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It began on a night where Melinoë set out later than she usually did. She had lost track of time gardening, redecorating the Crossroads, chatting with its residents, and telling the ever-sleeping Hypnos about her day, and so she had found herself setting out hours after her usual time of departure.
She didn’t notice anything out of the ordinary until, as she jumped from ship to ship in the Rift of Thessaly, she looked up and noted the dark sky muddying into a deep blue as opposed to its usual black.
Pausing for only a moment, Melinoë stared in confusion, but it was enough for a stray harpy to scratch her, ripping a deep gash on her arm as it flew past. She hissed, more out of frustration than pain – she had already lost a Death Defiance fighting Polyphemus and she had yet to improve her arcana card of death, so she was already on her last legs. This was going to set her back quite a bit. Eris would never let her hear the end of it.
It was then that she heard the tell-tale sound of bombs and swooping wings, whistling just the slightest bit differently from those of harpies.
Melinoë couldn’t help the smile that grew on her face, despite the pain she was in.
She and Icarus fought together, sweeping through the remaining members of Chronos’ army that infested the ghostly ship. As they did, the sky continued to lighten and change colour, the edges remaining a dark blue but a point on the horizon turning purple and then pink.
Eventually, Melinoë slew the final enemy, and in exhaustion nearly collapsed on the spot.
Cool, calloused hands steadied her before she could.
“Icarus,” she breathed. Eyes closed, she leaned her head on his shoulder, careful not to touch the part that she knew remained forever burnt with the rivulet marks of melted wax.
“Meli,” he said. His voice was steady but by the manner in which his hands darted about her hair and back and especially her injured arm which was coating the floorboards beneath her a healthy red, she could tell he worried for her.
Reluctantly, Melinoë pulled back and opened her eyes. She almost regretted it by the way Icarus’ face, so close to hers, was tense with concern. His eyes, an amber so yellow it was almost unnatural (she had once described those eyes, when they were younger, as reminding her of what she imagined the sun to look like, to which Icarus had laughed almost bitterly), remained trained on the cut on her arm, so deep it was damn near cleaved off. His hand hovered over it, not quite touching.
“Meli… let me help you,” he whispered. “Please. You can’t go on much longer like this.”
She wanted to pull away, as she had done the few times she had seen Icarus since they reunited. Tell him that she had to keep going and push past her limits if she wanted to defeat Chronos or help her family on Mount Olympus. Icarus was equally guilty of pulling away, she reminded herself. Ever since she botched the ritual to bring him back to life, ever since he left the Crossroads in its aftermath, they flitted past each other, two ships in the night, never quite meeting each other in the middle. It hurt her, the way they both hesitated around each other now, when once they were so close they could almost be mistaken for one person.
Maybe this once, with her eyelids heavy and the blood loss making her thoughts and feet slippery, and Icarus’ hands feeling so cool and relieving, she could stay.
Just this once.
“Fix me up?” she threw him a bone, which, with a moment of consideration, he lapped up desperately.
He sat her down on the deck of the ship, far from the puddle of blood she had made, and cleaned up her injury, applying bandages which he carried on him at all times. She didn’t tell him they wouldn’t do much for her. He already knew.
As he worked through his anxieties and she enjoyed the feeling of his meticulously trained hands, Melinoë watched the sky. She had never really taken the time to do so, even in her youth before she set out for her life’s purpose. Only on the rare times Icarus would take her exploring around the peripheries of the Crossroads, imploring her to take a moment’s rest, did she ever look up rather than forwards and back. She supposed some things never truly changed.
The colours of the sky continued to crawl, like Selene was pulling a patterned shawl across the sky and Helios carried the other end. Purple turned to pink turned to orange.
Icarus followed her eyes. He had stopped properly fixed her up for a while and now only fiddled with his supplies. He swallowed.
“If you’re willing…” he began hesitantly, that honey sweet voice of his curling gently around her as it always did. He was always so damn gentle with her, she couldn’t admit to herself that she craved it. No one else touched her, outside of training. No one else looked at her and saw a person rather than a weapon with the sole purpose of stopping Time. And that was fine, she couldn’t let anything get in her way.
She should hate this, should see it as an obstacle to achieving her mission. But she was selfish.
“… Would you stay, just for a short while longer? It’s just that, you came out later than you normally do, and, Meli, I don’t think you’ve ever seen a sunrise before.”
It was true. The Crossroads stood in the space in between realms, and thus did not experience the day cycle, instead remaining concealed and protected by Lady Nyx and Headmistress’ ancient protections and Selene’s watchful gaze. And Melinoë only ever set out to fight during the night, the Silver Sisters working their most efficiently then.
She knew she should get going, could feel time crawling down her back as surely as it did across the sky. Chronos grew ever stronger, every symbol of his continued existence surrounding her, and yet she couldn’t refuse her dearest friend.
“As you wish,” she said, and was able to catch the corner of his smile before he tipped his head away suddenly.
