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Megaera is born in darkness.
As much as a god can be "born", anyway. If you want to get pedantic about it, what really happens is that she emerges fully formed from a pool of Titan blood and eternal night, shocked into being by the sharp bitterness of a divine betrayal. Alecto and Tisiphone are at her side when she wakes (or, was she ever asleep? She can't tell.)
Her skin is icy cold. She can feel her sisters there, and though she cannot see their faces, she knows them already, their names carved into her heart like an open wound. Megaera rolls her shoulders back and breathes out as she feels her wings unfurl, letting them stretch out to their full length.
Finally, her body is complete. She sighs, then smiles. So much to be done.
For a while, it's just her and her sisters roaming the inky emptiness of Erebus. There are others like them, born from this realm, but they never show themselves. Eventually, the three of them find their way to the Underworld, and then to the surface. Megaera is intensely bored by the whims of humans, but there's still some fun to be had here. There’s jealousy and betrayal all over the place, the kind that brought her into being, and she wants to devour it all. She and her sisters begin to follow the scent of wrongdoing, feasting on the righteous punishment of those who wronged their fellow man, in life and in death. The mortals call them the Furies.
In the end, it's the Lady Night who welcomes her into the court of the Underworld and gives her existence some much-sought after structure. In Nyx's endless darkness Megaera first took shape, and under Nyx's watchful eye Megaera finds herself bound to serve the House of Hades. It’s nice to have somewhere to go back to. Even if Nyx hadn’t shown them this kindness, Megaera knows she and her sisters would have been carrying out the same duty anyway. From the moment she opened her eyes into the darkness she had known her purpose, and that she would never waver from it. At least this way she gets paid.
Hades is a stern and stately king who sits atop his mighty throne and is unfortunate enough to spend most of his waking hours doing parchmentwork. Megaera watches him with a keen eye whenever she passes his desk. She came into the world before even him, she knows, but something about him feels even sadder and more ancient. The only time Hades' brow unfurrows is when the queen drifts out of their chambers, often to touch him on the shoulder with a distracted look in her eyes. He never smiles, not really, but to Megaera his affection for her is sharp and fragrant, a field of flowers after a bout of rain.
Then, one day, the queen isn’t there anymore. The very foundation of the Underworld begins to shudder with Hades’ rage. Megaera steers clear of the House after that. Some betrayals are too great for even her to touch.
It’s been a century since the queen left, and Megaera needs a drink.
She hasn’t had a free moment to return to the House in decades because the mortals above just will not stop cheating and lying and killing and whatever else satisfies their horrible desire to feel something in their short, short lives. They already did it a lot, but something’s been going on up there to make it even busier than usual. Thanatos shows up every now and then, dropping off new batches of souls, but they barely even have time to greet each other before he’s off to the surface again.
The House is just as quiet as ever when she arrives. She stops in and says hello to Cerberus, who promptly slobbers all over the marble floor in his excitement, narrowly missing her boots. The lounge is nearly empty when she stomps into it and tosses some coin down on the bar.
“Glass of nectar, and give it a kick,” she instructs, and the shade working the bar hurriedly obliges. Megaera exhales quietly, leaning one forearm on the counter.
“That’s you by the door, isn’t it?”
Megaera turns to see a boy standing in front of her. He’s a god — she can tell right away from his good looks — but he’s not one that she’s ever seen before. She silently appraises him for a moment, her gaze raking over his striking features and narrow physique. He doesn’t seem bothered by the scrutiny.
“I don’t understand the question,” Megaera says, finally, coldly.
“That's you,” he says again, then points back at the wall by the lounge door.
Megaera looks over his shoulder to see a board, upon which is pinned a fairly large picture of her, along with the text Featured Servant of the House. This sort of recognition means nothing to her, but she supposes it’s nice to know she hasn’t been forgotten in the time she’s been away. She just wishes they’d use a more recent picture of her.
“You’re one of the Fury Sisters, right?” the boy says, drawing her attention back to him.
“Megaera,” says Megaera, by way of an introduction.
