Work Text:
The wind was thin that day, and the clouds stretched endlessly as soft silver sheets that rested just beneath the city of the gods, drifting by like cool fingers across the mountain’s sprawling heights.
Hermes sat alone on the slanted roof of a temple– one of many on Olympus– legs lazily swinging over the edge. He fidgeted with his caduceus pendant, wings drooping faintly and too exhausted to twitch with their usual restless energy.
He watched in silence as a compact flock of birds sliced through the clouds below, disappearing in soft puffs of white.
It was quiet in a way that proved pleasant. Peaceful. No unwanted commotion, no stomping of sandals against the palace floor, no commanding voices of busy gods– just the rustle of wind that came to sweep through his curls and twitch his feathers.
Then came the rumble.
Distant, but unmistakable; A heavy roll of thunder that echoed over Olympus.
Hermes didn’t flinch or move. He only exhaled through his nose and tilted his head back ever so slightly, eyes half-lidded. He didn’t need to turn around to know what it meant.
Of course.
Heavy footfalls were soon heard behind him atop the tiled roof, measured and unhurried, but still tainted with the weight of someone who knew the skies would always part for him.
“I haven’t broken anything lately, you know.” The messenger called over his shoulder, voice paper-thin. He couldn’t help but swallow thickly, nerves creeping up to tense his shoulders. “Or lied, or cheated, or talked out of line, or skipped a meeting– well… not today.” He tossed a glance over at the king who now towered behind him, giving a crooked smile. “So what’d I do this time?”
Zeus stood in smaller form– though still as tall and imposing as ever– looming only a few steps back. His hands were placed steadily behind his back, and his shape was elegantly lit by the gentle gold of Olympus’ daylight.
For a moment, all he did was study Hermes, expression unreadable and unmoving like a carved statue.
“Nothing.” The larger god spoke at last, far too calm. His voice lacked the typical boom of thunder that would normally shake the walls.
Hermes blinked uneasily, the word and tone coming as a surprise to him. Before he could make a quip to ease the sudden anxiety bubbling in his chest, Zeus stepped forward and– … lowered himself to sit on the edge of the roof beside him.
The messenger froze, tensing with caution as the weight of the king bent the tiles ever so slightly. Zeus rested his forearms over his knees, his piercing gaze turned outwards at the expanse of clouds. The air around him thickened dreadfully, and Hermes swallowed back a frail joke, trying not to stare.
There was only silence now.
The clouds churned beneath their perch in a vast ocean of white cotton.
Hermes’ shifted nervously, exhaling air through his nose with deliberate silence. ‘Well I really am in trouble; You’re sitting next to me, that can’t be a good sign.’ He wanted to say, but nothing came out. His mouth didn’t dare open, throat left dry.
Uncertainty gnawed at the messenger’s bones. Zeus never did– this. He never sat, not beside him– and certainly not quietly. No scolding? No punishment? Really?
Hermes’ wings twitched and flicked. He cast another quick glance to the side, observing his father prodding at his own beard. Zeus hadn’t spoken another word, remaining impassive and stiff. Gods, what was happening? He wanted to know what he was thinking– what he was planning.
He opened his mouth to say something; Maybe he’d try to excuse himself– no, that was an awful idea, his father would never let him blatantly run away. Maybe he’d just try to break the tension instead– yeah, that was better.
Zeus beat him to it.
“You always came here to be alone.”
Hermes paused mid-breath, gaze snapping towards Zeus with faintly knit brows.
“Even when you thought nobody noticed.” The king resumed, his stare never shifting from the clouds ahead, and his tone never wavering. But his eyes– gods, his eyes; There was almost something tender in them. “Slipping away after everything. You thought you were clever, disappearing like that; Always the same roof.”
What?
“... Huh.” The messenger soon chuckled dryly. “Didn’t think you were the ‘noticing’ type.”
Hermes quickly averted his eyes the moment the words left his mouth, he hadn’t meant for it to sound so biting. Nonetheless, Zeus let that jab pass– surprisingly. Maybe because it was true.