As the edges of the sun peeked over the horizon, beams of light stretched their hands out and washed their warm touch over the surface of the Overworld. It was a feeling Melinoë had never actually felt before, and yet, she could only compare it to Icarus’ loving touch as he tended to her injuries.
Instead of looking out towards the sky, Melinoë kept her gaze on Icarus, noting every twitch of his face and hands, his wide eyes, the smile he couldn’t quite keep contained as he watched the sunrise alone.
It was like he had come alive in that moment, despite remaining as dead as she had always known him. The sun’s light stroked his hair, lightening it to a warm brown, and the pale, unnatural clamminess of his skin turned into a warm, rosy flush. She wondered just how much her failed ritual did for him. Did it give him the ability to enjoy the teasing curl of the wind and the spray of the sea, could he feel the sun’s loving caress now, did he long for it?
For the first time, Melinoë looked at Icarus and did not see her best friend, nor did not see an ordinary shade taking refuge at the Crossroads.
She saw a mortal boy, one who did not belong in the Underworld.
This image of Icarus infected her mind, his arms wide and smile loving, embraced by the sun. It filled her with a peculiar feeling she had felt many times before. At Nemesis and Hecate for their skill, Odysseus for his adventures, the many shades she met for having and knowing their families.
This was jealousy she felt, so heavy she could taste it on the back of her tongue.
In that moment she was filled with a jealousy so powerful she could barely breathe. That Icarus, the mortal boy, the boy she called her closest friend, so alive with passion in the light of sun, would belong better in the world up above than in the world down below from whence she came – it filled her with fury. She remembered what he said when they were first reunited, that goddesses and shades do not mix, and only now did she begin to understand what he could have possibly meant.
Unable to take the feeling any longer, she stood ungracefully. She stepped away before Icarus could steady her once more, and refused to look at him despite knowing that he would only be watching her with confusion and worry.
“Meli? What’s wrong? Should I have warned you not to look into the sun? Sorry, I didn’t even think-”
“No, no, it’s alright, Icarus. I just should really be off,” Melinoë told him. Before he could offer her any of his inventions for the arduous journey ahead, she rushed away through the portal to the next ship in the fleet.
It was only as she returned to shadow after taking too much damage while fighting Eris, did Melinoë realise that she had never actually watched the sunrise. She did not think she missed out on too much.
It seemed Melinoë was not as slick as she thought. When trying to subtly ask Headmistress her opinion of Icarus (a perfectly valid endeavour considering what happened the last time Hecate saw him), Hecate was quick to tell her of how little she cared, and that she ought not to worry over her opinions. If both Melinoë and Icarus wanted his return, that was all that mattered.
She made it sound so simple, like all Melinoë needed to do was ask him to return.
She did not see what Melinoë saw, the greedy hands of the sun touching Icarus and keeping him hooked on the feeling of the daytime. How he breathed in sunlight and flew on ever-changing winds, nothing like the stilted Underworld and Crossroads.
It took her a few encounters with the boy of her thoughts for her to build up the courage to pose the question – not an ordinary occurrence for her, certainly. Usually when she wanted something, she simply worked towards it. As she was often lectured, witchcraft was used primarily for self-improvement, consistently and doggedly. It was rare that she doubted herself so much, having been raised for one glorious purpose by the person most suited for the role.
“Icarus,” she said when he landed onto the ship they just cleared out. “I understand that Chronos opened the gates to the Underworld, but you still have a place in the Crossroads. With us. Come back.”
He was quick to reply, as self-deprecating as he always was.
“I’ve messed up everything I’ve ever tried to do, Meli. Let me be useful to someone, just this once! Please, let me stay here. Let me have this.”
She didn’t know how to tell him that he didn’t need to have a use. She didn’t even know how to tell herself that. Unfortunately they both inherited their strongminded determination and perfectionism from the ones who raised them, in this they could empathise.
She allowed him his offer of inventions and his getaway, and resolved to ask again the next time she saw him.
Days, weeks, and then months passed as Melinoë inched closer and closer to the depths of Tartarus and the peaks of Mount Olympus. It was rare that she caught Icarus while he did what he could to hold back Chronos’ forces at bay, but when she did, she would try to convince him to return to the Crossroads with her. The image of Icarus in the sun remained branded behind her eyes. She hadn’t dared venture out on her nightly runs if there was risk of sunrise ever since that day.
She pushed away thoughts of jealousy, of selfishness, when she could. He would be safer in the Crossroads, with her. He would be far from the sun then, but it might be worth it.
She didn’t want to admit it but she grew desperate as time passed and Icarus remained determined to stay on the surface.
“Icarus… please, come back to the Crossroads,” she pleaded, only her straight back and measured words preventing her from sounding like she was begging. “You will be welcome there, Headmistress even told me she held no hard feelings!”
