for c/p's crazy little thing called an exchange event; for lamia! hope you like it, sorry it's utter trash and unedited. it's not finished but this is all i could really get down so, happy belated vday! (also, title inspired by ariana grande's song "imagine")
Apollo's favourite uncle has always been Poseidon, with his easy charm, his chill; Poseidon is always overlooked in favour of Zeus, but is just as powerful and handsome. Artemis' favourite uncle has always been Hades. Ever since she was young, she'd been drawn towards the quiet, poised man, half hidden in shadows, standing in the corner of the Throne Room if he came to meetings.
In retrospect, Zeus really should have seen it coming.
It starts like this: Artemis goes to visit Hades in the Underworld, and doesn't emerge for one, three, five years.
It starts like this: Nyx sees a little girl enter her cave, and laughs.
It starts like this: Leto, with old magic heavy in her veins, tucks swan feathers into her daughter's braid.
"I want to be like you," Artemis begins. Then stops, abrupt, physically stepping back as if she'd been reprimended.
Hades sighs. Zeus had done wonders with training his children. "Dark? Tall? Surrounded by death?" he drawls, only half-joking.
Her eyes flash. "Powerful," she says, and Hades blinks at her in surprise. Powerful carries different connotations in the Underworld than on Olympus, there's something darker to the tone of the word, the desire to give your blood and firstborn to master real, dangerous, dark arts. "I just, I. I would like your help."
The god the dead looks at Artemis for a stretch of minutes, silent. Does he throw his precious, beloved niece into the circles of Tartarus to fight her way through Titans and monsters alike, dying on a hill of fire in battle to be reborn? Does he hand her a book on magic, a pat to the back, you'll do great, and let her possibly destroy the mortal world? Let her wander into the night to search for answers and gods that may or may not appear, leaving her to roam for decades? All of the above would be irresponsible, he figures, and irresponsibility, unfortunately or not, has never been apart of his life.
"Okay," he tells her. His voice is steady, decision set. There is no other god he'd prefer to help. "Follow me."
He leads her to the library, which is all velvet, dark woods, the smell of old parchment. He gets a servant to fetch them lavender tea and gives her another order, in a voice too low for Artemis to hear what he's saying. "Why lavender?" Artemis asks, off-handedly.
Hades shrugs, winding his way through shelves of book three times his height. "It soothes me, and smells nice."
Throughout the library are sitting areas and reading nooks, and Hades leads Artemis to an area right in the back. There are klinai, draped in wool or soft linen, and low, circular tables. They take seats just as two servants hurry up to them. They hand each of the gods a cup, the smell surprisingly pungent, but they also hand off a woven bag to Hades with a bow.
Hades dismisses them, and then promptly hands the bag to Artemis. When she opens it, she discovers a collection of crystals: clear quartz, amethyst, fluorite, nuummite. The energies radiating from them are powerful enough that Artemis, a goddess, can feel them. "They're beautiful," she breathes, but doesn't touch them.
Her uncle smiles at her - he made the right choice. "Let me show you something."
Maybe it begins like this: summer is waning, but the days are still long, sweet-smelling, golden. Apollo and Hermes wander into the waterfall to flirt with the Naiads, their eyes twinkling and smiles boyishly charming. Artemis stays back, rolls her eyes, and lays down on the grass, eyes closed, to revel in the warmth of the sun.
Then, her ears pick up sound too late. Her arm shoots out, groping for her bow, just as a hand the size of her body scoops her up. She screams and scrambles in the grip, magic flaring out, but it's not enough.
Then, a lack of breath, so overwhelming that she only sees Apollo launch himself onto dry land before the world dims.
Then, she opens her eyes and her mom's concerned face fills her vision.
"Sir," Hecate says, polite, but her lips, painted bright red, are curled up at the corners. She's a beautiful goddess, eyes like tiger gemstones and hair dark and flowing. She radiates a kind of old magic, something powerful and dark, that few goddesses can manage.
Hades raises an eyebrow at her, unimpressed. "I'm sure I've been telling you to call me Hades for the last few centuries."
"Oh, have you? How strange, I'll get right on that, sir."
"You're a pain in the ass," Hades says, long-suffering. "I don't know why I'm about to trust you with my niece."
Hecate is unsurprised. The Underworld isn't exactly small, but news travels fast, especially in the palace. "Hand her over, I love fresh meat." Hades looks like he regrets all of his life choices, but it's not an uncommon expression. Hecate is only faintly amused in return. "Sir, you're far too dramatic. I'll take excellent care of Artemis, give her back alive and everything."
"I love being alive and everything," deadpans Artemis, from the doorway to the throne room.
