Anairë | The Silmarillion (anaire) wrote in thedoorway, @ 2012-12-10 16:50:00 |
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Entry tags: | !log, hermes, luke castellan |
Who: Luke Castellan tryingagain and Hermes anaire
When: Late Sunday evening
Where: A diner near Potts Tower
What: Meeting and talking
Rating: G-ish
The diner was not crowded this time of night, which was one of the reasons he had chosen it. It also had good apple pie - or at least, its counterpart in his New York did. Not that he would be eating it tonight; there were more pressing things on his mind at the moment than tempting desserts. He had yet to understand entirely what this place was, or how he had come to be here. He was not the least bit pleased at being kidnapped here, or with the fact that he seemed unable to leave. The Empire State Building was, indeed, here, but he could contact no one on Olympus, nor was there any sign that Olympus even existed. He could see no trace of his home in the clouds above. What had brought him here? What force was strong enough to kidnap a god against his will? A Titan, perhaps, but they were not generally so subtle in their approach. Had he been kidnapped by a Titan, or by Gaea, they would not be allowing him to wander free here, and he was quite certain he would be in a good deal more pain than he was at the moment. Unless the intended torment was of the emotional sort. Luke was here, and alive. May was well. And he was quite certain that they both hated him. He had spoken to May twice since he arrived - once in person, and once on the network, and both times she had seemed angry with him. Cold. He did not understand why; he had done nothing to warrant such treatment. And Luke...well, Luke had died without knowing how much he loved him, how proud of him he was. Had always been. Perhaps without knowing that he loved him at all. He had not been a good father, and while some of that had been entirely out of his hands, and in the hands of the fates, some of it had been his fault. And Luke...perhaps had the right to be angry. Perhaps all demigods did. Their fate was generally a cruel one. He, of course, had many children. Immortal children. Demigod children. And he was fond of most of them, although he rarely thought of them most of the time. There were other, more important things that filled his thoughts and his position on Olympus was fast-paced and time consuming. He rarely had much contact or thought for his children other than when he conceived them, and when he claimed them, and he had even been imperfect at the claiming. While he was quite sure that there were no unclaimed demigods in Cabin Eleven that belonged to him, he knew for a fact that there were children of his who had not yet made it to Camp Halfblood. Percy, however, had promised to rectify that. He wanted to do better. To be a better father. To make sure that none of his other children met Luke’s fate. The least he could do was to honor Luke in that way. From the time he had first held Luke in his arms, he had been his pride and joy. This son of May’s, with his soft blonde hair and blue eyes who looked so much like his mother...he had touched something inside him. Probably because May Castellan had not been the same as so many of his other liaisons with mortals. She had been special to him, in ways he could not begin to explain. When he had met her, it had been some time since he had been with a mortal woman. And she had touched something in him that was both true, good, and very, very real. And for nearly eighteen months, they had been gloriously happy. It was a long time, for a god. Even Poseidon, who he knew to have been fond of Sally Jackson, had not stayed with her for more than a summer. But he would have been happy to have stayed with May Castellan for a lifetime. It still would have been short for him - too short - but he was not even allowed that brief moment of happiness. Eighteen months. That was all he had been given. Eighteen months and a beautiful child with whom he would never be allowed to be close. A child who the fates had long ago chosen for a cruel end. An ending which he knew about very early in Luke’s life; a destiny he had to watch devour his dearest son as the Fates and the ancient laws of the gods held him impotent to stop. But in this place, which he still did not understand, perhaps he would at least have the chance to set Luke straight. To convince his child that he did care for him, that he had always loved him. He did not deceive himself into believing it would be easy, or that it would happen quickly, but time was something he had in abundance, and so was obduracy. He took a seat, and ordered a cup of coffee, steepling his hands as he looked out the window, waiting for his son to arrive. It had been late when Luke saw the summons from his father. A summons was all he would allow himself to think of it as; hope had generally not been kind to Luke Castellan. He had come to believe that people (even gods) were basically good, for the most part, but that situations were generally bad. He had also come to believe that he had essentially been a failure at meeting all of those situations, or at least most of them. On a good day, Luke could acknowledge that he’d had his moments here and there. Still, he was determined that no matter what happened here, this time he would make the right choices. He would do the right things. He wouldn’t let his emotions control him again. He wasn’t going to hurt anyone, or disappoint anyone. It was hard - and this week had been harder than any thus far - but he would do it. Even if that meant getting his shoes back on at midnight to go meet his father in a diner. His father. Luke had met Hermes only once, and it hadn’t gone well. He had been fourteen, hurt, angry, and terrible at listening. He was better now, or so he liked to think, but he still wasn’t looking forward to facing his father again. After all, what could the god possibly have to say to him? Luke spent the whole walk to the diner imagining what Hermes might want to tell him. He could easily envision the disappointment, the fury. He had been told that his father loved him, that he had blessed him in the end...but that was when he had been dead. Alive he was another matter