Icarus, as he was wont to do, hesitated. She had never known him from when he was alive, where he gained the eternal reputation of a reckless and arrogant youth. She had only ever known this tempered shadow of his, the remains of what once must have been the most brilliant mortal alive. She understood, with vast jealousy, what Lord Apollo or Helios, whichever one it was, reached out with awed interest as Icarus bared himself before them in joyous wonder and freedom. She could hardly deny that she wouldn’t do the same.
“I don’t know, Meli, I’m not sure everyone else feels that way,” he countered, their usual debate in full swing. “And I don’t do well in crowds,” he tacked on. It wasn’t even a lie, damn him. Melinoë could still remember his awkward and awed movements as he ventured through the Crossroads at even a quarter of its usual population. She was reminded harshly that when he was alive, he was hardly able to actually live until his final moments.
“I want you to come back, Icarus,” Melinoë burst out. “You want to be useful? You would be even more useful there, coordinating with the other shades and with Odysseus. You wouldn’t even have to talk to that many people then.”
“That’s… true, but I’m doing a pretty good job from up here,” he nervously teased.
She let out a breath of laughter, though her eyes shone instead with a quiet desperation.
“We… would get to see each other more often,” she argued. “And you can stay in a less crowded part of the Crossroads. And- and I’d protect you from Headmistress Hecate. Though she really did truly say she held nothing against you.”
There was a pause between them.
Icarus let out a harsh breath and held up his hands, calloused palms facing her. She was not worried though, for his smile was one of those that creeped slowly but surely across a face until it was filled with such brilliant and beautiful light that she could almost forget the sun for a moment. “Alright, alright. I’ll consider it, no promises. But if Lady Hecate turns me into a newt or a worm or something, it’ll be on your conscience.”
Her smile matched his, and for a moment, she wondered, hoped, that her smile was a good enough consolation for the sun in his mind in turn. “I’d still love you even so.” At his stern, teasing glare, she quickly added through her laughter, “I’d make a spell to change you back too!”
It was petty of her, she knew, but for a good while she avoided Lord Apollo’s boons where she could. Just the symbol of the sun filled the back of her eyes with images of Icarus, which could be both tantalisingly distracting and jealousy-inducing. She did not want to think about Apollo holding, touching, kissing Icarus where she could not.
The only downside to this was the fact that her cousin was just so genuinely nice that she felt guilty ignoring his blessings. Yet she just could not stand the sight of that glowing sun, so she pushed past her reservations regardless.
However, her avoidance caught up to her eventually.
After several nights without accepting Apollo’s boons, she managed for the first time to beat the Father of All Monsters. She was invited to the Palace of Lord Uncle Zeus, and even in all its splendour, the beautiful light of the sun only reminded her of Icarus’ honey-coloured eyes.
And further, at the end of a beautiful courtyard filled with statues of her relatives that she had long since longed to meet, stood her Uncle Zeus and Great Aunt Hera – and Apollo.
She took her time speaking with her aunt and uncle. This was her first time meeting them and she had just slain Typhon, the first to do it in aeons. She deserved a pat on the back for getting one step closer to her goal. But soon enough, she was being ushered towards her cousin.
Melinoë could see in his eyes—as golden as Icarus’—that he was aware of her actions.
“My dear cousin, I am duly impressed with your take-down of Typhon. Olympus stands another day thanks to you,” he said, his smile genuine, damn him. “Further, I am grateful to meet you in person.”
“Likewise, cousin”, she said carefully.
“May I ask, though, why you have been evading me?” he questioned, quiet enough that her aunt and uncle would not hear – something she appreciated, in all fairness.
Melinoë remembered what Artemis said, about how telling Apollo about her would ensure that everyone would know of her existence swiftly. He was a gossip, something she could not allow herself to forget.
But she also knew, despite Artemis’ teasing and bickering, that he was a sincere man. Further, he was the first of her relatives to reach out, embrace her as one of the family, and offer her his support. Despite the envy burning in her lungs, the conjured imaginations of him embracing Icarus just as readily, she admitted to herself that she had missed her cousin. In the end, what it came down to, was that she did not like keeping secrets where it did not aid her in reaching her final goal.
Unsure of how to gracefully approach the topic, she instead dove right in. “Did you know Icarus?”
Apollo looked taken aback, apparently not having expected that, though his winning smile quickly recovered. “Ah, I’m afraid not, cousin, though I’ve certainly heard of him. It was Helios’ arms that reached out to meet him. I remember him feeling rather regretful that the boy died. Why do you ask, and what does this have to do with you avoiding me?”
A quiet relief rushed through her, though only minutely. Having confirmation that it was not her cousin who caressed the skin of Icarus was only a small positive. She was thankful, no matter how petty and cruel the sentiment was as it ran through her mind, that she did not receive boons from Helios.
“I ask that you speak of none of this to no one else,” she pleaded, hoping that this would be enough to curb any gossiping tendencies Artemis had complained about in the past. “I’ve known Icarus for a long time, though only as a shade.”
