Archive of Our Own

It starts innocuously enough.

‘Perhaps you know a God called Thanatos? The two of us are very close associates, you know. Do give him my best wishes should you see him soon.’

It is hardly suspect for his Olympian relatives to make comments of his fellow denizens that reside within Hades, so Zagreus saw no reason to be… suspicious? About Ares’s relationship to Thanatos. But he has always been inquisitive and always had a penchant for shoving his nose in other people’s business because he has a healthy sense of curiosity (or has a persistent need for being an annoying brat, depending on who you asked). So of course he asked. 

Though, in hindsight, it was an obvious answer: of course Thanatos knows Ares. One is War, the other is Death, a bit inherent, the two of them. And that, at the time, had been that. Zagreus had assumed a professional relationship, Ares reaped the joys of carnage and bloodshed and Thanatos reaped the resultant souls, and Zagreus didn’t think too much on Thanatos’s near imperceptible curving of the lips when he told Zagreus that he and Ares are—close. 

Because he had assumed he meant ‘close associates,’ as Ares said. As in, strictly platonic business partners. Thanatos does not often speak of Ares. In fact, Zagreus cannot recall a time the man did, so why would he assume any different? If there’s War, there’s Death. Simple as that.

And it has never been out of the norm for the Olympians to refer to those who share Zagreus’s birthplace. Aphrodite, especially, delights in cooing over Hypnos because she is the Goddess of Love and Lust and—Zagreus certainly loves and lusts, with Hypnos. Hermes has made offhand comments of knowing both twins, speaking with Thanatos on the occasion their paths meet, speaking with Hypnos likewise when he traverses through the Dreams. Zeus makes… really weird comments about Nyx. The Olympians talk of the Underworld residents, of course they do, and Zagreus had never expected any different and it isn’t odd for them to do so. Aphrodite attempting to wheedle out details of his sex life with Hypnos notwithstanding.

Anyway—all of that is to say that Ares speaking about Thanatos was never some standout aberration in itself. 

But then Ares continues. And Zagreus knows Thanatos is a star employee, perhaps the hardest worker in all the House, so, Ares is pleased. There’s a war, currently, upon the Surface, and Ares clearly makes it a habit to praise the tenacity Thanatos exhibits in his work. Ares has since proven himself to be a courteous God, despite his aspect of violence and brutality, and would give recognition to where it is due, from Zagreus’s own trials to a very specific scythe wielding God.

‘Have you spoken with Thanatos, recently, my kin? I know he has since returned there, with you. Would you be as gracious as to pass along my compliments, as he is always so dedicated to his craft.’ 

Nothing out of the ordinary. He and Thanatos work together, are ‘close associates,’ Thanatos is a persistent harvester of souls and Ares is a persistent patron of praise.

‘I hear you and Hypnos have since grown closer, yes?’ A chuckle. ‘Ah, I see both brothers share a captivating quality to them, do they not? Allow me to send you my applause for seducing Sleep.’

Zagreus doesn’t think he can be blamed for fixating upon the fact Ares made a comment about his and Hypnos’s relationship that he overlooked entirely that ‘ share’ part. All the Olympians had something to say, about Zagreus’s courtship of Hypnos, and he took Ares’s comment as just that. But. Well, the twins do share such a quality, don’t they. 

‘Thanatos has always been a steadfast companion, although I’m sure you hardly need me to say so, yes? Loyal. Trustworthy. Dependable; I endeavour to let Thanatos know in detail how much I appreciate these attributes of his. Do send along my continued endorsements, my kin.’

Ares just—really wanted Thanatos to know he appreciates him. Demeter did say once that Ares lacks subtlety, so. And Thanatos is employee of the century for a reason.

' Thanatos and I do set up frequent correspondence, when we are able. He speaks highly of you, my kin! I trust wholeheartedly his word of you, and you have never contradicted Thanatos’s approval, even when he possessed the most colourful language when he was made aware that you laid claim to his brother. I can hardly blame you, if the twins are anything alike, as I could hardly restrain myself in vying for Thanatos’s attention, truly.’

Perhaps Zagreus has some ego he should look into, because he was once more too absorbed in the fact Ares was discussing he and Hypnos again to really chew upon the fact Ares apparently yearns for Thanatos’s regard. 

‘I’m sure you know already the Surface is not always kind to your ilk, my kin. We are of two different realms, and prolonged exposure may prove hazardous to your health, truly. Thanatos cannot stay indefinitely upon the Surface, and I cannot stay indefinitely within the Underworld, if I were to breach the walls of Hades. It is a most unfortunate reality. Please, do tell Thanatos I count the moments wherein he and I may mingle once more. The thought of laying siege to your realm is a tempting prospect, but Thanatos would not approve, I’m afraid, so I shall yield myself.’

Boy, yearn the man does, doesn’t he. 

Well, that one was a little blatant. Laying it a little thick. And Zagreus had blinked at Ares’s dispersing form when he finished and gave his blessing, and Ares sure does appreciate Thanatos, huh. Really, really appreciates him.

Zagreus is a gentleman. He passed Ares’s messages, always, to Thanatos, like some messenger bat, and suspicions grew. Grew as a garden, when Thanatos responded to Zagreus’s recitals of Ares’s messages with twitches of the corners of his mouth, his eyes softening, a laugh (?!), when Zag mentioned how Ares casually threw out the idea of literal raiding just to see him. Thanatos doesn’t just laugh, and the fact he found Ares’s—pining, good Gods, Ares is pining—as amusing had Zagreus feel as though his eyeballs were bulging out from their sockets in sheer shock.   

And that’s it, isn’t it. Ares truly is pining. After Thanatos. Zagreus wants to snoop. He wants to poke and prod and meddle, because what is this? ‘Close associates,’ his ass. 

He would intrude, with a coy, teasing voice, and ask Thanatos how close, indeed, the two are, if Thanatos didn’t have the habit of just disappearing. He scatters into his usual ink before Zagreus can rightly start an interrogation. 

Ares is—fond, when Zagreus thinks about it, really, really thinks about it. The wrinkles of the corners of Ares’s eyes sprout when he muses upon Thanatos in soft tones. Whew.

Is Thanatos even aware of all this? Like, truly consciously cognizant of it? Thanatos hadn’t realized Zag had engaged in a relationship with Hypnos until he walked in on them having an… intimate moment. It was only then Thanatos inferred that Zagreus may have crossed the border of just friends, with Hypnos, and Thanatos couldn’t look him in the eye for a good week. Thanatos can be a little thick in the head. Just—a little dense, at times. To the point it is reasonable that he may not pick up on Ares’s affection. Or that he, himself, appears affectionate as well. Than laughed, after all, a small, indulgent chuckle at Ares’s continued mushiness.

Well, isn’t this an exciting development. War and Death. Poetic. Orpheus could write a song about that, easy.

Okay, so Zagreus is excited, he’ll admit. Romance is fun. Meddling is fun. Thanatos just needs a push in the right direction. And Zagreus would be a terrible friend, if he did not provide such a push.

“You know, Than, Lord Ares enjoys speaking of you, when he speaks to me. He clearly relishes in working with you.” Zagreus muses casually aloud, sheathing Stygius as the smelting landscape of Asphodel simmer around them. And, for good measure, he adds: “Enjoys your company in general, I’d say, mate.” 

Thanatos snorts, resting his scythe upon his shoulder. “I would hope so, considering.” He says dryly, and Zag puts that into analysis. “Lord Ares can be quite… insistent, shall we say, in his need to show adoration.”