"For the love of my goddamn brother," Hades sighs, rubbing at his temples. "Artemis, go with Hecate, I'll see you both at supper."
Let's talk about Artemis: firstborn twin, old before she was even a minute old, goddess of the moon and the hunt, hair darkening with age but eyes staying the same luminous midnight blue they've always been. The rumours are all true - from the silence in her footfalls to the arrows that protrude from the hearts of men whose hands cross boundaries.
Athena called Artemis a wolf-runner, once, and the name stuck and spread. There's a pack of wolves on Artemis' heels, even the alpha loyal to a fault to the goddess. Ask if she's received the bite, and she'll almost smile.
She has fought werewolves before, though, as well as minotaurs, hellhounds, a collection of monsters that far outnumber what must gods have fought. She fights her way through dual swords, bows and arrows, hunting knives, until every weapon is stained bloody. When she washes her hands, there's not a trace of ichor or blood on them.
Pure at heart, is what Hestia likes to say, fond, a hand pressed gently to Artemis' back.
A goddamn rebel song, is what Hermes likes to say, an arm around her waist, nose pressed to her hair. Those two, in another lifetime, if Artemis had chosen differently - they might have -
Artemis always turns down telling their tale, whether that be to her huntresses, mortals, or even other gods. It doesn't do to dwell on ifs or mights, Artemis has never had the patience for the undefined.
Hecate has a whole wing of the palace to herself. There are rows of cauldrons, shelves of crystals, and bundles of herbs everywhere. The only light siurce are the glowing orbs that float throughout the wing, creations made by Hecate herself.
There's no brief period of introduction or review of what Hades has been teaching her. Hecate takes Artemis on a grand tour of the wing, then hands her some roses and a knife, tells her to get to work. After that, it's a bundle of thyme. Then, some ginger.
"What is this for?" Artemis finally asks, wiping off her hands. Hecate is pouring rose salt into a cauldron, eyes bright in the darkness of the room. She waves a light orb closer, flicks a pinky to float a single eagle feather right into the cauldron.
Hecate doesn't even look up. The rings on her fingers, heavy with jewels, flash dangerously. "It's a spell. You're up next, sweetheart."
"I, haven't learned anything yet." Artemis brushes her fingers over the crystals chained to her waist, soft enough for them to not make a single noise.
Hecate shakes her head. "This isn't about learning," she says, with a click of her tongue. She's stirring whatever's in the cauldron - it smells like the ocean. "This is about affinity and faith, sweetheart."
Hecate has lived in the Underworld for longer than Artemis has been alive. She's what the gods call an original, more ancient than the majority of them, more powerful than the majority of them. Her magic lends itself anywhere it would please: the dead, the living, the almost-created. Lady Fortune doesn't have to be on your side if Hecate is. The Fates look at Hecate and think, meddling, with the kind of amusement one would look at their child and think that.
She took a liking to Hades the minute he became crowned King of the Underworld. With her support, the Underworld rallied quickly in support of his rule.
She remains a neutral party on Zeus, despite his best attempts to sway her otherwise. She's turned down multiple offers of sleeping with him; it's tacky, she said, the one time anybody dared to ask her why, my favour is not bought through bedsheets and sex.
Hecate has the kind of of affinity that makes her good at everything. Leaps of faith are easy, as well as definite magic, the kind where calculating the margins of error, success, and everything in between is essential to making the spell go right. She exhales, and a room can fill with life, or everything in it can die, within the blink of an eye.
Magic, baby, she smirks, rings stacking her fingers, crystals hanging heavy around her neck, it's a lifestyle.
The first time Artemis cracks a crystal, she screams, the magic whiplashing back on her hard enough to hert. Fear coils itself around her wrists and neck until Hecate snaps her fingers, the bonds of the rogue spell releasing. The silence in the aftermath rings louder than anything.
"You cannot be afraid of it," Hecate snaps, voice sharp, eyes dark. "You have to feel it. Every ounce of your soul should be consumed by your own magic. This is not an addition to you, this is an extension of yourself." Leto didn't pass on normalcy, and Zeus didn't pass on mortality, and the result is Artemis, striving to learn the complexity of her power while her twin emerses himself in one aspect of his.
The crystal Artemis broke was selenite, clarity of mind, the crack running deep. She keeps the crystal on her anyway, and tries again, calling light to her. She thinks of Apollo, the warmth of the sun, the call inside of her to do what's right. Her eyes stay open, but unfocus until she blinks and realizes that a small ball, made of tendrils of white-gold, is gathered in her hand.
Hecate almost smiles at her. "Again," she demands, and Artemis inhales.