She paused, unsure of how she could word her predicament without sounding absolutely insane. Feeling jealous of sunlight was not exactly a normal thing to feel, nor could she really say that to the God of Light himself.
“He’s rather infamous for, uh, flying too close to the sun and having the wax of his wings melt.”
“And so… you were mad? At me?” he questioned, pointing at himself, though the uptick of the corners of his smile expressed some amusement even as confusion stained his face.
“Ah, not so much mad,” she floundered. “It’s just that, you see, he still looks so fondly at sunlight… I, uh, thought it odd…”
She couldn’t look him in the eye. She knew the moment it clicked for him what the issue was as a startled laugh escaped his lips. Jealousy ran through her again (as though the more times it happened the easier it became) as she wondered if she would ever have so lovely a laugh, so talented a voice, or so graceful and revered a domain. Why would Icarus ever want her instead of Apollo?
“I see, dear cousin,” he smirked, though it was so kind that she couldn’t be angry.
She figured this kind of mischievous teasing was what her brother Zagreus would have responded with, had he been with them still.
“Not to worry, your secret is safe with me.” He jokingly lifted a finger and placed it at his mouth as though signifying he would remain ‘hushed’. “In my infinite kindness, I will offer you some advice. I have too often chased relentlessly after my own romantic pursuits, and have since learnt from my mistakes. Don’t try to capture or force him to do anything. Instead, reason with him. And hey, if it’s worth something, I don’t think you have anything to worry about.”
Reassurance and advice were something she hadn’t expected. Now it was her turn to be taken aback.
He grinned good-naturedly. “I think it’s best you head back home. Can’t be drawing too far from the Underworld for so long. Should you find that shade of yours there, be sure to let him know what you think of him, yes?” He wiggled his eyebrows in what Melinoë could only assume was a bad impression of Aphrodite.
For the first time in a while, she laughed.
Icarus settled into the Crossroads quicker than Melinoë had expected, though he still kept his distance, remaining near the fountain made in the face of her father, behind her garden. All in one go, she got Dora to arrange for a brand-new workstation in that empty space, compete with all the tools he’d need, and she even managed to find a Minoan rug that might remind him of the better times of when he was alive.
She pointedly ignored Dora’s comment about if she was trying to buy her way into his affections, despite how it rung its truth down her spine. Maybe Icarus would think twice about leaving if he had all he could ever need here. Did it count as trapping him if he remained of his own free will?
Nonetheless, she ignored her cousin’s advice and told Icarus none of her thoughts, instead enjoying his presence when she could, discussing everything else that came to mind between her nightly runs.
They had been crouched around Icarus’ workbench as he worked on repairing his magnificent wings. She sat, more relaxed than she tended to allow herself, running her hands through the grass and dirt with contentment on her mind and the scent of the plants of her garden in her nose.
She wasn’t sure how the topic of conversation arrived at its destination, but they had been talking about mortal livelihoods despite her distaste, which traversed from usual professions to Daedalus’ workings at his makeshift forge to the inventions that Icarus was working on at that moment, and before she knew it, they had been talking about fire.
“How can you have any sympathy for Prometheus?” she near demanded, though she tried to soften her words at the last moment. She hated the Titan of Foresight (and his damned bird) for betraying her family, first by stealing their fire aeons ago and then by siding with their enemy in this current war, but she didn’t want to take her anger out on Icarus.
“Keep it down!” he hissed.
His eyes darted over her shoulder as though Headmistress would appear out of nowhere and strike him down for the audacity. It wouldn’t be too far off from something she would do, in his defence.
“It’s… hard to describe, Meli,” Icarus hesitated, running his hand through his curled hair, which absolutely did not distract her from the matter at hand. “Humanity and fire are so intrinsically connected, it’s difficult not to feel grateful to Prometheus for his sacrifice, regardless of whatever one’s feelings towards the gods and other titans are. I never cared for the gods—aside from you of course!—but even I respect Prometheus. Without fire, humanity would never have survived. Especially not through Lady Demeter’s centuries-long winter, of which I, for one, am glad I died before.”
His words weren’t computing through her mind.
Seeing her rapidly dwindling patience and understanding, Icarus continued, words tripping over each other in his rush.
“I- I’m not saying I think he’s in the right or anything! He decided to work for Chronos, so we need to take him down. It’s just that, it’s hard not to care for him,” he tried. “With the gods, mortals are taught to worship and revere them, honour them with prayer and sacrifice. Though many don’t bother, like my father. He only ever prayed to Hephaestus, and even then only occasionally. But with Prometheus, it’s more than that… mortals don’t worship him, they love him,” he said, and such love rang through his words and voice with a truth that was hard to deny.
In his amber eyes, staring fearfully at her, Melinoë could only see the sun, beckoning him away from her, from here. Though it was not logical, something she was fully aware of, she burned in jealousy at the sound of him mentioning love in regards to another, especially fucking Prometheus.