Adoration, and that’s a strong word, isn’t it. And Zagreus cannot tell if it is the glow of Asphodel’s fiery scenery that makes the illusion of pink settling at Thanatos’s cheeks, or if it's Zag’s own projecting, because wow, there is definitely something undeniable between these two. Thrilling!

Zagreus continues before he can give Thanatos a reason to disappear. “I hardly think I could get him to say one bad thing about you, Than. He practically coos, about you, mate.”

Sometimes, it’s best to be stark with Thanatos, especially with things like— this. But Zagreus remains tact. Lest he make Thanatos flee by laying it too heavily.  

“An… endearing character trait, of his, I’m afraid.” Thanatos sighs, but it is not a sound of exasperation, something light, as he lazily looks out into the lava. “He is passionate in all he does. In war, in battle, in being disastrously sentimental. We work well together. Always have.”  

And now Zagreus snorts. This is going well. Better than well. Now if only Thanatos would let go of work, for just a bit, to realize Ares’s sentiments may traverse beyond that line, just a smidge.

“Clearly. Otherwise Ares wouldn’t feel the need to tell me how much he values you. I’m glad you’re receiving your well earned recognition, mate.” Zagreus tilts his head, smirks, decides for a killing blow. “I think one might say he’s positively smitten, Than.” 

He expects a reddening of the cheeks. Expects Thanatos’s face to pinch in an attempt to hide his embarrassment, maybe a splutter in how he thinks Zagreus is looking too far into things. He would poof then, but at least the seed would be planted.

However, instead—Thanatos does none of it. He just scoffs, a good humoured sound like Zagreus made a joke instead of trying to covertly play matchmaker. 

“I think that’s a good assessment, on your part. I can’t deny such a fact. He’s always been good to me.” Thanatos says and Zagreus’s brain needs to restart completely. 

Well. Isn’t that a faraway look on Than’s face. Reminscenting upon a certain War God, no doubt. This man is in love, wow. Actually in love.

“Wow,” Zagreus breathes, chuckles, “when are you going to make a move, mate?”

Thanatos turns to him. Creases his brows, says, “Pardon?"

Snapped from his reverie, it would appear. Now it’s time to lay in that KO. 

"You’re smitten, just as Ares is. Wow. Wow,” Zagreus laughs, and Thanatos just stares blankly at him. “You’ve got to tell him, Than, the next time you meet with him. I don’t need Aphrodite’s blessings to know that you’ve been charmed by him, mate. You two would make one unstoppable couple.” 

Oh, they would be so cute. Are, currently, really, both so besotted. 

Thanatos is looking at him. Staring. Face blank, brows cemented in their furrowed state as he just—stares. Continues looking, his skin still its pale self and without the rush of blush Zagreus would have expected. He just… Well he just looks, face morphing, face pinching into something both puzzled and incredulous like Zagreus posited something unimaginably ludicrous.  

“Zagreus.” Thanatos says flatly, like he’s an idiot. “Lord Ares and I are married.” 

And—

Well. Now it’s Zagreus’s turn to just stare. Silence. Asphodel's ambiance continues regardless of this world shattering, what-the-fuck, confession, spoken so starkly as if it were common knowledge. Time has halted completely, Zagreus’s brain produces nothing but static, and Thanatos continues to float where he is, Asphodel continues smoldering, and Zagreus continues staring. 

There’s no way he heard him right, obviously, unless Zagreus was suddenly transported into some alternate dimension (is he still in the realm of Chaos?), because Thanatos just said he was married, to Ares, like it was an obvious fact. Just, objectively a true thing, that he and Ares are together. But obviously that cannot possibly be true. 

Zagreus would have stayed like that, as a statue, with his smile frozen in place out of shock, if Thanatos hadn’t snapped his fingers in front of his face after what felt like an eternity of having an existential crisis.  

“No you’re not,” Zagreus splutters, heaving a near hysterical laugh, because—blood and darkness. Alright, credit where credit is due. 

Zagreus laughs, feeling like a crazy imbecile as Thanatos looks at him as if he were a crazy imbecile. That was delivered so perfectly. Thanatos’s flat expression, his flat voice, and had he always had the powers of such peak comedy? Thanatos could never understand Hypnos’s obviously snark. He’s evolving, clearly. Rapidly, already a master of wisecracks, Zagreus can respect that. 

“Gods, Than, that was a good one. Nearly had me, if I’m honest.” Zagreus chuckles, carts a hand through his hair, mostly to ensure he still exists and this is all real, because his mind is still attempting to rebuild itself from such a blindside.

Thanatos looks unimpressed. A real picturesque face of Are You Serious, as he says, “Pray tell, Zagreus, why would you assume I would joke about something such as this?” 

The sound of a crumbling island succumbing to the endless depths of lava proceed somewhere in the distance, and Thanatos is waiting for a reply. “Because… Because you and him aren’t even… together…” Zagreus starts, feeling distinctly helpless when Thanatos’s face remains the same. “Thanatos,” Zagreus squeaks, and he hates this man for rendering his voice to crack so, but his madness makes itself known as a hatching phoenix, bright and unyielding, and Zagreus really is going crazy.

Thanatos wrinkles his nose at him. He’s annoyed. “You were just wooing about how he and I are affectionate. And now you act completely contradictory. What is your aim, here, exactly?”

Zagreus blinks feebly at the man in front of him. At how Thanatos has not one ounce of jest residing off him. No tells exist upon him, no twinkling of the eye, no rising corner of the mouth, no shuddering shoulders attempting to hide a guffaw. This would have been the joke of century (the godsdamn millenia), with how Thanatos executed it so perfectly. If this was a joke. And Zagreus is finding it increasingly difficult to assume so, but the truth is just as unfathomable. 

“Y-You’re married? To Ares?” He says, more shrill than he would have liked. 

“Yes!” Thanatos says in frustration, raising his hands in exasperation. “Why do you sound as if this is preposterous? Of course I’m smitten with Ares, he’s my husband.”

“Since when were you married?!”  

Zagreus’s voice echoes throughout the realm of Asphodel as a drunk banshee. 

His husband, his husband, Ares is Thanatos’s husband. They’re married, Zeus’s beard, they’re married, actually married, and Zagreus was here meant to be their matchmaker but they’re married. Husbands! What! 

Blood and darkness. Blight. Poseidon’s trident. This can’t be a thing. Chaos must be messing with him. Hypnos must be, some cheeky dream, because how can they be married? How is that possible? Since when? 

Zagreus wants to shake Thanatos. To truly interrogate him. To ask, to demand, how long, how long, was this a thing? 

“Ugh,” Thanatos gruffs, shaking his head. “Zagreus—I really don’t have time to entertain your… Whatever this is. Your joke fell flat. And I still have work.” 

Before Zagreus can rightfully detain him, Thanatos, true to form, disappears. He dissipates in smoke and leaves Zagreus to drown on his own, as all he can do is paddle helplessly against the merciless current of Thanatos is married to Ares, like actually, he wasn’t joking, this can’t be real.

Asphodel continues, uncaring at how Zagreus is losing his mind. He stands there, attempting to digest this revelation, this terrible (but so—undeniably wondrous) epiphany that has run him over like a herd of centaurs. 

Thanatos is married. To Ares. Zagreus’s cousin. How long? How long?

And why—Why hadn’t Thanatos said anything, until now? 

Gods. He’s married. A husband. Unfathomable. 

Still too flabbergasted, and Zagreus is made an easy feast by the Hydra. 

Ares is taken aback, when Thanatos reveals to him his scythe is nameless.