In reality, her training takes more than five years. After the fifth year, Hermes comes down to the Underworld, straight into the palace, and calls Artemis to him. Like always, she comes.
"Your mom misses you," he says, a hand around her wrist, fingers pressed to her pulsepoint. He's got his big, sad eyes on; they make him look like a puppy. "Apollo cries himself to sleep every other night."
"Apollo is codependent," Artemis sighs, and twists her wrist, drawing him close enough that he can lean on him. He smells like fresh grass. She hasn't seen the sun in five years. "He knows I'm alright."
"He misses you too." Hermes buries her face in the crook of her neck. While he's been in the Underworld many, many times, he's been letting Artemis have the space she wants. But, he thinks, it's been five years.
Her aura is stronger before, but also more subtle. Apollo likes people knowing he's arriving, his presence loud and bright, gods sensing him from miles away. Artemis has quieted her aura, but she's standing a little straighter, looking a little more content.
Artemis laughs a little at him, his clinginess. She promises, "I'll come visit."
"Right now?" asks Hermes.
"Right now," says Artemis, and takes his hand.
They end up on Leto's doorstep during twilight, and her mom immediately folds her into her arms. Leto has always been good at protection magic, defense magic, the kind that needs to be built and built and then rebuilt. Patient magic, Leto explained, once upon a time, when her children were little enough to not know anything outside of Delos.
Now, the crystals on Artemis' hunting belt clink together, and she smells a little like the dead, a little like herbs.
"My baby," Leto breathes. She pulls back, touches a reverennt hand to her daughter's face. "Oh, sweetheart." It's all she needs to say - Artemis, the wild card, one of the first picks for war, loyalty weaving itself in her veins until she burned the ground out underneath those who hurt her loved ones, she's always carved her own path.
"Sorry I was gone so long," says Artemis. "I love you."
Leto smiles, leads her further inside the house. Hermes has disappeared, which surprises exactly none of them. "I love you too. Did you visit your brother yet?"
"He cried." Artemis rolls her eyes, allows herself to be sat down and fed. "That's why we're so late. He sobbed for an hour, then we swam for a bit." Gods, she's missed her mom's cooking. The soup is heavenly, meat tender, broth just right. Gods don't technically need food, but they all eat it anyway. Ambrosia and nectar are only so delicious for so long.
Leto takes a seat opposite of Artemis, looks at her quietly, feels out her magic. It's developing; rapidly, fast enough that Hecate will probably keep Artemis under her wing for at least another decade.
"Are you running with your wolves tonight?" Leto asks, knowing that Artemis won't make promises she can't keep, and she isn't sure she wants to know how long it will be until she sees her child again.
Artemis grins, sharp and bright. "Of course."
Her mom smiles at her, gentle, and stands up to press a kiss to the crown of her head. "Be careful," she says, ominous and sweet, and Artemis closes her eyes and breathes her way through the warm curl of her mother's protective magic.
The day Hecate decides Artemis has learned enough never comes, but there does come a day where Hecate says sir, we're going up, and takes Artemis out of the Underworld.
It says something about the level of trust between them that Hecate lets Artemis lean on her, and that Artemis doesn't ask questions about where they're going. They travel for a long time, through the night, until the sun is rising. Somewhere in the East, Apollo rises, and Artemis misses him infinitely.
Hecate taps Artemis' cheekbone. "We're here, honey," she hums. Here is a dark cave, with moss growing on every tree surrounding the cage, the air simultaneously damp and fresh.
"Where," Artemis says.
Hecate smiles, all teeth, and Artemis is reminded of her wolves. The forest behind them, the wild, calls her name. It moves the ground underneath her, enough that Hecate can feel it too, raising her eyebrows. Artemis exhales, and the call crescendoes until it fills her heart and settles inside her bones. I'm here, she says, reaching out with her magic, rocking the Earth, I've got you.
"Artemis," Hecate says, when she thinks she's done, and Artemis nods, heart inside her throat, but allows herself to be led into the cave. A little bit in, but enough that they're submerged in darkness, Hecate speaks up again. "I have to go."
"What?" Artemis is startled, reaching for Hecate, but the older goddess slips through her fingers. "Hecate?"
"I'll be right outside," she promises. Artemis can sense her, knows where she is, but she can't see her. She can't see anything. "Go in. This is part of your journey, wolf child." Then, she's gone, her prescence fading.
"I don't know how I let myself get talked into this," she says, speaking to nobody and feeling frustrated.
Artemis has two real choices: continue onwards, alone and blind, or turn around to light and safety. While Artemis has never been a coward, she has always been a little bit of a fool, and she takes step after step onwards, reaching out with her other senses. Wolf child, she thinks, and the shift is easy, her night vision activating immediately.