“Without his fire, without his sacrifice – don’t you see? My father would never have been able to build those wings that got us out of that tower,” he said softly.
It was these words that snapped her out of her quiet boiling rage. She realised their positions, Melinoë at her feet and Icarus still bent over his bench, looking at her with worried eyes. Not fearful for himself at all but rather for her opinion of him. Who was she to dictate what he ought to think? Who was she to demand answers from him? She wanted to apologise but could barely string a sentence together, thoughts whirling in her mind as viciously as Typhon’s storms.
She nodded without saying another word, and went to take out her frustrations on a run.
The next time she traversed the surface and reached Prometheus and Aetos guarding the gates to the summit of Mount Olympus, she stared for longer than advised at his multicoloured fire, until her eyes started to tear up and her retinas burned. In the curling flickers of that flame, all she saw was Icarus’ eyes, all she saw was the sun caressing his face as she longed to do, all she saw was this fire licking at Icarus’ hands as he tended his fire. All she saw in those flames were her own jealousy staring back at her.
Icarus didn’t look quite right under the light of Selene’s moon, Melinoë pondered, every time she encountered him on the surface. The shadows it cast fell on him all wrong, and despite the sharp beauty of his face and mouth, all she could think of was his warmth and glow in the sun’s rays.
The light of the sun suited him in a way the gloom and green cloaks of the Underworld did not.
Icarus had agreed to return to the Crossroads, and she was thankful every day that she could see him beyond the confines of the Rift of Thessaly amongst the fading bodies of Chronos’ soldiers, that she could show him the camaraderie of the new taverna, the relaxation of the hot springs, the tranquillity of the fishing pier. The more she could provide for him, the more she hoped he would never leave.
However, one question remained persistently in the back of her mind.
How could she trust he would come back? If he so clearly belonged up above? She had never questioned the workings of the fates and the ways of the gods before, but how could it be that shades were destined to stay for eternity in the Underworld when this shade was so clearly made for the sunlight?
Maybe her ritual really did work all those years ago. Maybe she had cast a rift between them, so that they would be separated forever. Maybe she had taken from him something essential about living in the Underworld without meaning to, and had pushed him into the loving arms of the sun instead.
Maybe he was happier there, far from the Underworld that was her domain. Maybe it was wrong of her to keep him trapped in the Crossroads when he was born to fly.
Sometimes she wondered what would happen when she finally succeeded in her destiny, the purpose for which she was born and raised, and her father and mother regained their positions as King and Queen of the Underworld.
The gates would once again close and shades would be made to stay in their neatly defined regions for eternity until all returned to Chaos.
This had always been something she looked forward to. When she daydreamed of all the good that would come from defeating Chronos, a significant part of it was dedicated to restoring the world to the way it should be. It would never be the same as it was before, but it would be better than it was now. Melinoë was the kind of person who liked neatly defined boxes, who preferred it when things were where they should be and did what they were meant to. It was why she could never get along with Eris. It was why she could respect Nemesis even if from a distance, even if she would never say so to her face.
She had never questioned this part of the world before. It had seemed so straightforward. All that mortals were good for was their worship, and then they died and populated the Underworld. This was as it should be.
(Prometheus regaling to her endlessly about the wellbeing of mortals meant nothing if they would all end up in her father’s realm below the ground, she insisted to herself.)
Icarus would go back to Asphodel, her daydreams would continue, the logical dreams of a logical little girl. He would return to where his father would coddle and confine and neglect him in turn, and he would be back in yet another cage.
She had been upset when going down this train of thought when she was younger, but not like this. She had been resigned, then. This was her purpose, the reason she lived and breathed. To restore the world and make things right. She would be sad to see Icarus go but it was as things should be, and she had promised to herself that she would visit when she could, between her duties as Princess of the Underworld.
But that was before.
Before her ritual left him guilt-ridden and running away to the sunlight.
Before she began pursuing her goal and came across more shades, witches, and gods and learnt of their intricacies and lives, learnt that not everyone was as uptight as her, that not everyone was happy with their lot.
Before she realised that gods weren’t always good and titans weren’t always bad.
Before Icarus learnt to fly for real, before he could touch the clouds and the wind and the sun with his bare hands without death and doom taking him before his time.
Before she realised that where once all she cared for was her goal in stopping Chronos, in bringing back her family and getting to meet them, now Icarus and her friends were equally as important when she thought about what she was fighting for.
Could she be content in purporting the system of the Underworld in how it had been for aeons? Was she comfortable in shoehorning Icarus back into the place he should be, now that he had finally learnt how to live beyond the confines of a cage? Could she do that to him? Was her jealousy worth it?
Melinoë grabbed her hair in frustration, pacing before Odysseus like a lizard about to be pecked by the beak of a hungry bird. She spared a moment to be thankful that Icarus was not at the Crossroads, so that she could avoid him seeing her in this state.
“Icarus has spent his entire life and afterlife in one prison after another; I refuse to trap him in yet another!”