The violet eye stares at him, sights securely locked upon Ares the moment he had asked for its name, and Ares looked down at Thanatos in bewilderment. They stop their joint walk on the beach, a crow plucking at the eyes of the washed up corpse of a naval officer, as debris of the man’s destroyed ship lays littered upon the beach from the waves.

“Beloved,” Ares says, allowing his confusion free within his tone and face. “How could you deny your most reliable companion a name of its own?”

Thanatos blinks at him. The remains of a sunken warship settles at the bottom of the ocean for its eternal rest. He feels his scythe’s curiosity reverberating upon his back where it is sheathed.

Names —powerful offerings, and Thanatos is not a naive God, he knows to not underestimate their gravity. He is no stranger to the concept of naming weapons but he… Well, he never truly felt the need to name his own, nor can he recall a time it ever felt right to do so. No sudden calling. No epiphany.

(Was that cruel of him?) 

Thanatos says as much. It feels distinctly as if he is attempting to give out a weak excuse, but it is the truth. His scythe listens.

Ares’s breastplate watches likewise, awoken when Ares introduces it; Proklitikós (defiant), a most faithful, inflexible companion, his suit of armour. It fashions scars upon its metal, each and every scrape a story of unwavering devotion to its wielder, and it is a proud being. 

Thanatos bows his head in respect as Ares regales upon him the bond they share, and he can practically feel the glow of ego it produces at it. His scythe stays silent.

Thanatos thinks. Ruminates. Licks his lips, tentatively asks, “What would you name it, then? Perhaps you are right. Perhaps now is the time it should be named.” 

He allows Ares the honour. Sees Ares stare with something akin to wonderment, as he understands instantly the prestige Thanatos gives him, and Thanatos knows he would not waste it nor take it lightly. He trusts Ares, implicitly. 

And it is when Thanatos takes the waterlogged souls of the drowned, that his scythe is given recognition.

Theristís—which will soon become the word for ‘reaper’ among the mortals. And through its title, a bond is forged between it and its wielder, and perhaps Thanatos was in fact naive, for assuming there was no longer room to grow. Theristís is given new energy, with its name.

But It would not be like Ares to leave it as only that. And upon a jaunt within Sparta, wherein the two share the blood of a bull that had been sacrificed in the name of Ares, does Ares reveal a gift. 

A dagger, a companion to Theristís, alive with the same purple iris, warm with the same soul. Meticulously crafted to be the scythe’s twin, and clearly the two conspired against Thanatos in private, as Thanatos could feel the brimming amusement from Theristís as he stared, dumbfounded, at Ares.

A blade, suited for close quarters. Theristís knows it possesses weaknesses due to its build, and therefore allowed Ares the privilege in broadening Thanatos’s arsenal. 

“And what is its name?” Thanatos asks, tracing the weapon with light fingers as he feels their bond become finalized with a densing of the air, before such is released to become an embrace.

Ares smiles.

Epaphroditus—and Thanatos nearly chokes on the blood he drinks. He feels the amusement of all of them, from Ares, Theristís, Proklitikós... Epaphroditus … ‘lovely,’ ‘charming,’ is its name, and Ares is ridiculous. 

“Flatterer,” Thanatos mutters as he attempts to hide his burning face.

Chowed down and spat out, and that’s an embarrassing defeat, Hypnos thinks, as he ponders upon the wisdom he shall depart upon Zagreus when the guy trudges himself out of the Pool. The Hydra is a fearsome foe, no doubt, but Zag’s been rightfully thwacked around like one of  Cerberus’s toys, and similarly torn apart. Like he wasn’t even trying against a multi-headed skeletal snake. Come on.

“Things are trying to kill you, Zagreus,” Hypnos muses, when the Prince arrives at him. “No matter how many times you may kill them, they’re not going to just let you pass, you should know that by now. So get back out there, and show that pesky Hydra what you’re made of, yeah?” 

He gives a light punch at Zag’s shoulder for good measure, plans to give him a good-luck kiss at the courtyard to really motivate the guy, when Zagreus looks down at him with a distinctly… perturbed expression. Huh. 

Zagreus doesn’t need to say anything. Hypnos sees Zag wearing a face that would be perfectly at home if the man walked straight into a wall and he understands. Time to retreat to the privacy of their room and get some very, very juicy gossip, Hypnos is sure. How exciting.

Infinitely more interesting than his monotonous ledger, most certainly, and Hypnos’s curiosity is sufficiently piqued when Zagreus walks practically on autopilot. 

It’s—well, it’s a little concerning, if Hypnos is truly honest, at how he can see, physically, the cogs of Zagreus’s brain move. Tantalizing, whatever it is that has gotten Zag so speechless, something positively spicy, to delight Hypnos’s palate. 

Zagreus sits upon his bed with a thump, with furrowed brows and a wrinkled nose, and Hypnos joins him with a yawn to fill the air between them. 

“Well, you’re looking more like a ghost than any shade,” Hypnos says casually, leaning heavily against Zagreus’s side. “And what’s gotten you so rattled, then? Many sights in Hell, the possibilities sure are endless.”

He idly pats his knees as he waits for Zagreus to stop acting like a sack of dead meat.

“I met with Thanatos, at Asphodel.” He says, eventually, spoken as if Greek was a foreign language, as if having wretch-killing outings with Thanatos wasn’t a regular occurrence.  

“... Right.” Hypnos says slowly, as he nods. “Ordinary, so far. And what was it, then, that my dearest brother did that has made you look like a man who cannot pass a bowel movement?”

And that snaps him out of this trance, as Zagreus shoves him with his shoulder and nearly careens Hypnos off the bed as the smaller God giggles as a response.

Zagreus blows a breath through his mouth, adopts once more that constipated look on his face, as he cups his chin with a hand.

“You know Lord Ares.” He says, looking at nothing as if he attempts to undo the world’s most difficult riddle with little success.

“I know of him, yes. Your cousin. An Olympian. A War God. Works with Thanatos as a curator of Death in his own right.” Hypnos returns to his post of leaning up against Zag’s side. “You gonna get to the point, soon, or are you expecting me to fall asleep first?”

He places his chin upon Zagreus’s shoulder, raises his brow in question, and Zagreus looks down at him. He’s got a weirdly serious expression, as if he holds a confession to murder, and then he’s constipated again, confused, baffled. 

Zagreus works with his tongue slowly, learning how to speak again. “Thanatos had said he was married to Lord Ares.” He says, eventually.

And… and, well, that certainly is a sentence, isn’t it. Hypnos understands each word independently but together, strung in a sentence, and Zagreus speaks absolutely nonsense. There’s silence, for a moment, and Hypnos isn’t sure what he waits for: for Zagreus to continue, for the words to unravel from their mystery, for Ares to suddenly burst through the wall with Thanatos in his arms, apparently married. 

“No he didn’t,” Hypnos splutters, when nothing else happens and Zagreus really just said Thanatos is married to Ares. “Thanatos has not one bone of humour in him, no humeri, he never speaks to me and even I know that.”

“I know,” Zagreus says helplessly. “Which is why I’m having a bit of difficulty focusing here, mate, because Thanatos literally told me he was married, to Lord Ares, and he’s serious.” 

Hypnos leans back, scrutinizes the man in front of him with squinted eyes and an unconvinced smile. And Zagreus looked so genuinely bewildered, too. He should think about joining a theater. That was really, really good. 

“Good one!” Hypnos chirps with a giggle. He gives Zag a good-natured point of the finger, shaking his head in fondness. “I’ll admit it, I didn’t see that one coming.” 