“It is always the quiet escapes that speak the loudest, as long as you know what to listen for.” The king murmured, and Hermes dropped his gaze down to his lap.
The two gods sat in a brittle silence once more, the quiet now heavier after being loaded with unspoken words precariously stacked between them.
Thunder echoed distantly, fading into the belly of the sky. Zeus didn’t rise. He didn’t seem to plan on doing so anytime soon. His massive hands remained resting on his knees, twitching idly.
Hermes remained beside him, nervously tracing circles into his palm with a thumb. His chest felt tight, the air around him was too strange– too still in spite of the circumstances. He glanced at Zeus. Why hadn’t he left yet? Why wasn’t he angry?
The king of gods exhaled slowly, nostrils flaring. Finally, he turned his head, expression remaining neutral, but Hermes was still able to catch the edge of old tiredness in his face. The messenger’s breath caught sharply under his father’s stare.
“You’ve done well, Hermes.”
The words landed heavier than any lightning bolt Zeus could’ve brought down on him.
Hermes blinked, lips parting, but no words came out. Not yet. He huffed faintly, a dry breath of disbelief as he struggled to maintain eye contact. His wings jerked at the sides of his head, and his shoulders rose and fell in a jittery motion.
“Is–” He started, voice breaking with the first word. He paused to clear his throat before trying again “... Is this a trick?” He tried for humor in his tone, but his uncertainty was too obtrusive to mask. He gestured vaguely to the sky around them. “You get struck by a rogue bolt up there, old man…?”
Zeus didn’t smile. Not really. But his mouth parted faintly. Without a word, he raised an enormous arm and, with deliberate yet slow ease, slung it over Hermes’ shoulder.
The messenger seized utterly, heartbeat stopping in that moment. His wings flapped frantically like a bird that had been shot down mid-flight, before pinning against the sides of his head. His mouth hung ajar once Zeus pulled him closer, pressing their sides together.
The weight was like a mountain pressing against him, but it was surprisingly gentle. Steady. A far cry from what Hermes had expected.
“I said,” his father started once more. “You’ve done well. As a messenger. As a god.” Zeus’s body tilted, leaning in closer. “As a son.”
Hermes squeezed his eyes shut momentarily, and he tensed up, as if he could press away the sting crawling up his spine. He clenched his jaw, words trapped deep in his throat. What was there to say? When he looked up again, observing the king’s expression, he noticed something.
Zeus was… smiling?
The trickster blinked, as if to clear his vision– as if he hadn’t seen it right. Was Zeus really smiling? At him?
For a long time, neither of the gods moved. The weight of the king’s arm remained over Hermes’ back, but he didn’t mind.
Eventually, in a small, hesitant movement, the messenger tilted his head just enough to allow it to rest against his father’s bicep. His wings gave a low flutter before quickly setting into motionlessness, as if the smallest movement might shatter the calm and yank Zeus out of whatever unbelievable moodswing he must’ve had to place this sentimentality in him.
Hermes didn’t dare speak. Didn’t dare joke. Not right now– his throat was too tight to try, anyway. He simply allowed his head to rest there, curls spilling over his face and shadowing his eyes as they lowered, lidded and distant.
The king had returned to observing clouds in the distance, his son peacefully nestled against him. Hermes let his weight fall more into Zeus’ side, leaning against thick, draping fabric. Neither god pulled away, and it seemed they didn’t plan to for a while.
Gods, he hadn’t realized how badly he’d missed this. How badly he craved this.
Even if it was fleeting. Even if it really was just a random flicker of Zeus’ unpredictable nature. Even if it snapped away and left him with nothing but hurt and the weight of failure the next morning– he didn’t care. Hermes exhaled slowly, rapidly blinking back the sudden sting in his eyes– no, no, he wasn’t going to ruin this with tears, not now. He swallowed hard. He was going to let himself have this.
Just for now. For however long it lasted.