The report from Daphne a week later was so drastically different from the previous reports that Hermes was stunned. Whatever Hercules and Triton had said to Poseidon and Zeus, it had worked. The report was that neither of them spoke anymore, but they threw themselves into farming and fishing with all of their energy. Hermes thought over Daphne's message as she ate a big plate of fresh, hot souvlaki. Then he went to tell Hercules and Triton.

Both of them took the news without smiling. Hermes knew then that whatever they had said was particularly bad. When asked, they looked away and refused to talk about it. Hermes embraced them both and thanked them, then he headed back to Olympus and left them to their training.

The next few months flew by, and Daphne's reports continued to improve. The mortal-gods worked hard and their sacrifices were on time. And then their luck changed as autumn rolled around. They had been buying their wine, but they looked forward to the grape harvest to make their own. Two days before they were to start, they spent their wine money on a meal at an inn. That night, there was an early freeze, and the harvest was ruined. By the time morning came, everything was dead. And since they didn't have any money for wine, for the first time, they would be unable to meet Hermes's set quota for his offerings.

Fear settled like a weight amongst the mortal-gods. None of them knew what to do. Even Hera was nervous. They discussed every option that they could think of, but nothing would work. They had nothing extra to give. As the day to give the offering came closer and closer, they began to panic. Zeus watched as they began to fall apart. Every one of the gods thought through the most vicious punishments they had ever given and feared that Hermes would be even worse.

The night before the offering was due, Zeus sat up out in the cool night air. The others were fitfully sleeping, but Zeus couldn't take the pressure. His mind was racing. He'd been working for four months, breaking his back in the vineyards and fields, and the fact that they couldn't make the quota made him feel like such a failure. He worked every single day until he fell into bed, and it still hadn't been enough. He was exhausted, a bone-deep exhaustion that made him want to sleep for weeks. But the niggling thought that for the first time in his life, he was in a position where he couldn't win wouldn't leave him alone.

Unable to stand sitting still any longer, he shoved to his feet and began to walk aimlessly through the fields. The stars twinkled over his head, but he saw no beauty in them. The moon was half full, shining its silver light across the shadowy world. Zeus trudged for an hour, running his fingers through the thick heads of grain. He passed a hand over his face, looking up at the moon. But there, silhouetted across the moon, was the form of Hermes. Zeus scrubbed his eyes and looked up again. It wasn't Hermes. It was a cloud floating across the moon. But it had given him an idea.

Zeus gritted his teeth at the thought. He could call for Hermes and ask for leniency. Hera was adamant that their former messenger was kind, that he wasn't like they thought he was. They saw him through the lens of themselves, as petty and angry and selfish as they were. Zeus knew that there was some truth to that, but he was reluctant to ask his estranged son for mercy.

'But what choice do I have?' he asked himself. 'We've wasted our money for our wine offering on ourselves. We can't make the quota. We can't do anything for ourselves. If he doesn't help us…'

Zeus shuddered, but his resolve hardened. He had been the one to suggest that they spend their limited funds on such extravagance. So he was the one who needed to speak to Hermes. Even if it meant shredding his pride to pieces.

The mortal-god considered how to ask for mercy. He'd never asked anybody except for Hera for anything in his life. He usually demanded, and then he would receive. But he didn't think that demanding mercy from Hermes would go well. After a lengthy silence, during which he contemplated the least humiliating way to ask for more time or some help, Zeus finally resigned himself to beg, on his knees if he had to. So he swallowed and spoke quietly.

"Hermes?" he croaked. "I… Please come here."

There was silence, and Zeus wilted. Even before he'd become mortal, Hermes had stopped responding to his name. What was he thinking? Zeus sighed and turned and nearly jumped out of his skin. Hermes stood right behind him, his arms crossed and his eyes gleaming silver in the moonlight. Zeus realized he was gripping his chest, his hammering heart thudding beneath his fingers. Hermes's lips twitched in amusement.

"Not too often I can scare you," he said, his voice even. "What do you want, Zeus? I'm not releasing you from your punishment. You have five months left."

Zeus's mouth went dry as he stared at his son, slim and sturdy and taller than he remembered him being. He needed to ask, but his pride reared up, threatening to stir his temper. The silence stretched between them, not one word passing between them. Hermes stood like a rock, his expression unreadable. For three minutes, the two men stared at each other. Then Hermes uncrossed his arms.

"What do you want, Zeus?" he asked. "I was getting ready to sleep. In fact, you should, too. You have a lot of work to do."

Zeus swallowed and found his voice. "I need to… to ask you about something."

Hermes arched an eyebrow. "Okay then. I'm listening."

After taking a deep breath, Zeus sighed. "We can't do it."

"That's not a question, Zeus." Hermes paused. "Can't do what?"

"Make the offering."

Hermes tilted his head and his face fell into shadow. "Oh really? What are you missing?"

"The wine."

"What about the grape harvest?"

Zeus flinched. "Frost killed the entire vineyard," he whispered.

"You've been buying wine. Why not just buy some this week?"

"We counted on the vineyard. We… I convinced them to spend it on a meal at an inn. We have no reserves. We just can't make the offering. I need… Please, give us a break."

Zeus couldn't see Hermes's shadowed expression, but the god didn't move. The quiet stretched on and on, and Zeus shrank into himself. He knew he'd made a mistake in thinking that Hermes would ever give him a break. In Hermes's early years, Zeus hadn't given him a break. He had been cruel, and the memories that had flooded back to him seven months ago were still so vivid. It was like he had never forgotten them, but he knew he had. It was bizarre.