Zagreus pouts at him, and that’s cute. “I thought it was a joke too, mate.” He mumbles.

Okay, come on now. He levels Zagreus with an unimpressed look.“There’s no way Thanatos is married, are you crazy? Since when?”

“I don’t know, he disappeared on me before I could ask.” Still pouting. “He got annoyed with me, because I didn’t believe him. I think—Hypnos, I think he might be serious, mate.” 

Zagreus is fully regenerated. He is free of the previous thrashing the Hydra gave him, but perhaps not entirely. 

“That Hydra really gave it to you, huh.” Hypnos says mildly, and maybe he should force slumber upon Zagreus for him to rest that beat up head of his.

“I speak the truth!” Zagreus raises his hands, pantomimes weakly. “Thanatos told me he was married! To Ares!” 

Hypnos sighs, slumps himself to lay supine upon the bed as he stares to the ceiling. Married, good Gods. “Well, why weren’t you invited to the wedding, then?” Sure, it’d make sense if Thanatos didn’t invite him to the wedding, but to not invite Zagreus? Cold! “Why hasn’t he made not one single mention of the man, he’s apparent lover?” He questions.

“I don’t know,” Zagreus grumbles. “He’s Thanatos, he disappears before you can squeeze anything else out of him, mate.” 

At least that’s like Than, Hypnos thinks, some semblance of normalcy. “Do you think he’s pulling this out of his ass as a way to get back at us.” Hypnos thinks aloud. “I mean, he did think you were joking when you said we were mates, mate.”

“He appeared awfully serious.” Zagreus snorts. Then he sighs, rubbing his face. “I’m just… not certain Thanatos has it in him to be such a sensational actor, truly.” 

Hypnos scoffs. “Married.” He mutters. “How can he be married?” And then, like being drenched by a bucket of cold water and rudely awakened, Hypnos is brought to full wakefulness as he jolts and says, “Is that what that long assignment was? He was getting married?”

Oh ho ho, he’s cracked the code, hasn’t he. Isn’t that just the most romantic thing, for Ares to marry Thanatos while a war happens and hundreds die everyday. How thoughtful. No wonder his brother was busy, death and war and getting busy. Hoh hah.

Zagreus clearly thinks on it. Like an epiphany was granted to him. “Who knows! It would appear neither of us knew Thanatos as much as we thought, clearly.” Zagreus lifts himself, pacing to and fro and his brain continues to mull over this. “No one has made any mention of their… relationship. I don’t… I suspect neither Nyx nor Meg know either, mate.” 

“That’s ridiculous.” Hypnos lifts himself likewise, straightening his chiton as he gives Zagreus a wide smile. “And we should absolutely ask and pry ourselves rudely into Thanatos’s private life.”

And Zagreus smiles back. “Now you’re speaking my language, mate.” 

A vulture caws a hoarse sound as it approaches its brethren, convening to intertwine itself within the bustling mound of its kin devouring the corpse of an ill-fated warrior, felled in battle.

Ares is positively delighted upon seeing his birds. As he would greet any old friend, he takes time to meticulously welcome each and every avian guest. He promises them a wondrous feast, each and every time, a battlefield replete with the freshly deceased for them to gorge upon. The bodies of his enemies are devoured without a thought, the bodies of his comrades a noble sacrifice to dine upon to always be remembered by Ares’s flock, and he caresses the head of a vulture as it chirps its thanks, and bows its head in reverence.

Thanatos stands some paces away, counting each and every casualty, to ensure his harvest is accurate. The souls of the dead gather as glittering butterflies that glow against the darkening air as Helios’s chariot descends from the sky. The souls come as bright silhouettes that frame Thanatos’s being, fluttering and twinkling just as the stars do, as they hold close to their shepherd, dutifully waiting for Thanatos to complete his tally. 

Ares watches. Outlines the gleam that emphasizes Thanatos’s frame from his legion of souls, his hair near luminous as he works without his hood. Ares saunters closer, nodding in acknowledgment to how Theristís and Epaphroditus both gleam with the same excitement a dog wields when it greets its owner. 

“Death of my enemies,” Ares says, lowering his voice to a specific octave that always produces results, as he leans forward to speak into Thanatos’s ear as he stands behind the smaller God. “Must you always be so striking, even while you do the mundane?”

Thanatos shivers. The desired effect. “My Lord,” he says with a smile, sparing Ares a glance from over his shoulder. “Must you always be so saccharine, even while I work?” 

Ares hums. He traces a finger lightly upon Thanatos’s bare shoulder. “I simply cannot help it, I’m afraid. I find myself unable to hold myself when I gaze upon uncontested beauty, you know that, ruination upon my foes.” 

He bows his head, breathes the scent of rain against earth that flows from Thanatos’s dutifully washed hair. He feels, rather than sees or hears, Thanatos rumble in a low chuckle. 

“Oh, and here I had thought you were speaking to me, my Lord. I apologize for my ego,” Thanatos briskly says, and Ares looks down at him with a quirked brow. “I shall leave you to your flock, then.”  

His birds cackle in both amusement and beguilement, as Ares himself snorts. He shakes his head in fondness at Thanatos’s scythe, its violet iris gleaming.  

“Far too modest, clearly.” Ares drawls, as his hand traces up and down Thanatos’s toned bicep.

“You seek to distract me, Lord Ares?” 

“Perhaps.”

“Wretched.” Thanatos scoffs with humour. “The humans already have a ghost problem. If I miss so much as one soul, this entire field shall be haunted.” 

Ares shrugs, appreciating the fact Thanatos wears such a loosely fitted robe as to bare his sides, and Ares exploits the access Thanatos graces him with both hands curving as serpents upon the man’s torso. “And you have been working so earnestly, demise of my adversaries, even Gods require rest.” He murmurs at the other’s ear, pleased by how Thanatos stands straighter from Ares’s attention.

“Lord Ares,” He breathes, the butterflies circling them both as a halo. “If you were to whisk me away to lay conquest on my body, I wouldn’t be able to work for at least another day.”

He says so, and yet bares his throat as Ares plants his lips at the curvature of his jaw. The imp.

“Three days, you wound my pride.” Ares responds, vacating his hands as Thanatos retracts himself from his touch.

“Patience, you fiend. Allow me to reap, and you may take your prize.”

“Your prize, eradication of my rivals, for a job well done, no doubt.” 

Megaera rests her head heavily within her hand, an elbow stationed on the table she leans upon as she levels an impassive expression to the two men in front of her. This duo, a bothersome two-piece deal evidently, who sought her whilst she enjoyed her break within the lounge with Dusa, only to impart upon her a most ridiculous statement and inquiry.

“Thanatos isn’t married.” She says flatly, as her nose becomes wrinkled when Zagreus and Hypnos take their seats and Dusa floats to the ceiling. She’s going to gang up with Tis and Alecto the next time she faces Zagreus for interrupting them.

“See?” Hypnos scoffs, elbowing Zagreus in the side. “I told you. You really let Thanatos pull a fast one on you. Which—really, is just as unbelievable as the whole ‘Thanatos is apparently married to Lord Ares, Gods know how long.’ Are you even certain it was Thanatos you were speaking to?”

“Mimics aren’t in season,” Zagreus mutters like a child, and Megaera will have to commend Thanatos, the next time she sees him, for such a trick. “I swear it to you both, I felt no hint of irony from him. His fondness was true, it had to have been, and, and, at this point I hardly have an excuse to not believe him.”