The switch comes with the aid of even more enhanced smell and hearing. She realizes that she's hearing someone else's breathing, is headed right towards them, can smell them, but the cave is just a cave so far. Whoever they are, they smell a little like ozone, a little like death, like the Underworld, but she can't sense their presence.
Eventually, she reaches a door with an iron handle, covered in mistletoe. Artemis blinks through the terrible smell, fighting the unfortunate and distasteful urge to sneeze, and opens the door.
A beautiful woman reclines on a couch. She's simultaneously lovely and terrifying, with her classic, pointed features, her porcelain skin and long, dark hair. Her eyes are black, and her lips painted a deep purple. She takes one look at Artemis, and throws her head back to cackle.
"Oh," Nyx laughs, sounding gleefully mean. "She brought me the wolf child, magic prodigy of a baby goddess."
Artemis sinks to one knee, bows her head. "Lady Nyx."
"She's formal too. Rise, child." Artemis stands, and Nyx smirks at her. "Turn off your wolf vision," is the next command. Artemis grits her teeth and does as asked.
Then, a light flicks on, a little orb appearing in the air, similar to Hecate's. In the dim glow of it, Nyx almost looks like she's floating, the only skin showing being her head and neck, and her hands.
"Tell me," Nyx hums. She sounds amused, but her face is blank, bored. "Are you always this obediant?"
"As I see fit," Artemis replies, equally as stone faced.
Nyx bares her teeth in a mockery of smile. "Good, now leave." Artemis turns on her heel, but she doesn't get a chance to even get to the door before the light goes out and her feet are swept out from under her. She scrambles mid-air, remembers ribs crushing, not enough air, need to grab my bow, I just need, and lands, hard, on the ground outside of the cave.
Above her, Hecate looks unimpressed. "Aren't you a trained huntress?"
Artemis blinks herself into reality, then curses her in a twisted tongue, which makes Hecate's lips twitch. Beneath her, though, Artemis can feel the Earth hum, the call of the wild again, and allows herself a moment to soak it in.
"You don't have to get up yet," Hecate says, probably knowing what Artemis is thinking. She always does. "I've got some, loose ends to wrap up with Nyx. I'll be back soon, sweetie, sit tight for me."
"I'm not holding you to that," Artemis deadpans.
Hecate laughs, her presence growing fainter. Artemis can feel her footfalls vibrate through the ground, the subtle swell of her magic growing stronger. "Then you're learning," she tells her, getting in that last word before she vanishes into the cave.
Above her, the sun is high in the sky.
Artemis is only the slightest bit surprised when Nyx appears in the Underworld shortly after their encounter, but she is very surprised when Hecate tells her that she's to leave.
"Are you kicking me out?" she asks, half-laughing as she packs her scrolls, her weapons, her chitons.
Hecate tilts her head, hair cascading neatly over one shoulder. "I'll visit every fifth day," she says, instead of answering. "I'm not giving you up," she says, and it hits Artemis right in the sternum.
She hugs Hades goodbye, and he smooths a hand over her hair, careful. They'd only grown closer over the years, and, if there was any question before, Artemis definitely likes him more than her own father and half of Olympus now. She says goodbye to Chiron, pets Cerberus one last time, squeezes Hecate hand. Nyx is waiting in the throne room, looking apathetic when Artemis joins her.
"Hades," Nyx greets, ignoring Hecate. She floats over, her body covered by a mass of black cloak and flowing chiton, and Hades kisses her on the cheek in greeting. She leans in, whispering something in his ear, a hand cupped over the back of his head. When she's done, Hades rolls his eyes, completely relaxes, and whispers something back that makes her shake her head.
"Nice to see you too Nyx," Hecate says, light, smiling.
Nyx turns around, an eyebrow raised. "You know I love you most."
"As cute as this is," Hades says, "you look like a funeral procession, kindly leave my throne room."
"This is the Underworld," says Artemis, raising both brows.
Nyx clicks her fingers at her. "Chop chop, wolfy, you heard the god." Artemis sets her jaw, but dutifully grabs her bags. Nyx places a hand on her shoulder, and the smell of her magic hits Artemis right in the face: pine, cinnamon, ozone. She feels her eyes flip to her wolf ones automatically, and doesn't have a chance to fix them before Nyx, instead of teleporting, throws a cloud of powder in the air, rips a hole in the space-time continuum, and drags Artemis through it.
Instinct takes over enough so that she lands neatly on her feet on the other side, groping for her crystals. Nyx lands gracefully, looking virtually unfazes, and only stares back at Artemis when she looks at her.
"Welcome to the darkness, wolfy," she drawls.