Published June 28, 2021
Spoiler alert: This chapter includes allusions to the plot of Oedipus the King by Sophocles and basic conventions of ancient Greek theatre. I'm hoping you all read that in high school! If not, do yourselves a favor and read it, plus its even-better sequel Antigone!
"Outing"
Meg was not-so-secretly happy to watch Hercules survive, succeed in each of his challenges, and rise to fame and fortune. It assured her that Hades' uprising was likely to fail, if he even attempted it.
She did not know who would win the war he was planning, and from the time he had let her in on the scheme, she had tried not to care. Neither scenario bode well for her. If Hades won, the world would be overtaken by chaos, and the other gods would not be able to keep him in check. If Hades lost, he would be punished—perhaps eternally—for his insurgency, and his minions would probably suffer similarly.
Either way, Meg's fate would not improve. She would spend the rest of her life in Hades' service, whether he was running the Underworld or Olympus. So she tried not to think too much about the morality of her actions.
As Hercules made a name for himself, she started to feel hopeful. Maybe Hades would simply give up on his uprising. At any rate, it was fun to watch him get so incensed as Hercules thwarted each of his plans. Hades' attempts to take him out with supposedly undefeatable monsters and seemingly impossible tasks only served to bolster his reputation.
So Meg had multiple reasons for not wanting to instigate the kid's downfall. But when Hades offered her the opportunity to earn her freedom, she could not pass that up. He knew exactly what buttons to press with her. While he talked about discovering Wonder Boy's weakness, he was really taking advantage of Meg's. She would do anything to get her freedom back—even if it risked a horrible fate for a hero, or for the world in general.
Meg was determined to do whatever it took, but it turned out she did not have to try very hard to convince Hercules to go out with her. Once they snuck out of his villa, she suggested getting dinner at a restaurant on the bay, in a spot where they would not be hounded by his crazy fangirls. He quickly agreed, and insisted on treating her, finally showing a little assertiveness in her presence. That was fine by her, seeing as he had a fortune and she had virtually nothing to her name.
The difficult part was when Hercules asked her questions. Despite his obvious puppy love, he did not actually know much about her. "What about you? What, uh … what are you interested in?"
Meg had not had much, if any, time to herself since selling her soul to Hades. But before that …
"I like art," she said truthfully. "Statues, theatre, music." She held up a hand before he could speak. "And no, before you ask, I don't do requests."
"No, no, that's fine. I don't need to hear," Hercules assured her. "But that gives me some ideas. Maybe, after we eat, we could see a play. And there's a garden with statues we could go see."
She smiled as she raised a brow at him. "I didn't take you for a patron of the arts."
He looked bashful again. "Ah—more like subject of the arts. The garden just installed a statue of me. And I've seen the plays about me, but I don't know many others."
"In that case, maybe I should pick the show." It would use up more time, but Meg found the prospect of seeing a play too good to pass up. Besides, with the way this date was going, she needed more time to identify his weakness, because so far she could not find any, at least none that would have been helpful to Hades.
At the theatre, Meg rediscovered things that she had not realized she had forgotten: the thrill of a live performance, the dynamic energy between the actors and audience, the range of possible ways to deliver a line. Even though the stories enacted onstage were well known, the playwrights put their own spin on how the events were presented, and the actors and directors also had room for creative decisions, filling the experience with surprise, delight, shock, and horror.
The play's plotline was not familiar to Hercules, though, and it left him full of questions as they walked to the garden. It turned out he was not as emptyheaded as Meg had thought.
"What I don't get is, were the prophecies always going to come true, or did they only come true because Laius and Jocasta and Oedipus tried to prevent them?" he asked.
"I think it's supposed to be ambiguous," Meg said neutrally.
Hercules was not quite satisfied with that answer. "It seems like the prophecies themselves are punishments for not believing in them. But if they had believed them, then the prophecies wouldn't have come true, would they?"
"It's full of ironies," Meg acknowledged. She was thinking of Hades and the Fates' prediction that Hercules would thwart his uprising.
Hercules nodded vigorously. "Yeah! Like how Oedipus wanted to find the culprit and banish him, only to find out that it's him!"
Meg chose her words carefully, wanting to share some hard-earned wisdom while not divulging the full truth. "Sometimes people hurt each other without meaning to. Even people they care about. Or think they care about."
Despite everything on her mind, and the heavy topics of the play, Meg found herself almost having fun for the first time in a long time. Of course she did not feel as carefree as she was pretending to be, but it was nice to be able to spend some time away from Hades and his imps.
And the company she had to keep was not bad at all. In fact, Hercules kept surprising her by how all-around good he was.
Meg had long given up any ideal of innate human goodness, in herself or in other people. Not that she had never believed in such things at one time. She had done what seemed the most selfless thing imaginable, trading her freedom for her boyfriend's life. But he had repaid her sacrifice by running off with another girl. Maybe he had not liked the idea of being in a relationship with Hades' new minion; but still, he could have been there for her, or tried to negotiate something with Hades. Instead, he had forsaken Meg completely.