“Oh, I don’t know Zagreus,” Meg drawls, leaning against her chair. “Except, maybe, the fact that Thanatos has not mentioned, once, Lord Ares in such a light? Or the fact he is supposedly wedded in the first place, until now?” 

Zagreus shifts helplessly. “Thanatos is... You know how he is. He’s reclusive. Values his privacy.” 

“Hardly knows how to communicate if it doesn’t involve a scowl and a perpetual state of annoyance?” Hypnos chirps cheerily, swinging his feet underneath the table. 

Megaera waves him off. “Your experiences with him aren’t reflective with ours.” Hypnos visibly slumps, and she speaks before Zagreus can go on a philanthropic tangent for Hypnos’s sake. “Though. Thanatos has shown himself fairly incapable of just speaking about things, which is why he’s your friend, Zagreus.” 

Zagreus sighs. “Well—! When was the last time you were made aware he was the type to… jest, of this caliber, then? You’ve known him longer than me.”

“And apparently longer than me.” Hypnos grumbles with his smile still in place, and Meg blows a breath, thinks of the topic on hand, lest this become an impromptu pity-fest for the lonesome twin.

Indeed, the flame-footed menace brings up a valid point. Thanatos is as dreary as the corpses he presides upon. Professional, curt, distinctly without the same humour that paints Hypnos, terse and with a penchant for disappearing instead of actually speaking through a problem, assuming others will merely adopt the sudden ability of telepathy and understand his ire. Ah, Thanatos. Not precisely the type to set up some farce that he and Ares are entwined as serpents, even if duping Zagreus to such a degree is hilarious. 

Sure, Thanatos was seemingly not the type to do so, but evidently the man has developed past this shared misconception they all had. Thanatos is secretly a comedic genius, who knew. She respects that. Deception is a lovely tool, even if the deception itself is… a bizarre concept in itself. Ares. Really?

But even despite Thanatos's unexpected evolution into some clown, the greatest gag of all this is the fact Zagreus and Hypnos brought this all up while in the lounge. Spoken loudly, in a public space, littered with shades who would hold onto any piece of gossip. Oh, Thanatos will most certainly be married, by the end of this; he'll find the mortals will have written a bounty of stories of them both, when he returns. The halls of the House will be abuzz with this most tantalizing hearsay, and he clearly hasn't thought any of this thoroughly. Wait until Lord Ares actually catches wind of this nonsense. Now that's something she wishes to see herself.

This will spread as wildfire and she, for one, will not reach for an extinguisher.

"Why don't you ask Nyx for some enlightenment, then." She muses aloud. Nyx wouldn't curb rumours, not yet, she'd find the merit in letting them fester. The consequences of Thanatos's skit is for him to live it until he comes clean, and Nyx would play along to embarrass him, and Megaera will lay back, watch, point and laugh.

Excellent.

Zagreus perks, as does Hypnos. "Yes, you're right, Meg, if anyone were to know if he was actually wedded, it would be her." The Prince says.

"Oh, yeah, she'd find that interesting, wouldn't she." Hypnos says with a distinct glitter in his eyes, and Meg knows at an instant that they are on the same wavelength. "I think we could convince her to decorate the halls to welcome him back, our own wedding after-party, he'd like that! Let's get this out there! It's a time of celebration." 

Hypnos nods sagely as he rises to follow Zagreus. And Meg, she decides a 'fuck it,' and follows likewise.

Ares is the personification of brutality, a steward of bloodlust and at home upon the mountain of corpses. He is—kind, a near uncanny attribute, considering, and he is at odds with the mortals’ (and fellow Gods’) depiction of him as only a mindless brute. He is anything but. An expert slaughterer who, just as Death, does not discriminate, but he is civil. Would allow a foe to join his ranks or die an honourable death if they had proven themselves worthy through uncontested ferocity. He rewards loyalty. Rewards courage, rewards butchery, as with War comes spoils. 

Ares is… a conqueror. Fierce, and fiery, smelling of smoke and ash, and as a flame, takes, and takes, and takes.

Ares is starving. Ravenous, he is, in his hunger, and he will claim what is his, pillage and plunder and reap the spoils of War. His conquest. His prize (his prey), and the sparring session he and Thanatos engaged in has evolved into a specific breed of physicality. 

Ares has him. Bested him, with a knee secured upon Thanatos’s chest and a blade at his throat, and Thanatos yielded to his submission with a raised chin to expose his collared throat. Theristís had been pacified with a well-timed twisting of the wrist that Thanatos will remember on lonelier nights, and Epaphroditus was swept from his hands with a heavy handed swing of Ares’s own blades. Thanatos was rendered disarmed, whereas Ares still possessed his weapons, alongside a knowing smirk and a casual stroll, and this was a most amusing sport.

Thanatos may have called it pompous, if Ares were anyone else, if this were any other sparring match, as the man radiated such a smugness for stripping Thanatos so. For thrusting Thanatos onto his back, into the dirt, and he could only grunt at the harsh treatment. And through his daze could Thanatos look upwards from the gleam of the sword upon his throat, to the glint of crimson eyes that pierced him sharper than any blade ever could.

Smoke, and ash. Ares’s scent prevails around him. Renders Thanatos intoxicated, as he breathes a deep breath with a mouth that possesses quivering lips, and he does not miss how Ares’s gaze flicks downwards at it before reinstating eye contact. Thanatos feels the sweat upon his brow, his back, the spar an exhausting affair but likewise invigorating, and there’s a growing fire in his veins. In his—loins, too, because Ares is a severe, commanding presence and his eyes literally glow in zeal. 

It is communicated wordlessly between them, and Ares smiles, teeth sharp, and he de-summons his weapons and—there are lips upon Thanatos’s own, harsh and biting and he surrenders wholly, allows Ares’s invasion upon him as the War God straddles him and he is unyielding in his probing hands. And Thanatos can do nothing but desperately seek purchase as he grips helplessly at Ares’s form as existence becomes steadily hazier and he becomes dizzy, and his own heartbeat deafens him.

Ares’s hunger is one that is ceaseless, and his keen hands wish to explore each inch, each and every dip and rise of Thanatos’s body, and he simply cannot have it be barred by petty things such as clothing.

Ares strips Thanatos of his golden plating with such a single swoop that Thanatos squawks at it, as Ares flicks his gorget off to the side. Would make a comment of Ares’s barbarism, if his tongue was at all cooperative, and he is made once more into a shaky, distinctly undignified, whimpering God when Ares assaults at his bare throat.

His teeth are sharp, perhaps literally, with claws to match. He mouths at Thanatos’s neck, his breath hot, and Thanatos produces an embarrassing squeak he was never aware he could even make when Ares’s fingers pinch at his exposed nipple. He feels Ares’s smile at that, feels his amusement when he grips at Thanatos’s breast.

“Ares—” Thanatos’s voice is strained, as he arches on thoughtless impulse and he has become embarrassingly hard, embarrassingly quickly. 

“You’re beautiful, like this,” Ares whispers, his voice heavy with obvious want and it strikes a jolt straight to Thanatos’s groin. “Needy, desperate, vulnerable. You bewitch me.” 

And Ares moves, lowers himself, brings his front to Thanatos’s and—he’s hard, too. And of course he is, Thanatos would have been worried otherwise, but the mere, undeniable fact that Ares has been brought to such a state by him has Thanatos freeze. And this is all an unquestionable, real truth, that Ares is on top of him as a hungry beast, continuing to fondle him, is hard—

There’s panic, in Thanatos, suddenly. A sharp, piercing impalement through the gut and he locks up on instinct because this is unfamiliar. Foreign territory. And through rapid decision making does Thanatos come to a conclusion, and it requires a conscious effort not to fall for the sudden startled need for modesty and to close his knees. Ares continues, heedless, too enthralled with his ministrations, as he has lowered his mouth to kiss upon Thanatos’s collarbone (would—would go lower, if he wasn’t interrupted?), and Thanatos wriggles. Places his hands at Ares’s shoulders, squeezes, finds himself through the fog of primal want.

