Another Day, Another Drachma ✏ Achilles & Hades

undertaker-hades:

Hades wasn’t really ever sure when a new day dawned on the plains above him, on that wonderfully lush planet that all of his brothers and nieces and nephews seemed to never get enough of. The Underworld did not benefit from the rise of Helios riding across the sky. Never felt the warm embrace of the sun … just the warm embrace of the fires around his own palace … and the enfolding of the infinite darkness.

There was never a moment to spare down here, though. His brothers thought he just sat idly by, collecting the souls of the dead, but they had to be organized, ushered here or there, welcomed into the domain. With his kingdom constantly growing, with no promise of an end in sight, Hades had to organize his domain and rule it with an iron fist. Sometimes, when there was someone of particular import, he would go and greet them into the After Life himself — some humans were worthy of such an act.

As he glanced at the list of new arrivals to his kingdom, Hades noticed one such a man. Achilles. In the end, he always got them all. He might have been a champion on Earth, revered and respected by his fellow soldiers. Athena, Hera, and Zeus may have tried to help him, been allies of sorts with him, but in the end? In the end, they all came to him.

Standing up, tall and regal, his pale skin almost glowing in the dim light of the Underworld, Hades made his way out of his throne room to search for Achilles. His black cloak dragged on the ground behind him, his iron crown perched on his brow. A path opened before him as he wove his way through the hapless souls that had gathered in front of his palace — he’d have to usher them elsewhere, and soon — and he followed a path only he was privy to before spotting the golden curls of the fallen hero before him.

He approached him silently, almost gliding towards him, observing him. He was young, the smug expression he’d worn in life still etched on his handsome features. “Achilles,” he greeted from behind, his voice soft, “I bid you welcome.”

Achilles had not been in the underworld long and already he had been looking for Patroclus to no avail. His heart was heavy and his body heavier. He was bored, he had been angry before but now it had melted away in the sheer nothingness of the underworld. Hades had a palace, a fucking palace, and Achilles had given his up in order to accompany his friend into battle–and what a bad decision that had been, Agamemnon had humiliated him and kicked his pride, but Achilles was fine, Achilles had settled it himself, many Greeks and Trojans died for Achilles to keep his pride.

     He let his lips turn up in a dry smile as his name was spoken, his eyes rose and fell on Hades–so suave, so handsome and so very polite, too. Bidding him welcome. Bidding him welcome to the underworld, to hell, hell without his Patroclus, without anything, nothing but vastness, souls and souls and bodies of a sort. He closed his eyes again and let himself slip back and down, lying on the floor with little air in his lungs and little care in his mind.

     ‘Thank you, I suppose,’ he replied, an arm moving to cover his face. His lips pressed together in a straight line and he rolled over onto his stomach, angel-curled hair flopping over into his face as he looked at the man’s feet before pushing himself to stand.

    'I don’t much know what to say, or do.’