After that experience, she had figured that if even the most selfless actions could be repaid so callously, there was no point in trying to be a good person.
So, Meg's expectations of people in general were low, and her expectations of men were almost zero.
But Hercules was not like any man she had met. He was a little vain after his quick rise to fame, but he was not conceited, and he still had that boyish awkwardness that so amused her. He had no guile, no duplicity—which made him rather an exception in the pantheon of gods.
He was a perfect gentleman, really. He pulled out a chair for her at the restaurant. He asked for her opinion and was considerate of her needs. He chivalrously carried her (again) when she complained of weak ankles.
Even when Meg was clearly making physical moves, he averted his eyes and gently pushed her away. He was either completely obtuse, or utterly uninterested in her that way … or maybe—just maybe—he respected her, or women in general, enough not to take advantage of such an obvious opportunity.
In a single moment, he denied having any physical weakness, and demonstrated that he had no moral weakness.
That was when Meg dropped the flirting, and gave up any hope for her freedom or fear for his safety. Part of her was almost relieved—she had not been happy about having to play a role in his eventual doom. But she was not looking forward to facing Hades when this date was over.
They both started to speak more freely, then. Meg could not tell the full truth, but she saw no reason to keep up an act any longer.
She could not help feeling flattered when he complimented her. She supposed it was because, even if his knowledge was incomplete and his perception was inaccurate, he was sincere in what he said.
Meg had forgotten how good it felt to be liked. Hades enjoyed having her around because she was someone he could torment and toy with. Hercules, though—it seemed that he actually cared about her. And that made her feel all the worse about what she had set out to do, what had truly motivated her to arrange this outing.
She tried to drop hints, to warn him obliquely that people in general were not good, that he ought not to trust her, that she would likely end up hurting him. But he was not thinking that way; he thought she was talking about her own fear of being hurt. And that led to him reassuring her, showing even more of his goodness.
She no longer saw the gung-ho athlete who had rejoiced at hearing about a disaster. She saw a kind, earnest, protective man.
Then, in a surprising reversal from just moments earlier, he was leaning toward her for a kiss. Everything felt mixed up at that point—what Meg wanted, what she knew Hades wanted, and whatever was left of her moral compass.
She did not know what would have happened if they had not been rudely interrupted by Phil and Pegasus.
As they said goodbye, Hercules surprised her again by picking a flower for her and kissing her cheek. As Pegasus carried him away, Meg was left feeling like a giddy teenager in the throes of love.
For a moment she basked in the residual emotions and admired and sniffed the flower—that was such a sweet gesture. Then she caught herself, and felt disgust—not with him, but with herself.
For one thing, she was being just like her ex-boyfriend, betraying someone who loved her. For another, she was going back on years of resolutions. She had sworn she would never fall prey to her emotions or open her heart to anyone again. She would not risk getting hurt again.
Even if she were developing any genuine feelings for him, there was no way she could admit it to anyone. Saying it out loud would make it real.
The prospect of falling in love with Hercules was too tragic, like a story where people fell in love and formed relationships despite being destined for ruin. She would not play a role in that kind of story. She would not allow that scene to unfold.
In her old life, Meg used to feel the Muses' presence and inspiration, like a still small voice in the back of her mind. She had given up hope of hearing them again. She did not have the time or energy for art, or emotion.
But that night, as she strolled around the garden, she heard them again. And for the first time in years, she opened her mouth and sang—not to channel their ideas, but to argue against them. She had moved past ethos and pathos; now she was all about logos.
But her heart, it seemed, didn't care so much about what her head believed. And even her reason told her what her heart wanted to believe: she had found a good man, who cared for her … and while she did not dare say it out loud, in the silence of her heart she could admit that she cared for him too.
And when Hades appeared, expecting a report on his enemy's weakness, she knew what to say: not that she had failed to help him, but that she was choosing not to help him.
It had been a long time since she genuinely cared about anyone, but it turned out she was still someone who loved recklessly, even against her own self-interest.
The whole argument might have been fake—Hades might have simply been testing her, probing her to see how much she and Hercules cared about each other.
Meg quickly regretted expressing herself, even that much, but not for the reason she had previously feared. Hades had enough intuition to know what she was saying, and what she was not saying. And when he sweetly assured her that Hercules did have a weakness, she understood exactly what he was implying.
Author's Note: One of my favorite shows currently coming out is The Chosen, directed by Dallas Jenkins. In Season 2 Episode 1, the apostle John talks about the Greek concept of logos, "word," as the divine reason that gives things form and meaning. After seeing that, it occurred to me that the title and final lyrics of "I Won't Say (I'm In Love)" might be an allusion to the idea of logos, and that theory helped inspire the theme of this story.