“Ares…” He attempts, his tongue still heavy in his mouth, his lips still swollen from Ares’s onslaught. “Ares, I…”

He pushes at Ares’s shoulders, to lift him from his work, and Ares raises his head to look at him. His face is at first that of a keen predator, before it morphs; confusion, a furrowing of the brow, concern. 

“You are nervous.” Ares says, lifting himself, and Thanatos wills himself to not whine at the loss of his contact. “Do you wish to stop?” 

“No.” Thanatos says quickly, perhaps too quickly. He licks his lips. “I have…” he shifts, averts his gaze, and Ares waits for him to continue. He knows he has no reason to feel shame, and that Ares would never seek to disgrace him, but Thanatos finds he needs to regather his courage regardless.

His shoulders hunch on their own accord, as he says, “I have not… I have not... had such relations with someone—anyone—Ares.” He glances back upwards to Ares, finds comfort in crimson irises. “You hold the honour of being the first to take me.”

The confession is out as a bird released from its cage, and Ares stares at him. His hair has become disheveled, Thanatos notes.

“I am your first.” Ares breathes, like it is an impossible thing, and Thanatos gives him a small smile. 

He caresses each of Ares’s shoulders with his hands, rubs up and down, and Thanatos has never felt the need to lay with anyone. Has barely felt the want to take himself in his own hand, does not know his own needs or wants or fantasies; there was never a moment where he was accosted with the flaming desire to explore. But he wants that—wants to explore, with Ares, he finds. Wants it so desperately, he could burst, truly.  

“I want you to be the one to show me, to feel me, to-to claim me,” Thanatos says, and he knows he is safe to show the wavering of his voice. “Please. Show me how it feels. Show me you.” 

He moves a hand to cup at Ares’s cheek, and it is then that Ares appears snapped from a reverie. 

“You bestow upon me an unparalleled privilege, Thanatos.” He says in awe, before he dips downwards and their lips meet once more. There is that same desperation, but notably mollified as Ares brings a hand to cradle Thanatos’s jaw.

When they break apart, Thanatos whispers, “I ask only that—that you be gentle.”

And without hesitation, does Ares reply, “Of course.” 

“Nyx,” both Zagreus and Megaera call, just as Hypnos squeaks a “Mom,” as all three think it prudent to intrude upon her office as some sort of mismatched amalgamation of red and blue.  

“To what do I owe the most gracious exaltation to have all three of you, at once, whilst I work?” Nyx drawls, pushing the blueprints of further pending renovations to the side to regard her visitors. 

“A… Question.” Zagreus starts, as all three convene at her desk. “Which, in hindsight, shall appear very, very odd, but it plagues us, and we know that you could provide clarity.” 

“It is most certainly a subject you will find interest in, I’m sure of it.” Megaera says with a curt nod of the head in greeting.

Nyx appraises them with a raised brow. She settles herself in her seat, steeples her fingers, and declares, “Do provide me with clarity then, my children. I must admit I find my curiosity already quite piqued. Hardly a small thing, to rally all three of you together, I should say.”

Zagreus opens his mouth, then closes it. He adopts a face of concentration, attempting to find words, clearly. Words of a tact, she’s sure, for whatever the topic at hand must be, and Megaera gives a light scoff as she rolls her eyes, clearly not sharing Zagreus’s need for finesse. She appears on the cusp of speaking for them, but it is Hypnos’s voice that rings next.

“Thanatos said he was married to Ares.” Hypnos manages through a yawn. “So, when did he get married to Ares?”

Nyx stares impassively at them. They stare back. They do not continue. All three have varying levels of curiosity painted upon their faces; Zagreus’s is intense, a world-altering discovery at his fingertips. Hypnos is perpetually drowsy, but he consciously stays awake to hear her answer, some apparent feast he wishes to dine upon. Megaera attempts to hide a smirk, some amount of mischief dancing with her.

There is no more to their inquiry. Thanatos’s marital status appears to be the only thing they wish to know, despite the fact Thanatos, himself, already told them.

She answers. “Some time ago, now, truthfully. Lord Ares proposed while the two were located in Lacedaemon, on a summer’s night, and the two were wedded shortly thereafter. A ceremony for them alone.” 

Nyx glances back at the blueprints. An expanded lounge at the east wing has been proposed and awaiting her approval, although edits must be made with regards to the choice of tiling. Her office is silent. She thinks of the dead petals that adorn the halls that Zagreus is so fond of. She muses upon the scattered remains of various flowers that the Prince may enjoy to grace the further expansion of the House, as she waits for all three of her guests to remember how to exist again.

It is once more Hypnos who breaks the silence.

“Huh?” He says, voice higher than usual, clearly far more awake than he is used to with that smile frozen upon his face. 

It would do some good to commission the shades who were artists in life to decorate the halls with further paintings and sculptures, Nyx idly thinks. Zagreus is opening and closing his mouth again, with little success of producing much of a coherent sound. Megaera’s eye is twitching. 

“Was that your only question?” Nyx asks gently. “I must admit, my children, that I find myself currently inundated. I would appreciate peace, at this time.” 

“Thanatos is married?” Zagreus is finally able to say, finding his voice, which cracks on the last word. 

“Was I unclear in my wording, my child?”

“Thanatos and Ares are married?” Hypnos says, looking at Zagreus in apparent disbelief, and the Prince shares a face of incredulity at him.

“Is there anything else I may aid with, or has this been your only question?” Nyx is moments away from massaging her forehead. 

“Why hadn’t he said anything?” 

Megaera’s voice does not share that same tone of surprise with the two men, her teeth are bared, her wing ready to unfurl itself so she may fly towards the subject of her frustrations, Nyx assumes.

“A question most suited towards Thanatos himself.” Nyx says, looking back towards the blueprints. “But know he tends to be a reserved person by nature.” 

That does little to pacify the Fury, with how her face twists.

“He’s—Ares— Married?” Zagreus splutters in a way that has Nyx level him with a disapproving look. She has taught him better speech practice than that. “And he never told us!”

“I’m going to kill him.” Megaera promises, before taking her leave.

“Huh.” Hypnos repeats. Nyx returns to her work. Hypnos looks back up to Zagreus. “Maybe we should get secret-married too.” 

Zagreus takes a laboured breath, and pinches the bridge of his nose. “That… sure, mate, I’ll think on that.”

Ares knows himself to not be on par with Athena with regards to strategy, to assume such is dangerous arrogance—he’ll readily admit such. But he knows the value of a plan, and while he can also admit himself to be… impatient, at times, so keen for action is he, he knows that this… this requires planning.  

He might be overthinking things. But to not do so would be an insult to Thanatos. He deserves careful consideration with all faults and follies rendered harmless, no disturbance, no shortsighted mistakes, a smooth campaign with victory guaranteed. 

Thanatos cannot stay continually among the Surface; he is a being of the Underworld. No matter his endless presence at the Surface with life ceaselessly ending at any moment. He requires stay within Hades, lest the Surface world drain him into a husk from its exposure. He will return to Hades, and Ares will wait, no matter the length. Lord Hades has not made one reply to his requests of visitation, lowering himself to the compromise of stepping only at the Temple of Styx, and such blatant disregard is proving an irritant Ares needs to consciously calm himself of. He doubts the God even graces any of his requests with even so much as a glance. 