Then Hermes moved. He reached out and placed a gentle hand on Zeus's shoulder.

"This was hard for you."

It wasn't a question, but Zeus nodded and ground out. "Yes."

"Well, if you can't make it, then don't worry about the wine," Hermes said.

And to Zeus's amazement, as Hermes tilted his face into the moonlight, a kind smile uplifted the corners of his mouth. The former king of the gods couldn't believe it. That was all he'd had to do. He hadn't even asked anything. He'd only told Hermes that they couldn't make it, and Hermes had told him to forget it.

"What?" Zeus asked.

Hermes chuckled. "I don't need wine. I have plenty. Technically, with all the sacrifices you all get, you all don't need anything extra either. So one family didn't sacrifice. So what? It doesn't even put a dent in all you receive. Perhaps they are in a similar state as you. Perhaps they made one foolish decision. They feel bad enough that they can't give you what they wanted to. Why make them suffer any more?"

Shock made way to shame as Zeus stared at his estranged son. Tears filled his eyes as he thought back to all of the sacrifices he'd demanded, not even considering how difficult it was for the mortals to gather the resources. He bowed his head and groaned, a deep pain radiating from his chest. Hermes watched him for a moment, then he wrapped an arm around Zeus's shoulders.

"Not so easy, is it?" Hermes asked gently.

Zeus shook his head. "Why are you so nice, Hermes?"

Hermes pursed his lips. "I don't see any point in being cruel, Zeus. Life is cruel enough for mortals, and I don't need to add any more stress to their lives." He paused. "Or yours. You've had some bad luck. That's okay. You don't need to offer the wine. As long as you take this to heart and remember how difficult things can be for mortals, I don't see any problem letting this slide."

Zeus sank to the ground, shivering. This was far more than he ever would have hoped. And he did understand the lesson. He had worked his hardest, and it wasn't enough. And yet Hermes, the son he had scorned for most of his life, had just granted him leniency without his even having to ask.

Hermes plopped down next to his father, leaning his elbows against his knees as he sat cross-legged, staring up at the stars.

"They're so pretty," he sighed.

Zeus glanced up, wiping his damp cheeks on the back of his hand. "What?" he asked, his voice husky with emotion.

"The stars. The moon. The night sky," Hermes said. He stretched out, lying down amongst the tall, golden stalks of grain.

After a moment, Zeus lay down beside him, his eyes seeing the beautiful sky for the first time. The chilly breeze rustled the grain, which whispered against each other. The stars sparkled like gems, winking through the darkness, and the perfect half-moon sent a silvery glow down upon them. For the first time since before he had been dethroned, Zeus relaxed, pressing back into the soft, rich soil, surrounded by the damp earth. He breathed in the delicious scent of dirt, a smell he was used to by now. He had never appreciated soil before he'd been mortal, but now it was one of his favorite smells. Especially right after it rained.

The constellations shone down upon them, and in the peace of the night surrounded them. Hermes smiled.

"I used to do this with the nymphs."

Zeus snapped his head to the side to stare at Hermes. "What?" he asked uneasily.

Hermes glared at him for a moment. "Nothing like that," he growled. He looked back up at the sky, his expression relaxing. "I used to watch the stars with them when I was a child. We'd lay out in the forest and fields all night and watch the stars. Sometimes the constellations move. Mortals can't see it, but the nymphs and I could."

Zeus studied Hermes's relaxed face then he faced the stars again. "That sounds nice. I didn't get the chance to spend any time with anybody when I was growing up. I was hung between the earth and sky."

Hermes hummed. "That must have been boring."

"Yeah, it was. Mother was terrified that Father would discover me. When I defeated him, she begged me not to destroy him. I didn't listen. And his remains are in Tartarus now. Mother never forgave me."

"That must be difficult," Hermes said.

Zeus nodded. "Yeah. It is. She doesn't like to talk to me. She'd rather talk to my siblings."

"I'm sorry about that, Zeus."

There was a pause. Then Zeus spoke. "I've never talked about this with anybody before."

"It's not something that easy to talk about," Hermes reasoned.

"That's true," Zeus said. He stared up at the sky. "This is nice."

Hermes's lips quirked. "It is. Too bad it only took four hundred years."

Zeus flinched. "I'm sorry, Hermes. Hera…"

"I know that Hera was jealous," Hermes cut in. "But it was your fault I was conceived. You were the one who decided to rape my mother. You started everything, and Hera just reacted naturally. Unfortunately, she blamed me and my mother and not you."

Hermes's face pinched and he pushed himself up. Zeus sat up, too. After a moment's hesitation, he placed a hand on Hermes's shoulder. "I'm sorry about all of that. But I don't regret that you're alive."

"Thanks… Father," Hermes murmured. He stood up. "I'd better get back to Olympus. Pan saw me leave."

Zeus nodded, pushing his tired body up so that he stood. "Thanks, Hermes. For understanding."

Hermes smiled, then nodded. "See you later, Father. Hopefully we can get through all of this."

"I would like that. Goodnight, Hermes."

Zeus watched Hermes shoot into the sky, and in a flash of light, he disappeared. The mortal-god took a deep breath then turned to head back to the house, feeling lighter than he had in months.