“I’m Zagreus,” he replies. “You’ve been on the board for years. I was starting to think you’d never actually come by.”
“There’s a lot going on out there,” Megaera replies tautly. He can’t have been around for very long. Certainly he seems younger and more earnest than your average god, like he hasn’t yet borne witness to the cosmic suffering of millennia, which is practically a prerequisite for the whole affair. There are flames licking at his feet, embers gleaming in his dark hair. His eyes are striking — one green as surface-world grass, the other deep red as the Styx.
One look is enough for her to know his lineage. This combination of the surface and the Underworld can only be a product of the union between Hades and his long-lost wife. Megaera idly wonders if Zagreus knows of his mother, but she doesn't ask. She actually can't. Aside from it being none of her business, when the queen absconded, all in the Underworld swore an oath to Nyx never to speak of her again. If he doesn't know yet, someday he will.
“You are of Hades,” Megaera says instead, a statement and not a question, because she already knows it to be true, even before his eyes widen slightly in surprise.
“Hades is my father,” Zagreus says. “How did you know?”
Megaera could almost laugh at that. Poor boy, with no-one to call family but the king of the Underworld. Her sisters may be nutcases who aren’t allowed in the House anymore (for very good reason), but at least the three of them are bound to one another by duty (a bond, to the endless and immortal, more powerful than even blood.)
“It was obvious,” Megaera says, shrugging and turning back to attend to her nectar, which has been sitting on the bar for quite a while now. “I’ve known your father for a very long time.”
Suddenly he’s next to her, and Megaera almost recoils. The heat of his presence is searing next to her, as though he rose from the Phlegethon, and he’s not even standing that close. Immediately she's curious to know what it would feel like to burn herself on his skin. It's a new sensation, this sudden fire. Something about Zagreus feels like a challenge, and Megaera has never backed down from a challenge.
Someday, they’re probably going to kill each other.
“What else do you know about my father?” Zagreus asks, a little too eager all of a sudden.
“Not much,” Megaera replies, taking a swig of the nectar. “He’s not much for sharing, as you well know.”
Zagreus presses his lips together, clearly disappointed, and Megaera regards him for a moment before scoffing quietly and turning away from him. She hears him step away slowly, obviously still clinging to the hope that she might say more, before he finally retreats. Despite herself, Megaera can’t help but cast a furtive glance at him as he disappears around the corner. Something about him piques her interest. He’s still curious, a rare trait in an immortal being, and he’s not afraid of her. He wasn’t when he first saw her. Perhaps he will never be.
Zagreus, as it turns out, is always there, and he doesn’t seem to have a job or anything. Megaera learns this after a few more visits to the House, all of which consist of Zagreus strolling into the lounge and far-too-cheerfully engaging her in conversation. He never drinks anything himself, just talks about the goings-on of the House and asks her about her work sometimes. Nobody else dares to approach her freely like this, and in her downtime, no less. It’s really not like her to let a little god like him hang around her so much, even if he is the prince of the Underworld. Unfortunately for her, there's something she finds actually tolerable about the way Zagreus talks, even if he stumbles over his words half the time. Maybe she's just bored.
One day, he finally says something that really catches her attention.
“Come and train with me.”
Megaera turns her gaze to him, putting her drink down. “What?”
“Achilles is otherwise occupied today,” Zagreus says. “I’ve nothing to do but lie around in my chambers, and I’d rather not waste my time. Will you help?”
Megaera finds herself lightly amused by his restlessness. This dark world and his place in it are still new to him. It’s refreshing. Everyone else has already gotten used to playing their role. They’ve been doing it since the beginning of time. Even Thanatos, the only other being in the Underworld worth Megaera’s time, is increasingly distant, kept endlessly busy by his equal obligation to the mortal realm. And Achilles may be one of the few mortals whose skills in combat Megaera respects, but he’s no Fury. Zagreus surely does need to be humbled, young god that he is. Her sisters can take care of her duties for a while.
“Fine,” she says, shrugging. “I don’t suppose you have a whip on hand.”