Lord Hades has still not looked past Ares’s previous trespass, when he broke into the realm of Tartarus to free Thanatos from that worm Sisyphus’s trap. It boils Ares’s blood, quite literally, and it isn’t an event Ares will apologize for, for breaching the domains of Hell and wounding Lord Hades’s ego. Pah. It is as if he attempts to purposely provoke him. 

Regardless. Thanatos shall take his leave, soon. His migraines are becoming more frequent. Ares knows to execute his plot when the chariot has been drawn from the sky and Selene takes its place, so that Thanatos would not be bothered by the brightness. Likewise, Ares feels the approval of Thanatos’s mother, Nyx, when she embraces the sky, and he is given infinite confidence.

The waters of the Eurotas River reflect upon its surface the constellations above as a cropping of the night sky. Thanatos passes the death of a stag that is savaged by wild dogs upon the banks of the water’s edge, and Ares tilts his head. Watches, the glow of the moon settled upon Thanatos’s body, admires, infinitely, the movement of his musculature beneath his skin when he bends downwards to drink the blood infused water from the slaughtered deer as the dogs begin to dine. 

“My darling butterfly,” Ares coos, enjoying how Thanatos’s cheeks dust red every time Ares employs such a title. He coaxes his lover towards him with a beckoning hand, and Thanatos takes the invitation as Ares asks, “Do you, perchance, indulge in dance?”

Thanatos gives a small scoff. “I hardly think you do, my Lord. Let us not embarrass ourselves by tripping over our own feet.” 

“You can scarcely expect proficiency if you do not try.” Ares closes the distance between them and lays a hand at Thanatos’s bare shoulder. “Though. Perhaps merely swaying in place may persuade you? Mitigates against the perils of stumbling upon your feet. Though I do remind you that you can float.”

“I appreciate that you keep me humble, my Lord.” Thanatos responds dryly, settling a hand at Ares’s bicep. “‘Swaying’ is barely a ‘dance,’ I would think, but tantalizing, I must admit.” 

“Indulge me.”

“But of course.” 

And—Sway, they do, free of the calamities of foot-related tumbles. With conjoined hands, with hand upon Thanatos’s hip, with Thanatos’s own on his shoulder, and they move in tandem as blood stained river water upon rock. 

Ares breathes in the man’s scent, of rain, as he places his lips upon Thanatos’s bone-white head of hair. The night is a quiet one, an embrace of tranquility, broken only by the now distant tearing of flesh of the dogs downstream. 

“Thanatos,” Ares murmurs, willing the man closer, feeling him through his armour. “Death of my enemies, my butterfly, my dearest," he smiles into the crown of Thanatos’s head when the man ducks his head into Ares’s shoulder, the names hitting their desired mark.

"Speak then, what is it you wish." Thanatos mutters with heat upon his cheeks.

"Merely to give you the praise you deserve. For you are unparalleled in your craft, a most allegiant companion, an artist in what you do."

Ares attempts the statement as innocently he can manage, smiling at Thanatos’s scoff.

"Charmer. Speak honestly."

"But I am already doing so, beloved. For you have given me no greater sight than you, and no greater companionship. I wish to cherish every breath you take, every moment we have, each and every smile you bless me with.” A butterfly indulges itself upon the moistness of the stag’s still eye, as the dogs become satiated. “I thank the Fates, truly, for allowing such a union between us. I am a most fortunate God.” 

Thanatos nuzzles his face deeper into Ares’s shoulder, releasing their hands so he may swing an arm around Ares’s shoulders, and Ares settles both his hands at the man’s waist.

He continues. “And I am selfish, I shall admit, it wounds me that you must leave, but I will never halt you. Know that I do wait with eagerness for you to return to me.”

Thanatos huffs from where his face is still buried. “Know that you are a veritable plague on my mind, my Lord, when I am shackled to the House.”

“I hope it is my image that you think of, when you are alone.”

“Egoist.” 

“To know someone such as yourself, such sublime beauty, is mine? Absolutely.” 

Ares feels the breath of Thanatos’s light chuckles against his skin. He listens to that sound, of Thanatos’s laughter, light and airy and subdued, and commits it to memory to ruminate upon. 

With Thanatos secured within his arms, hearts as one, Ares takes a breath.

“Thanatos.” He says, thumbs rubbing circles on Thanatos’s hips and the world is just them. “Would you be mine?”

A pause, for a moment, before Thanatos speaks. “I am, already.” He says, removing his face from the crook of Ares’s neck to look at him properly, with a small smile present on his lips. “You had just declared as much.”

There is curiosity gleaming within Thanatos’s eyes. He is expectant.

(Thanatos expects—is hopeful—but isn’t sure, exactly, of what.)

Ares lifts a hand, traces lightly the rim of Thanatos’s jaw before settling on the man’s cheek. Thanatos leans into his palm. 

“Forever. Would you be mine, forever?” Ares murmurs, held captive by golden irises. “You mesmerize me at every turn. You bring me satisfaction no victory on the battlefield ever could. You complete me, truly, and there is no being in existence that could replace you.”   

Thanatos has grown still. He has not blinked since. Ares continues, his thumb moving across Thanatos’s cheek as gold is the only colour he sees. “I have looked deep into your eyes and saw our future, and we were together hand in hand.”

And, just as Thanatos’s brow move to crease:

“I ask you, Thanatos, if you would marry me?” 

Thanatos’s lip quivers, his breath becomes shudder, and the dogs wait with bated breath and perked ears.

(It’s not possible, Thanatos thinks, that he heard correctly.)

“Could you…” Thanatos starts hoarsely, throat bobbing. “Could you—Could you repeat that?”

Ares’s smile is one that reaches his eyes. “I ask for your hand, Thanatos.”

“M-Marriage?”

Thanatos’s eyes are wide and he blinks, as if attempting to dispel a dream.

“Indeed.” Ares responds, with a dip of the head.

And Thanatos is rooted to the spot. And just as pretty as a marble statue, too, and Ares waits for him to swim through his bewilderment.

He hardly needs to stand by for long, because Thanatos works through his stupor to spring, pounce, literally lift himself to a float to claim Ares’s lips with his own with a desperate scramble as he cups Ares’s face with trembling fingers.

Ares meets him with an eager mouth likewise, lips convening in a tremendous and frenzied reunion and Thanatos seeks to be closer, to be deeper, as one, now and always. Ares’s hands move to caress Thanatos’s back and wrap around his waist and Thanatos kisses, and continues to kiss, as if there will be nothing left of him, if he doesn’t. 

When they do part, truly part, and Thanatos does not reinstate another frantic rush right afterwards once more, Ares’s chest rumbles deeply. His chuckles reverberate thoroughly, tickles Thanatos’s own chest, and Ares looks at his man who possesses swollen, moist lips and the glimmer of wet eyes.

“Is that a yes?” He asks coyly

Thanatos wrinkles his nose, gives a light-hearted thwack to Ares’s shoulder. “Yes, you fool, this is a yes.” He says with exasperated fondness. “Now kiss me.” 

And Ares obliges, because Thanatos asked so politely, and wild dogs howl in the distance all throughout Greece.

As Thanatos returns to the House, he endeavours for a quiet moment to himself near the River Styx. However, he is immediately accosted.

Assaulted, perhaps, is the better word. 

Megaera’s fists are bunched upon the front of his chiton when she appears to him as she snarls, “You’re married?!”

