor was on the floor than inside her body. Until she looked him in the eye and begged for her friend to be freed. Until she was as close to dying as an Olympian can get. Until he realized that one more lightning bolt might make her fade away for good. 

“He struck her down.”

Dead silence. 

Hermes hates silence. But there’s nothing else he can say.

Circe’s eyebrows draw together in suspicion. “You’re not joking, are you? Or exaggerating?” 

Hermes wishes like anything that he was. 

He shakes his head. “Far from it. They’re both too stubborn for their own good. Or anyone else’s good. Athena tried to get up and keep fighting, and our father kept…he kept throwing lightning at her, even when she was bleeding out and couldn’t even stand. But she didn’t back down, she kept going and she kept pleading for Odysseus’s release, up until the moment she passed out. It was far beyond anything I’ve ever seen a god do for a mortal.”

“All for a mortal,” Circe echoes, clearly struggling to process. “She’s the one who taught me to turn mortals into animals. Told me to show no mercy. And now…” She trails off. “How badly is Athena hurt?” 

“Well, she didn’t die!” He attempts a laugh, but even he can tell how fake it sounds. 

“Details, Hermes. I have healing potions in my stockroom, and I might have something Apollo doesn’t.”

Oh. 

Somehow, that idea hadn’t even occurred to him. He’d been so determined to get it off his mind, to not think about it, to keep his own sanity together and keep everyones’ spirits up, but if there’s something Circe can do to help…

“Third-degree burns, cuts pretty much everywhere, major blood loss, potential concussion, her right eye is basically gone, she was in a healing trance for three and a half days and even now Apollo’s keeping a constant eye on her.” Hermes hates that every word that leaves his mouth is true, and he’s pretty sure he’s just used up his honesty quota for the next decade.

“Wait here.” Before he can respond, she’s gone. 

Luckily, he doesn’t have to wait for long; in a few minutes, Circe is back, her arms full of vials and containers. 

“Give these to Apollo,” she says, passing the objects to him one at a time as he carefully tucks them into his shoulder bag. “They’re labeled, so he should know what to do. I don’t know what he already has covered, but maybe something here will help.”

“I got you, darling.” Hermes stares at the vials. “How do you have all this? Are your nymphs extreme risk-takers? If so, I’d love to give them a few pointers–” 

“They are not .” Circe glares at him. “It’s best to be prepared for emergencies. Regardless of how unlikely they might be.” 

Usually, Hermes wouldn’t understand this level of caution. Today, though….

“Is that everything?” he checks. 

She nods.

“I should get all this to Apollo.” He slings the bag over his shoulder. “I’ll see you soon!” 

“One more thing,” Circe calls after him.

Hermes pauses, hovering.

“Tell your father to go fuck himself.”

***

Despite what most of the pantheon thinks, Hermes does, in fact, have some regard for his personal safety. So he does not pass on Circe’s message to Zeus, though he very much agrees with the sentiment behind it.

Instead, he goes directly to Apollo’s palace. 

“Hey.” Apollo tries to smile, but even if Hermes wasn’t the god of lies, he’d know that his brother was faking it. His usually meticulous curls are in disarray, his chiton is unevenly pinned, and there are deep circles under his eyes. 

“Hi, sunshine.” Hermes starts to pull the vials out of his bag. “Got some healing medicine from Circe.” 

Apollo takes them and piles them on a nearby table, then picks up each one and studies it in turn, casting a series of spells on them that cause them to briefly glow. Testing the properties of each medicine, most likely. 

“Thank the Fates,” he breathes as he studies the last one.

“What is it?”

“Blood regeneration. Athena’s lost so much ichor, and my usual compounds are meant for treating mortals, since usually…anyway, this one is targeted at minor immortals, so hopefully it’ll be at least a little more effective.” He lowers the vial. “Thank Circe for me the next time you see her. I’ll let you go, I should…” He trails off, his eyes briefly slipping closed.  

“Sunshine? You good?” 

“Sorry.” Apollo blinks awake. The usual glow of his hands is as dim as a flame moments away from going out. “Yeah. I’ll give this to Athena now.” 

Hermes is fairly certain that ‘about thirty seconds away from passing out’ and ‘able to take proper care of a severely injured goddess’ do not exactly go hand in hand. 

“Darling, you look exhausted. Have you been sleeping?”

Apollo sighs. “The first time I thought Athena was doing well enough for me to leave her alone, Hera contacted me half a day later to lecture me for not keeping an eye on her, because the moment our sister woke up she tried to leave. Last night, I thought she’d be okay to sleep on her own, and then Ares woke me up two hours later telling me that Athena had had a nightmare that had resulted in her bandages coming off and two of her wounds reopening. I can’t find anything that will fix her eye, and our father seems to think I can still handle my usual workload on top of trying to fix the mess he created.” 

In other words, no, he hasn’t been sleeping. And the idea that things were bad enough for Ares, of all people, to get involved in the middle of the night….

Some part of Hermes wants to leave. To finish delivering his last couple messages, go visit some mortals or chat with Dionysus or do anything to take his mind off of this. He wants to trust that Apollo is handling this, trust that Athena is recovering. It’s what he always does: drop in, offer some help or advice, have a little fun with it, get out before things get messy. Trust that things will work out, because it’s too easy to despair otherwise. 

But that strategy isn’t going to work here. 

“I’ve been longing to talk to my favorite oldest sister anyway. Why don’t you get some rest?” 

“She’s your only oldest sister.” 

“Details, details.” 