She let out a furious sound, one closer to a death cry than one of frustration. It sounded worryingly close to a sob, which filled Melinoë with shame – it had been a long time since she last cried. Even possibly since back when she attempted to give Icarus life. What it was about that shade that overfilled her with emotion, she couldn’t say.
With one final lap, she finally collapsed to her knees at Odysseus’ feet, her hands shaking despite herself. She couldn’t look him in the eyes. “I must seem so selfish to you, sir.”
“Oh, not at all, Princess. I’ve thought and even committed a variety of atrocities for the sake of my loved ones, never you mind. And besides, it sounds to me like this is a problem your Lord father once faced, long ago,” Odysseus mused, a smile growing at the edge of his mouth. His amused tone was a far cry from the shame Melinoë had been expecting. “I’m certain that if he could figure it out, so can you.”
“However do you mean…?” she asked, confused.
“Let me put it this way, little one.”
Odysseus picked up two wooden figurines and plopped them down on his strategic map, right at the border of the surface and the Underworld, where the Crossroads laid hidden.
“You care for someone who is caught between two worlds. Someone with one foot above and one foot below, if you will. However, you are bound to the Underworld, and even with your incantation that makes it possible for you to stay longer above ground, this is your realm.”
He moved one of the wooden pieces to one end of the map, the side representing the Underworld.
“You don’t want to trap Icarus and make him miserable—which he would be, if he stayed down below—but you fear that if you let him go fully, he will fly away and never look behind him.”
He carelessly flicked the other wooden piece onto the side of the map representing the surface so that it went sliding away from the other figure. Odysseus spread his arms as if saying ‘behold!’.
“Does this remind you of something? No?”
Something clicked in her mind, a story she had grown up begging to be told over and over. “The story of Hades and Persephone,” she breathed, eyes wide.
Odysseus gave her a proud smile, if a bit charitable. “That’s right, Princess. I did not much speak to Lord Hades, but I knew a little of his nature from stories and through the Witch of the Crossroads. When it came to the Queen, he was very much caught in a similar dilemma to yours. He could have trapped her easily, placed her in a gilded cage and kept her by his side.”
“But he didn’t…” Melinoë realised.
“Because?”
“Because he loved her,” she said, looking down at her shaking hands. “He let her go because he loved her.”
“Exactly. She was- is a goddess of springtime, and thus she is a goddess of the surface. More than that, she has family up there that she can’t abandon either. From how I understand it, they made an agreement that she would spend half the year above and half the year below, so that everyone would be satisfied.”
Melinoë wondered if her father was ever jealous of the sun.
Did he lay restlessly in times of quiet, mind plagued by thoughts of her mother embraced by daylight and spring fields, far away from him?
Did he juggle this never-ending quandary for weeks and months and years, wondering if he had made the wrong decision? Especially when, even before an agreement had been made for her to divide her time, she did leave after she believed her son to have been stillborn.
Melinoë realised then, three fundamental truths at the exact same time.
The first was that Icarus was, as Odysseus said, much like her mother. Thanks to her failed ritual, to his wings, to his never-ending pursuit of all he cannot have, Icarus was made for the surface. He was more alive as a shade than she ever was as an undying goddess. His skin was formed for the sun to kiss and his lips were crafted for the clouds to touch. To deny him that freedom, to deny him his flight – it would be cruel. She would never be able to forgive herself if she destroyed his spirit in her quest to keep him close.
The second was that… she loved him. Maybe she always had, ever since they were just children training for some greater purpose, where she had seen a kindred spirit and latched on. Maybe even when Icarus was still wrapped up in the usual green cloak of the Underworld’s shades, the fabric both ashen and soaking wet as a representation of the moment he died, she had seen beyond the shadowed recesses of his body and into his beautiful heart, a small and flickering candle that would never putter out even after being smothered by the entire ocean and centuries of wasting away as a shade in his father’s care.
The third was that she had to let go of her jealousy, lest it consume her. She had to do as her father had done before her, take his wisdom and make it her own.
She had to lay her heart outside of her chest, be vulnerable and tell Icarus the truth, that she longed to see him and dreaded his leave, and allow him to make that choice of where he ought to be. She would fight for his right to come and go even when her parents would put the Underworld to rights. And ultimately, she had to trust that he would come back, because to trap him was the antithesis of love.
She refused to be another cage for him.
“Thank you, Odysseus,” she said numbly, mind still processing her realisations.
He awkwardly patted her on the shoulder. “Not a problem, Princess,” he said, his tone kind and yet uncomfortable, as though he were not used to giving parently advice. “Now, look alive – Icarus is flying this way. He’ll be landing in just a moment at this speed.”
What?! It was too soon, she had only just realised the truth of her feelings for Icarus, and she hadn’t even considered the implications of a goddess loving a mortal, never mind a shade who could not physically touch and feel! Maybe she had improved enough as a witch that she may be able to make an incantation or brew an alchemic solution to solve that problem…
Before he could notice her presence, Melinoë darted through the training field and into Erebus. She needed time to process, and how better than to fight until she could no longer?