“Just my sword.”
“Then it won’t be a fair fight.”
“I don’t doubt that,” Zagreus says, and grins.
She’ll give him this: he’s not a bad fighter.
Zagreus isn’t like any other adversary she’s ever come up against. He’s lighter on his feet than she was expecting, narrowly avoiding many of her most vicious attacks, and he still manages to hit hard, too. She hisses with pain and annoyance as he tumbles behind her and catches her at the small of her back before she can turn to face him. His technique is good, refined by the tutelage of one of the best warriors in Greece, but he clearly lacks experience in a real fight. Megaera doesn’t go easy on him just because it’s training. She never does.
He holds his own admirably, but one ill-timed strike is enough for her to curl her whip around his arm and twist it backwards, sending him hurtling to the ground. The ground shakes with the force of his impact as he careens across the training ground before coming to a brutal stop, still bound by one arm. He half-chokes, the air knocked from his lungs. Megaera walks over to him, keeping a tight hold on her whip to make sure he can really feel it. She kneels beside him and tugs it forcefully, dragging his upper body up and making him look at her. Zagreus’ shallow breath catches in his throat, his eyes dazed as they lock onto hers. There’s something in his look that lodges itself in her stomach. Up close, the heat emanating from his body is smoldering.
“Had enough, Zagreus?” she says lowly, taunting.
“N — not a chance,” he replies, swallowing hard. He shakes his head a little, his eyes focusing again. Already Megaera can see him regaining his composure and readying himself for another round. She smirks down at him as she flicks her wrist and takes her whip back. Good. He’s resilient.
They spar for what might be hours or even days — time doesn't exactly have a lot of meaning here, so Megaera has no way of telling. By the end of it, Zagreus is exhausted and beaten-up but still looking pleased as anything. He tosses his sword down and slumps down against a pillar, sweat trickling down his face in rivulets. Megaera stands above him, neatly coiling her whip and hooking it back on her belt.
“Tired already?” she says, lightly teasing. Zagreus glances up at her and huffs out a beleaguered breath.
“I see now why you've been featured servant of the House so often.”
“Yes, I'm very good at what I do. You're… not too bad.”
“Achilles is a great teacher,” Zagreus sighs, draping his limbs about haphazardly. “But I have a long way to go before I reach your level.”
“Give it another few centuries,” Megaera says, and Zagreus laughs, a low, resonant sound. He looks up at her, a smile darting across his face for a second, like he suddenly thought of something amusing, before it disappears and softens into something different.
All at once Megaera realizes that the boy is in love with her — or, at least, he thinks he is. How annoying. How stupid. Immortal beings don’t fall in love. Zagreus would know that if he’d ever been allowed to witness the folly of mortal love for himself, but since he doesn’t know what it is to love and to be loved, he still thinks he is capable of it.
And of course it had to be her who was unfortunate enough to stumble into being the object of his affection. Megaera has already taught him to fight; she can’t teach him this, too. She sucks on her teeth and turns away quickly, suddenly unable to stomach the sight of him for much longer.
Megaera is sitting in her chambers and signing off on the latest arrivals when suddenly a cold gust of wind sweeps over her. She rolls her eyes even before the room floods with a burst of green light. He's always so dramatic.
“Nice of you to come and visit,” she says without looking, flipping through her stack of parchment. After the torturing of an unfaithful spouse comes the filing of a form, perhaps the least gratifying part of being a divine bringer of vengeance. Before she worked for Hades, she only had to do the torture part. Who knew that overseeing the punishment of the damned in an official capacity would involve this much bureaucracy?
“This place is covered in dust,” Thanatos says from behind her.
“I’ve been busy. Don’t touch anything.”
“They give you your own place in Tartarus, and look how you neglect it,” he continues, floating over to peer down at the numbers she's going over. “That many? Oh, my.”
“I suppose you wouldn't know anything about the souls that make it down here,” Megaera replies, glancing over her shoulder at him. “They're not exactly the type you oversee.”
