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myselfinserts · 6 years

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❛ I could recognise him by touch alone, by smell; I would know him blind, by the way his breaths came and his feet struck the earth. I would know him in death, at the end of the world. ❜

The months following the winter melt in the Underworld had grown rather lonely, though Étienne would never admit to it. When the spring season finally came, Ceri returned to the surface with the other gods. The new Zeus had yet to arrive, so they were all left to their own devices for the most part. After much discussion, the new Athena agreed to rule until their Zeus joined them.

But Étienne had no choice but to remain. It was his duty to watch over the underworld and await the arrival of any new gods. The only ones of note were the new Hermes and Thanatos, who went by Raphael and Elmo respectively. Raphael was rather confident, handsome, and very witty. While Elmo...

Well, he made a decent guard at least.

Étienne spent many of the first few weeks of spring holed up in his work, tending to the spirits of his realm. When he wasn’t doing that, he visited the Asphodel Meadows, letting his three feline companions that made up Cerberus scout out ahead to play with the spirits of mortals while he read by the orchards. And when he wasn’t doing that, he took to the loom and began to work with threads, creating lush robes, capes, and tapestries. His finest work was a patch for Ceri’s eye. Something worthy of one who bore the title Persephone.

It was only when he’d completed the patch that the King of the Underworld noticed just how empty his realm was without him. He found himself staring at where Ceri would lay at night beside him, holding him close and falling asleep over his heart. He’d sometimes close his eyes and reach out, his hands rolling softly over the indent left behind.

I could recognize him by touch alone, by smell; I would know him blind, by the way his breaths came and his feet struck the earth. I would know him in death, at the end of the world.

That’s how I’d feel if I were mortal.

But this...this is so much more than that...

One day, just before the break of twilight about a month into the summer, Étienne received a message, delivered by Raphael and his blue-blood wings.

Or rather, it was more of a package.

Inside a basket was fresh fruits and vegetables of the season, wines, breads and cheeses. There were ribbons and wools. Gold, silver, bronze, and iron. Even silks and dyes from across the seas.

And in the center of it all was a bouquet of cornflower blossoms, tied off with an old eyepatch.

“From Persephone,” Raphael explained. “He wished for me to tell you ‘happy birthday’ and that he wishes he could be here with you.”

That was right. It was the height of the summer months. This was when his birthday came every year. Yet he received no festivals. No celebrations. He had a few priests who made sacrifice to him. But never gifts or celebration like the others.

This gift from Ceri...

“I’ll be going then,” Raphael said.

“Wait.” Étienne quickly wrote a letter, sealing it with golden wax and tying the new patch to it. “Please deliver this to Persephone.”

Raphael nodded, took the letter, and left. Étienne slumped in his favorite chair, humming softly as Lux, Blake, and Honey came to snuggle beside him as he began to enjoy his gift.

“This basket is worth more than all the gods combined,” he muttered.

The letters came and went frequently not long after that. Once every ten days, Raphael would travel between the surface and the underworld, delivering the letters and baskets of gifts Étienne and Ceri wished to exchange. There would be days with of poems and stories of the events that transpired, the new arrivals, the little jokes. With every passing page, Étienne could feel the loneliness wither away. He spent more time writing than anything else.

Or rather, when he wasn’t occupied with duty and hobbies.

Ceri had been treated well. Their Demeter had yet to arrive either, but he did not mind. Everyone seemed content to wait for the full roster.

Ceri’s letters always spoke of heroes and festivals. Their parties were incredible, but he wished to return to their bed and wind down with lullabies and ancient tales. He missed the purr of the the Cats of Cerberus, and the feel of Étienne’s steady hands holding his own.

Steady hands, Étienne thought. What an odd thing to say.

Summer seemed to pass by quickly that year. Every ten days, a new letter. A new story to tell of Endymion’s long naps with the sheep. Or Eos’ displeasure of Selene’s choice of spouse. Helios spending time with Thanatos by the entrance. Aphrodite playing with strange creatures she’d come across or the new heroes who entered Elysium.

They told each other of their adventures. Their hopes that the other was well, and even if that they could not be together now, they’d return to each other soon.

But then one day, they didn’t come. He sat by the window, watching, waiting. Hoping that Hermes would arrive soon and take his letters to his Persephone. But Raphael never arrived.

Nor in the next ten days.Étienne continued to write, in vain hope that they’d come. But no one did. Not even Helios, sweet Tanith, came to visit Elmo at his post.

Thirty days passed, and not one letter.

And the autumn season was beginning.

The the night of the fortieth day without word, Étienne went to bed, all hope of word gone.

When Étienne awoke the next day before dawn, he noticed he wasn’t alone in bed. The cats didn’t attack, so it must have been someone friendly. Perhaps Reginald? He tended to come visit and stay the night sometimes when Lucien was away. Or perhaps their Lazarus, the Princess worthy of Athena’s title, who would come stay when the lonely nights for both of them were far too much to bare.

No. He knew the moment he reached out who it was. He could smell the sweet scent of heather and wines, felt the silken flesh and harden scars. Dressed in one of the robes he’d sewn together, a regal navy lined in silver, was his Ceri, who still wore the first completed eyepatch from the beginning of their exchanges.

“Ceri?” he whispered, gently caressing his face. “You’ve returned?”

Ceri smiled and slowly opened his only good eye. “I am not due back for another week...I know this, but...I grew tired of waiting...preparations for the autumn took too long.”

Étienne smiled, leaning forward and placing a chaste kiss to his temple. “You weren’t writing to me?”

“I was. I just didn’t have time to send them. Hermes was helping with autumn, that’s how bad things were.” He pointed to the table near the window. “I put them under your book so they wouldn’t fly out. A bundle of forty letters. I hope that’s okay.”

“Of course.” Étienne gently pulled him closer. “I have letters for you as well as a new cloak. Perfect for the incoming snows.”

Ceri smiled and wrapped his arms around him. “That would be wonderful.”

“Wonderful.” He narrowed his gaze. “You cut your hair?”

“It was getting caught in the saddles. I needed to cut it.”

“I like it this length.”

“You do?”

“Yes.” Étienne’s hands gently brushed through the strands. “I like it any length, really. Just having it in my hands. Having you in my arms. That’s all that truly matters.”

Ceri chuckled. “You’re soft tonight.”

“Is that bad?”

“No. It’s a good weakness.”

As the snow began to fall and the morning dawn approached, the two laid lazily under the blankets, holding each other as tightly as they could.

The coldest autumn had begun in happiness.

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