Despite her realisation and her confession of love to Icarus (which went much more successfully than she thought it would!), Melinoë still found herself besieged with jealous feelings of the sunlight’s embrace. Whether this was jealousy for how the sun could touch him in ways she could not or for how the sun had the blessing of seeing his beautiful face while she was busy working, she was not sure.
But she did not want to take this out on her dear Icarus. And now that she had the right to call him hers, she feared that by harbouring onto these feelings, she may inadvertently hurt him even when she was trying to do the opposite.
Having already bothered Odysseus enough with her ramblings, and refusing to talk to Headmistress, Nemesis, or (fates forbid) Dora about it, she had only one option left, really.
“Father…” Melinoë began hesitantly, approaching where Hades remained chained in Tartarus. Cerberus growled lowly as she approached.
It was one thing to discuss battle plans with her recently discovered and still-imprisoned father, and another thing entirely to discuss her personal life. Nonetheless, as Odysseus had brought to her attention, this was perhaps the one person who may understand her the most in the entire world, and she would value any advice he had to give.
“My daughter,” he greeted, his sallow and sunken face lighting up minutely at her presence. “How goes your run today or night?”
“Ah, it goes well,” she blurted out, having not prepared for small talk, so consumed by thoughts was she on the way down. “Ahem, I mean- Father, I have a… situation in which I would appreciate any advice you may have to spare.”
Her nervousness must have come across plainly for he stood up as much as he could and tried to wipe away the exhaustion from his frame. “What kind of situation? Has there been a difficulty in fighting Chronos? Or Typhon?” he questioned.
She fiddled with her hands and looked down at the floor. “Ah, this situation is a bit more… personal than that, father.”
Silence followed her statement, to which she allowed her eyes to dart up for just a moment. Hades stared off into a corner of the chamber, face broken. “It pains me, sometimes, that I did not get to see you grow,” Hades mourned, harmonising with Cerberus’ pitiful whines. “I will try to provide you any help I am able, though I warn you, I am not the most… well-versed in personal matters.”
“That’s okay,” she said. “Neither am I. In this, Odysseus says I am truly your daughter.”
Hades let out a harrumph, though Melinoë was fairly certain that was his attempt at hiding a pleased laugh.
She cleared her throat and looked away once more, bringing the tone to the more serious one she was looking for. She wasn’t really certain how this was meant to work, but she was fairly certain one’s parents had to have a say in the romantic prospects of their children. Would Father be mad at her for not asking for his blessing or consent?
Then again, from what Headmistress had told her, her parents had married without permission from Grandmother Demeter.
Maybe he’d understand, then. She hoped not to lose a father to this. She knew logically that she would not, but it was hard to shake that uncertainty when she had never had a father before.
“Father. I have acquired… a romantic partner.” She wanted to hunch her shoulders in discomfiture but forced herself not to. Not only so her father would not think her a coward but also because she never wanted Icarus to think of himself as unwanted or an embarrassment. He had lived his whole life and afterlife as a postscript in the achievements of the great Daedalus or as a warning of hubris – but in this, he ought to feel proud and loved.
“Congratulations are in order, then,” Hades said, voice steady, though Melinoë imagined it contained a hint of mourning for time lost still. “I hope that you are happy and that whomever it is treats you well.”
“I am,” she is quick to reassure. “Happier than I’ve been in a long time. And he is good to me, more than I deserve.”
“Nonsense, daughter, you deserve the world, only the best-”
“It is true, father,” she interrupts him, her voice as hard as adamant. “He has done nothing but support me and care for me, and I repay him with negative feelings. Father… he is the shade named Icarus, son of Daedalus. In the time of the gates of the Underworld being open, he has since developed a new set of wings and rediscovered sunlight.” It is here that she looks down in shame. “I cannot stop worrying that he prefers it on the surface, and that I will stop being able to reach him. Every day I fear that he will not return to me. I have struggled with this jealousy for a while, with no solution in mind, when Odysseus brought to my attention that… that you may have some familiarity with the subject.”
The air stayed tense and heavy for a moment, and Melinoë feared the worst, before her father let out a heady sigh.
“This is a truth I cannot deny, my daughter,” her father said. “I spent many years without your mother. I did not chase after her, as I thought it was for the best that she was far away from this place. Simultaneously, I seethed with jealousy at the thought that she would rather remain on the surface, away from here, from… me. I thought of her in the arms of the sun and my bitterness only grew. As you have probably figured out, my smart daughter, neither opinion was healthy. Whether I pushed her away or held her too close, we would only hurt each other. Your brother would never believe me, but I have since learnt the best solution is balance and moderation and, above all – communication. Has your lover expressed discontent with being with you, or with your place in the Underworld?”