“Tch! Just because they died peaceful deaths doesn't mean they led peaceful lives,” Thanatos says. “But enough work talk. I'm sick of work. Tell me — why won't these humans stop dying so we can have some time off?”
“Dying is the only thing mortals know how to do with any reliability, Than,” Megaera says grimly. “I trust the surface world is as ghastly as ever.”
“Oh, if only you could see it for yourself,” Thanatos sighs, perching on the edge of her desk and picking at his nails. “Mortals do so love causing problems for themselves, but it's more than that. Lady Demeter is unhappy about the disappearance of her daughter, it seems. It's been nothing but ice and snow for a hundred years.”
Megaera looks up from her parchments in surprise.
“Disappearance? You mean... when the queen left, she didn't return to Olympus?”
“Apparently so,” Thanatos says, shrugging. “I asked about it here and there, but nobody knew the details. Not even Hermes, and he's usually such a reliable gossip.”
The thought stays in the back of Megaera's mind, even after Thanatos reluctantly leaves, grumbling about some sort of decade-long plague. The queen must not have gone far from the Underworld, to find refuge on the surface but still be hidden from Olympus' prying eyes. She wonders how it must feel to be caught between realms, bound to serve both and to belong in neither.
Hades is beckoning her over to his desk with one large hand when she walks into the House, which is quite literally the last thing Megaera wants to see after the week she’s had. She approaches with apprehension, knowing that the king of the Underworld has been especially mercurial since his queen disappeared, prone to fits of rage directed at whichever soul is unlucky enough to set him off. Megaera creates fear, she does not feel it — but Hades’ temper is something she’d rather not bear the brunt of. Still, she keeps her expression icy, knowing that he doesn’t care if she’s cold, so long as she’s not weak.
“Yes, your Majesty?”
“Megaera,” he says in that low, rumbling voice of his. “As I am to understand it, you’ve recently become familiar with that son of mine.”
Megaera arches an eyebrow. She can’t seem to escape Zagreus lately. She had thought this meeting might be about her performance or maybe a contract renegotiation, but no — it’s just the prince and the contempt his father seems to have for him.
“We’ve spoken,” she says. “If your Majesty doesn’t wish me to see him again—”
“No, quite the opposite,” Hades interrupts. “That blasted houseservant banquet is coming up and the boy has an aggravating habit of causing trouble in the midst of distraction. I know you don’t care for the festivities, so I’d like you to keep an eye on him for me.”
“You want me to look after your son,” Megaera says flatly. “Don’t you have Achilles on hand for that?”
Hades gives her a look.
“You recall, of course, how Achilles comported himself at the last banquet.”
Megaera rolls her eyes.
“I do.”
The houseservant appreciation banquet is an employee benefit that Hades is contractually obligated to provide at least once every century, and he is correct — Megaera doesn’t much care for it. The other servants of the House seem to enjoy it, though. Last time, Achilles had had a little too much ambrosia and ended up warbling along to one of Orpheus’ songs before collapsing into sobs. Something about having wronged the person he cared most about in the world and — well, Megaera had stopped listening.
“So you see why I’m skeptical of Achilles’ capabilities at such functions,” Hades grumbles dismissively, already returning to his parchmentwork. “And yet our contract precludes me from denying him this ridiculous frivolity. Besides him, you are the only one I trust to keep that wretched boy in check. This is not a request, Megaera.”
“Of course, your Majesty,” Megaera says, bowing her head obediently. She really does need a drink now.
The first thing Megaera notices when she strides into Zagreus’ room is that he has no door. The second thing is that he should have a door, because he’s staring into the mirror and muttering into it as though in a trance when she comes in. She watches him for a few seconds, gently amused, before shaking it off and clearing her throat loudly. He turns quickly, eyes widening and cheeks darkening at the sight of her.
“Megaera!” he stammers, adjusting his robes. “What are you doing here?”
“Your father instructed me to keep you out of trouble during the banquet tonight,” Megaera says, crossing her arms. “So, here I am.”