Apollo wavers, and then shoves two vials into his hands. “The large one is the one for blood regeneration—have her drink half of it now, she really needs it after last night. The smaller one is a painkiller, but it’ll also make her drowsy, so save it for right before she goes to sleep. Wake me up if anything gets worse.”

And with that, Apollo heads for his bedroom, and Hermes for the infirmary. 

***

The moment Hermes sees Athena, he knows why Apollo told him to give her the blood replenishment potion. At least she isn’t bleeding through her bandages like last time, but she’s clearly lost a lot of ichor, and her skin is incredibly pale. He wants to ask her if she’s been spending a lot of time in the Underworld lately, but given how close his sister came to dying, that’s probably not the best joke to make. 

Styx, he hates having to take things seriously. 

“Hermes?” 

At least Athena is awake. And coherent. And talking. And, by the looks of the scroll she’s holding, her vision is still good enough for her to be able to read. All of these are incredibly small wins, but he’ll take them.

“Hey, darling.” He drops into the armchair at her bedside.

“That position can’t possibly be comfortable.” 

“Speak for yourself.” He leans his head backwards over the armrest so he can face her, turning the world upside down. “How are you?” 

“Bored, mostly.”

There are many, many things that Hermes would like to do to make her regret ever admitting boredom to him, rambling stories he could tell or ridiculous things he could do to distract her. Instead, he reaches over to hand her the larger vial. “For the blood loss.” 

Athena’s hands are still shaking, but she manages to unscrew the vial and take a sip, her mouth scrunching up in disgust. 

“I hate to be the bearer of bad news, but you need to drink half of it.”

“You’ve got to be kidding me.” Athena eyes the vial warily. “Are you sure this isn’t a trick of some kind?” 

“Apollo’s orders.” When she still hasn’t taken another sip, he sighs and adds, “I swear on the Styx.” 

“Who are you, and what have you done with my little brother who’s never told the truth a day in his life?” 

“Hey!” 

She does take another sip, though. And another. Slowly, some color starts to return to her face, and Hermes has to admit: he’s glad he told Circe the truth. Even if it means that his reputation as the god of liars is crumbling before his very eyes.

“You said this was on Apollo’s orders, but he told me this morning that his treatment for blood loss was going to take another day to finish brewing.” Athena frowns. “And this vessel design is very different from the ones I’ve seen him use before. But I don’t know who else….”

“Circe.” 

“That…that doesn’t make sense.” 

“She’s had a change of heart these last few years. After her encounter with Odysseus. And her subsequent encounter with me, of course.” 

Athena winces. “I saw. In the time dive. I don’t regret showing her how to make that potion, but I maybe should not have told her to use it whenever she likes.” 

Hermes doesn’t have much to say to that.

For a moment, the room falls silent, and then Athena turns to him. “Do you have a message for me, or….”

He hears the implicit question. Why are you still here? 

“No messages.” Hermes smiles. “I’m just here so you may appreciate my dazzling personality.” 

Athena takes a final sip, setting the half-empty vial down on her bedside table.

“Feeling better, darling?” 

“Yes.” Athena sighs. “Far better.” 

“You don’t sound happy about that.”

“I don’t know how I can repay Circe for her help.” She tears a hand through her hair. “The same goes for you—you always have somewhere to be, don’t try to tell me you don’t, and yet you’re here. I don’t know how to repay Ares, either, or Hera, or Apollo. Especially Apollo.” 

“Did any of them ask you for anything?” 

He can’t imagine that they would have, and sure enough, Athena shakes her head. “No. But they can’t have done it for free.” 

“Not everything is a transaction, Athena. Sometimes people just want to help. I can assure you, nobody’s expecting you to pay them back. Especially not when…” Not when you could blend in just fine with the shades in Asphodel. “Not when you’re clearly unwell.” 

Athena looks like she wants to argue, but she just sinks back against her pillows. She looks exhausted. Hermes would be surprised if she didn’t. 

“Can you thank Circe for me, the next time you see her?” she asks at last. 

“Of course. Or, I can bring you along the next time I visit, and you could tell her yourself. I think you two would get along.” 

Circe turning any and all men into pigs to protect her nymphs. Athena losing an eye to save a friend. They both have the same intensity, the same fierce determination, the same cleverness—now that Hermes is thinking about it, those two make a dangerous combination, and he’s grinning at the thought of what they could do if they teamed up. 

Athena nods in acknowledgment. “Do you have any news on Odysseus?” 

“Absolutely. Let me tell you all about it.” 

***

Two months later, Hermes is ready to retract his earlier opinion. Introducing Athena and Circe has lead  to the dullest, most technical conversation he has ever witnessed—which is saying something, given the number of Olympian council meetings he’s had to sit through. At least those have the potential for rumbles of thunder from Zeus, or threats of raising the dead from Hades, arguments where he just sits back and watches the chaos flow, but now…

Athena and Circe have been going on about various offensive and defensive strategies for area-of-effect casting for the past fifteen minutes, and gods can’t die but Hermes is on the point of fading with how boring it all is. They keep using words and terms he doesn’t recognize, debating over minutae. It’s almost enough to make him regret introducing them.

Almost , but he can tell that Circe is as relaxed as he’s ever seen her, comfortable in Athena’s company and eager to have someone she can intellectually battle. 

Almost , but Athena is full of her old energy and intensity—two qualities that Hermes had been worried the lightning had stripped away. 

So he sits there, and lets the conversation wash over him, and resists the urge to spike the tea with alcohol or Moly just to make things more exciting, because Apollo would probably kill him if he did anything that set back Athena’s recovery. 

And because, despite their terrible choice of conversation topic, his friends are getting along, which was the entire point of this encounter.