“Not at all, father,” she replied, smile inching across her face as she dared to hope that maybe she would be able to live with herself and love Icarus without fear. “He spends his days and nights flying and fighting Chronos’ armies, and returns to me when he can.”
“It is something you will have to live with, daughter,” Hades warned her. “Just as Persephone is made for the surface, just as we are bound to the Underworld – your Icarus will forever be drawn to beyond what he can reach. It is in his nature.” She nodded doubtfully. “But in your darkest doubts, you can speak with him and ensure that all is well. To trap him or to release him – neither option will make you both happy. And if either of you feels confined or abandoned, you can even resort to what your mother and I did and make a timetable.”
Melinoë felt, for the first time in a while, fully content with herself. It did not matter her jealousy and her fears, as long as she would trust Icarus to come to her again. It worked for her parents so it could work for them. She resolved to herself that when she returned from slaying Chronos once more, she would speak with Icarus about how exactly he wanted to split his time, so that neither one of them would be blindsided, so that they may both be content. Maybe by knowing that he would return would Melinoë’s jealousy of the sun subside.
Beyond her happiness at slowly unravelling her problem, she was also delighted to find that this was perhaps the deepest conversation she had ever had with her father. Outside of work, at least.
But just as a bubble bursts or as Aetos descends from nowhere to ruin her day, a thought popped into her head.
“And… Father, what will happen when you regain your rightful throne and return to your duty as King of the Underworld?” she tentatively questioned, not wanting the pleasant conversation to turn sour by reminding her father that beyond their emotions laid their ever-more important administrative duty.
“… You ask me if I will relegate Icarus to his assigned realm of Asphodel?”
“Yes.”
“… I will have to see. It is not possible in the rules of the realm to allow anyone, but especially shades of the dead to leave. But we may have to make an exception for the partner of my daughter, or perhaps make him prove himself as I once made Orpheus do. Or, at the very least, assign him a position that requires him to traverse realms.”
A relief so strong it hurt flooded through Melinoë, that answer admittedly much more fortunate than what she had assumed it would be.
“Oh, Father, thank you! I had worried I would be forced to separate from him, or worse, that he would remain miserable in the darkness of the Underworld. You have not seen it father—I don’t think anyone has, truly, aside from perhaps Lord Helios—but it is as though he was crafted by the fates to exist in the sunlight.” Her tone turned wistful and soft, her anxiety and nervousness gone at the thought of her Icarus. For the first time, the image of him touched by the light of the sun filled her with only love without a trace of jealousy.
Hades bowed his head. “Any doubts I had about the boy are swiftly gone, my daughter. I must have thought the same thing about your mother countless times. I hope that your relationship with him fills you with such joy every day of your existence. And I await the day I leave these chains so that I may meet the boy properly.”
“I look forward to such a day as well, father, though admittedly more for your freedom than otherwise.”
They share a warm moment, the light feeling in Melinoë so potent that she fears she may mimic her lover and fly into the air.
Hades cleared his throat and his tone turned light and yet awkward, as if he had never learnt how to properly tease someone. “So… Icarus, you say? You could have done worse – he was intelligent, that one. Though I do worry for you, in a relationship with a shade. By their nature, they cannot exist physically.”
Melinoë preens at the praise she knows Icarus deserves. He would scarcely believe that the Lord of the Underworld himself praised him! “Not to worry, father. Even if I could never touch him, I would be content with even that. Icarus is my one and only, the other half of my soul. But there is nothing to worry about – Icarus is unlike any other shade. He alone balances between life and death and between the Over- and the Underworld. And beyond that, I can make a draught that temporarily provides him the ability to feel fully.”
“My daughter,” the King of the Underworld says with pride, and it is all Melinoë ever imagined.
She and Icarus breathed in harmonious silence in her tent, Dora absent for once. She held him in her arms and it was as though she were holding the entire world. It was rare she allowed herself so much rest but it came easier with Icarus by her side encouraging her. Always so sweet and loving.
She traced with all the gentleness her sharp and killing hands could muster the scars left behind by burnt wax on his skin, the rivers that cascaded down his arms and back as wax melted down the planes of his body. She thanked every god out there that she could have this moment, that all the tragedy in both of their lives brought them together.
She felt his hands, dexterous and skilful, carefully run through her hair. Whether he was braiding it, brushing it, or simply stroking it, she could not tell, but the repetitive motion was enough to lull her sleep, a very rare occasion for her indeed.
Just as she was about to drift off however, Icarus’ voice, soft and melodic and rich in her ear, cut through the fog of sleep like a beam of light through the clouds.
“Your hair is like the sun,” he whispered. She could not see his face, as her own was tucked into his neck. She could imagine, however, that moment all those nights ago at the beginning of her journey, when she first saw Icarus bathed in the light of the sun. She imagined his eyes now looked a lot like how her own did. With awe and majesty, his breath stolen in his lungs and not for lack of life.
Maybe she never did need to worry about him straying too far. Maybe she had always been as good as the sun to him.