“O — oh, is that tonight?” Zagreus says, feigning surprise but unable to keep that nervous edge out of his voice. “Must have forgotten that the union got the date moved up last century…”
“Don’t play games with me, Zagreus,” Megaera says, crossing the room to stand before him and scowl down at him imperiously. “I know you’re up to something.”
Zagreus searches her face frantically, expression flickering between indignance and panic, words caught in his throat. Finally, he visibly gives up and sighs, shoulders relaxing.
“Yeah, I am,” he says sheepishly. “I figured everyone would be busy at the banquet, and it might be easier to — well, do what I’ve been meaning to do.”
“And what might that be?”
“If I tell you, you can’t tell my father,” Zagreus says.
“If he specifically asks, I’ll have to,” Megaera replies. “But otherwise, no. I won’t volunteer the information.”
Zagreus lets out a short breath.
“Good enough,” he says. “I’m trying to... get out of the House. My father never lets me leave. He says that everything I need is right here, but in the whole time I’ve been alive I’ve never even gone further than the courtyard. All I want is to see something that isn’t these dreary walls, for once.”
Megaera regards him and experiences an annoying pang of sympathy. He doesn’t deserve to be held captive by his father’s long-ago heartbreak. Across the House, she can hear the faint sound of music and laughter. She’d wanted to dip in and grab a bottle of ambrosia, such a rarity in the Underworld that she usually only gets it around the time of the banquet, but Zagreus’ look of defeat just isn’t convincing enough.
“You’re planning to give me the slip if I so much as take my eyes off you for a second, aren’t you?”
Zagreus hesitates, then nods. Megaera huffs. Tenacious and honest to a fault. One day it will be the reason for his triumph, or his downfall.
“Fine, then,” she says. “Come with me.”
In an utterly uncharacteristic act of kindness, she takes him to her chambers in Tartarus. It’s not exactly the nicest place to take someone who’s never left his father’s house before, but Elysium isn’t within her jurisdiction and Asphodel is far too hot for her liking. They walk through the ever-shifting hallways because Zagreus is inconveniently without wings. The bloodthirstier shades stay away for once, kept at bay by the threat of Megaera’s whip, leaving Zagreus free to gape around at all the menacing statues and empty faces.
“See,” she says. “You’re not missing much.”
“It’s wonderful,” Zagreus says, sounding distant. “I can’t believe Father kept me from this for so long.”
Megaera just looks at him, puzzled. Who could possibly find the dark, arid chambers of Tartarus wonderful? Perhaps it comes down to his lineage. She may belong to the Underworld, but his soul is bound to it.
When they reach her chambers, Zagreus runs a finger over a shelf and says: “Wow, this place is dusty.”
“I’ve been told,” Megaera says drily, unhooking her whip from her belt and tossing it aside haphazardly.
Her chambers are modest, consisting of her makeshift office and a small bedroom off to the side. They’re fine for how infrequently she comes back to them. None of it compares to the splendor of the House, but Zagreus looks at the things she has lying around the room as though they’re the treasures of Hades himself. Megaera tosses herself down on the couch, eyes following Zagreus as he makes his way around the room. He picks up a bottle with a cork in it, peering at the scribbled label.
“Siren song?”
“Just how it sounds,” Megaera says dismissively, redoing her ponytail. “Don’t open it unless you want to fall madly in love.”
Zagreus pauses for a second, looking as though he might say something, but he seems to change his mind, and obediently returns the bottle to its place on the shelf. Megaera regards him and, not for the first time, thinks about how she’s never met another like him in the Underworld. She can’t imagine what her sisters would say if they saw her indulging him like this. Well, she can’t imagine what Alecto would say, anyway. These days, Tisiphone’s pattern of speech is pretty easy to predict. Once upon a time it had just been the three of them, gleefully exacting vengeance on those who deserved it most. Now they have different duties and lead different lives, but she knows her sisters would still have some choice words about this.