Thanatos thinks, peripherally through his surprise at her sudden appearance, that she would be wielding her whip if they weren’t in the House. She possesses a few inches on him, but commands the presence of a giant as she is now. 

“Indeed.” Thanatos says flatly, as he raises a hand to wrench her own off his chest. “This is hardly a revelation, at this point.”    

Megaera looks at him as if he posited something nonsensical, like he’s Zagreus, and she balls her firsts.

“Thanatos.” She says, her voice just as flat as his. “You have never, in all my years of knowing you, mentioned you were married.”

Thanatos lets out a rankled breath. “Because you have never, in all my years of knowing you, asked.”  

She wears a face she usually reserves for Zagreus, these days. Exasperated. Annoyed. ‘You are an unbelievable idiot.’

“Than, I feel like this is a subject you announce to us on your own.” Comes Zagreus’s voice, suddenly, and Thanatos levels him with a look as the Prince arrives with Hypnos in tow. “Had you… Did you really not think to mention you were betrothed to Lord Ares to any of us? Did you not think this was something of importance?”

He looks at Zagreus, then back to Megaera. Then back to Zagreus, and he had planned to relax, too.

“Of course it was important.” Thanatos scowls, ignoring how Achilles silently herds shades away from them. “To me, because it was I who engaged in a relationship with Lord Ares and it was I who married him.” 

Zagreus places his hands on his hips, as Megaera folds her arms and Hypnos hovers as he yawns behind a fist. Thanatos feels as though he stands before judgement, one that is tenfold the severity of Lord Hades, and for what? 

“Then why never mention it, mate?” Zagreus says with an incredulous tone, and Thanatos does not know how many times he needs to repeat himself, at this rate.

“There was hardly ever a need to bring it up. What, had you expected me to bring it up as a total non-sequitur?” Thanatos huffs.

“Yes!” Both Megaera and Zagreus screech. Hypnos winces, and massages his ears.

Preposterous. Thanatos makes it show on his face. 

“For how long?” Megaera squints.

Thanatos sighs. He drags a heavy hand down his face. Suppose this is just going to be how his break is spent, then. Entertaining fools. “A century, now.” He says.

Silence. The River Styx flows behind him as a viscous estuary of mortality. 

“A century.” Megaera says though teeth, fingers curling inwards with the need to use her claws on something. Someone. He’ll spar with her later.

“You are making an issue where there is none.” He says, as he feels the growing number of souls accumulate upon the Surface due to the winter and war. War, ah, there is at least a large advantage to so much sudden work, most certainly.

“Thanatos,” Zagreus says his name as if he kicked Cerberus. “You’ve been married, for a century, and none of us knew!”

“Well it wasn’t my fault none of you bothered to ask!” Thanatos throws his hands up in a huff.

Megaera brings her hands to her temples, gives a quick rubbing to the side of her head, before she says, “How could we have asked if you didn’t say anything in the first place?” 

They’re all just running around in circles, at this rate. Thanatos turns his hip, shows his blade in full display as he asserts, “Who do you think gave me Epaphroditus?” 

He hadn’t willed the dagger into existence one day, after all. Unless they just assumed so, but that isn’t his fault, now is it.

“Epa—” Zagreus blinks, just as Meg scoffs. “Oh, wow. That’s romantic.”

Indeed. He feels Epaphroditus glow from the attention. Hypnos mouths the name to himself in Thanatos’s peripheral.

Megaera shifts on her feet, re-folds her arms as she lets out a growl, “For a century, for a century, Thanatos, what is wrong with you.” 

Zagreus is on the cusp of adding his own unwanted commentary, in circles, with these two, some endless spiral in sight and he snaps.

“It was my wedding, I married Lord Ares, it was an occasion for just us, not anyone else!” He says sharply. “It was between him and I, not between us and you! I am not in the business of publicly advertising what happens in private! There was never a time wherein this information was of paramount importance that I had felt the need to bring it up! Would you please stop acting like boulders on my shoulders!”

The outburst only quells them for a mere moment, before their collective hackles rise once more. Megaera begins to open her mouth with a raised lip, as does Zagreus, more incensed than before and Thanatos is going to repeat himself, isn’t he, over and over. He’s already exhausted, ugh.

Before the House can erupt in a screeching competition that would be heard from the Surface, suddenly:

“Well, I think it's nice!” Hypnos abruptly trills, and Thanatos forgot his brother was even in the vicinity. “War and Death. Makes total sense, really. Very intrinsic. Hardly a War without Death. No wonder you guys got together, aha!”

Hypnos smiles brightly, gleaming, as all attention is brought to him. Thanatos blinks. He feels tension seep itself from his shoulders, and he rolls them as he lets out a small sigh.

“Thank you, Hypnos.” He says dryly, glancing back up to Meg and Zag. “Why is Hypnos the one that makes sense between the three of you?” He mutters.

Hypnos stretches, making a sound that instantly gets Zagreus’s attention and has Thanatos cringe, before he monologues casually, “You know, we could all stew here and argue back and forth for a good decade, I reckon! So why don’t we just, not do that? Thanatos is married! So he may have irreversibly hurt your egos by being an unsociable curmudgeon who just doesn’t understand such grand life events are usually relayed to friends and family so we may all celebrate together, and he may be a huge hypocrite since he got mad at Zag for leaving but neglected to mention any of this. You two can get back at him some other time with some equally absurd revelation. He’s been married for a century, this is old news, by now!”

Hypnos brings his hands together in a clap, back straightening. “So!” He chirps, eyes bright and wide as he glows up at Thanatos. “When’s your secret-but-apparently-not-secret-husband coming down here for a visit? Seems long overdue!”

Ah, well. His break has been lost to the recesses of time.

“I remember, suddenly, that I have work. As do you all—” Thanatos starts, before Meg’s fist finds itself bunched in his chiton again.

“No, we’re asking, you’re answering.” Megaera states flatly with little room for argument.

“Yeah, mate.” Zagreus says cheerily. “We’ve learned our lesson. We’re going to ask you, now, so you’ll have all the reason to tell us everything about your marriage!”

Well— he eye has twitched. But he concedes. Provided they do not wish for intimate details, he’ll answer them. 

“If you people are so intent on making me rip my hair out…” He sighs, and allows himself to be carted to some corner in the lounge to regale upon them a century’s worth of details. If they had asked sooner, then this could have all been avoided, couldn’t it? Honestly. 

But, it is nice, speaking of Ares with them, finally. He'll admit that.

Zagreus accepts Ares’s message, feels the hair of his nape stand on end as he feels the rush of fiery war blossom as he waits for his cousin to appear.

Shame, really, that the Olympian messages are one-sided and brief. The discussions he could have with Ares, regarding a certain scythe wielder. Alas.

“Ah, my kin,” Ares’s image greets, and oh Gods, oh Gods, he wears white nail paint. Than. “I must thank you for sending my dear Thanatos my warm regards when he was with you. You must’ve spun a most fantastic anecdote of my affections, for he has returned me sooner than was expected. It is simply marvelous to have my butterfly within my arms once more. I am feeling mighty generous, my kin, so choose a blessing.” 

And so Zagreus does, and is free to ruminate upon the Olympian’s message.

My butterfly, wow. That’s so honeyed Zagreus is feeling his teeth rot. Far more sentimental than he would have thought Ares was capable of, he’ll admit.

Well. 

Well.

They’re good for each other. Zagreus finds himself smiling, and thinks of Hypnos's comment as he moves onwards.

When will Ares come down to visit indeed.