He’s hovering now, uncertain of his next move. Megaera sighs — must she do everything? — and shifts to one side of the couch, jerking her head at the spot she leaves vacant. Zagreus takes a seat, still with the hint of a nervous look on his face. Megaera frowns.
“Are you afraid?”
“No,” says Zagreus, then concedes. “Yes.”
“Of me?”
“No.”
“There’s no shame in it, you know,” Megaera says, half-reassuring. “Most are.”
“I could never be,” Zagreus says, and she knows that he means it.
“What troubles you so, then?”
He’s looking down at his upturned palms now, unable to meet her eyes.
“I’m going to try and get to the surface world,” he says, finally. “I’ve been planning it for a long time. I’ve been scouring the maps in the admin chamber, learning all about the Underworld realms so that one day, perhaps — perhaps I can escape.”
“Oh,” says Megaera. Again she thinks of his mother, the once-lady of the Underworld. Does he know? Does it matter? Some part of him must have always longed for the surface, even if he never knew why; it was an inevitability that he would one day be pulled towards it, despite his father’s best efforts. “And you’re afraid of, what, your father’s wrath? No shame in that, either…”
“No,” Zagreus says. “I’m afraid because when I’m with you, I… stop wanting to leave.”
And Megaera’s heart jolts, shocked into motion by the startling tenderness in Zagreus’ words, the ground shifting beneath her feet as he plunges them into this uncomfortable intimacy that he seems to have been teetering on the edge of for so long. She knows that he loves her — has known for so long now — but she never expected that he would give voice to it. He knows the risk here, knows that she could easily bring him back to the House and tell his father all about his little escape plan, yet still he makes himself vulnerable. All for her.
“Zagreus,” she says, her voice low. “You can’t just —”
“I’m sorry, Megaera, but I have to say something,” Zagreus says, interrupting her, and all of a sudden the words are flowing from him and she can’t stop them. “You must know I care for you. Everyone knows. And I haven’t said anything, but the more I plan it out, and the closer I get to actually leaving — the thought of never seeing you again —”
“Enough, Zagreus,” Megaera snaps, and he stops immediately, his eyes wide as saucers. She doesn’t even know what to say to him; she just needed him to stop talking, his incomprehensible affection too much for her to bear.
Megaera knows that she ought to nip this in the bud. With anyone else, she would do it without a second thought, but with Zagreus, it’s different. Everything is different. That’s the worst thing about him. He’s new and surprising and strange. She didn’t know things could still be new to her. Megaera is greedy and curious. She always has been.
It’s like someone other than herself who moves closer to him then with the slow, deliberate movement of a predator, angling her body towards Zagreus while he looks up at her like he might pass out. The warmth that lives beneath his skin is nearly too much.
“Megaera,” Zagreus says, half-breathless. “Meg.”
“Hm,” Megaera says. “You’ve never called me that before.”
“Is that alright?” Zagreus asks hesitantly. “It's what I call you in my head.”
“Fine,” Megaera says. “It’s fine.”
And because she’s not used to treating with care, because she knows Zagreus will take whatever she gives him, because he’s now well and truly torn down whatever barrier was between them, she lifts her hand and fists it in his hair. His chest lifts with an utterly shameless intake of breath as Megaera jerks his head back, leaning over his face and gazing down at him. He has the same dazed look in his eye as he did the day they sparred for the first time. Megaera almost sneers.
“If you want to leave, then leave,” she intones. “Don’t use me as an excuse. Is that understood?”
Zagreus, for once, is speechless. He just nods, swallowing heavily.
“Good boy,” says Megaera, swiping at his chin with her other thumb. Zagreus’ cheeks are coloring, his face flooded with an eager want that almost makes her feel sorry for him. He’s the sort of person who would do anything for love, even if it leads him astray, which is a terrible trait for a god to have.
Megaera loosens her hold on his hair and Zagreus’ hand reflexively shoots up to grasp her wrist and hold it in place, almost as though he can’t help himself, like he wants her to keep gripping and gripping until he can’t take it anymore. Megaera stares at him in surprise for a moment, then smiles.
Okay. She likes that. She likes that very much.