entirely. He could imagine those feelings would still hold true now. Still, Luke soldiered on to the diner. He was committed to facing his past, acknowledging his mistakes, and taking responsibility for his actions. If that meant taking whatever invective or punishment his father had to offer, so be it. With a deep breath, Luke steeled himself for the inevitable and walked through the door. Only a few more steps took him to the table where Hermes sat, and Luke knelt in front of the booth as if it were a throne on Olympus. “Good evening, Lord Hermes,” he said quietly. His gaze was fixed on the god’s shoes. For a moment, the god said nothing. Struck dumb by the grief that he felt upon seeing his son enter the diner, he simply stared as the boy knelt at his feet. It was weakness, the love that he felt for this boy and his mother, and he knew it. The depth of the grief he felt over what had befallen Luke - and, if he were to be honest, for his own loss - was beneath him. He had important duties, crucial tasks to complete. And yet he was quite sure that one of the reasons that Zeus had sent him to take messages during the Titan War was that he didn’t trust him to be focused, especially if faced with Kronos. Perhaps he should have been ashamed of that, but he couldn’t be. He loved the boy, and his mother to distraction. And seeing him here now, kneeling in front of him, made his throat constrict with the tears he would never - could never - cry. After a moment, he reached out to put a gentle hand on Luke’s shoulder. “Good evening, Luke,” he said softly. “Please, sit. Are you hungry? The apple pie is quite good here.” He had so many things he wished to say to the boy, but now that he had him here in front of him, they seemed so much harder to say. Luke looked up, and the expression on his face clearly showed his state of utter surprise at that greeting. The tone, kind and gentle. The words, cautiously friendly. There was no anger, no rush of condemnation. If anything, his father just looked...sad. And really, who could blame him? Luke certainly couldn’t. Surprise faded, replaced with resignation. He’d done more than enough to sadden his father. He had failed him in every possible way. Facing his disappointment was even harder than facing his anger, Luke realized, and once more considered whether this place might be Tartarus. The Lord of the Underworld had a gift for creating unique punishments to fit unique crimes. Perhaps this was his, and like Sisyphus he was doomed to work forever at achieving a goal that would never be possible: redemption. Luke stood, and then sat as Hermes had asked. He still couldn’t bring himself to look at his father’s face. His gaze settled on a point somewhere around the god’s shoulder, which seemed safe enough for now. “No,” he said, fairly certain that if he tried to eat anything he would promptly be sick. “Thank you.” His son wouldn’t even look at him. He felt that slight profoundly as the boy’s eyes focused on his shoulder. He deserved that, he supposed. Luke was, of course, unerringly polite and respectful, but there was no warmth in the meeting. He should not have expected it. Of course he wouldn’t be happy to see him - how could he be? He had failed him completely, and he had every right to feel anger and resentment. He had left the boy with no proper guardian, and then left him to fend for himself in the streets when he was still just a child. Of course, Luke had never been entirely alone. Although he could not directly interfere in his son’s life, he had always...watched. And the God of Travelers had done his best to see that Luke and his fictive kin had always found what they needed in the end. But it had been a difficult life, and it had been his fault. And he had never been able to truly talk to the boy; he had never even been able to give him what few explanations he could for the way that his life had progressed. He had hoped that this night would rectify that, but his hopes were fading as he found himself fidgeting, stirring his coffee more than it possibly needed to be stirred. The words he wished to say seemed...loaded. And the awkward tension was palpable. “Your mother tells me that you are working at a Youth Center,” he said in a soft tone. “Is that something you enjoy?” “Yes, sir,” Luke replied, truthfully. He felt like he was doing good work there. It was hard work, and sometimes he felt as if he’d gotten in way over his head, but he still hadn’t learned how to do things by half measures. He believed in what he was doing, and with some careful sanity-checks from Annabeth he had even managed to convince himself that this wasn’t something dangerous to believe in. “I...I’m trying to do it right this time,” he continued quietly. “To help the kids here, so maybe they don’t turn out like I did.” He nodded slightly. “It is good work for you, I think. It will give you a chance, perhaps, to forgive yourself, to atone for your past through good works. Which is the best way to find redemption, I think.” Whether he believed or not that his son needed redemption was a moot point - he thought he did. And if working at this youth center made him feel that he was making amends for the mistakes he had made in his past, then it was nothing but good. He was silent for a moment, then looked up at his son again, this time his voice low, but filled with deep emotion. “Luke, I will always regret what happened to you. And I will always regret that there was nothing I could do to stop it.” Luke was glad to have his father’s blessing on the work he was doing. It wasn’t something he had expected coming into this conversation - or ever. Having divine approval of his quest for redemption was heartening. For the first time, he felt as if achieving it might be possible, rather than just a futile effort he engaged in to quiet his own demons. Still more unexpected was his father’s statement of regret. The gods, so far as Luke knew, did not have regrets. In his experience, they were all perpetually convinced of the rightness of their own actions. To hear his father express regret, and regret for him - that was beyond anything Luke had ever hoped for even in his wildest dreams. It was shocking enough to pull his eyes quickly upward, looking at last at the man who faced him. “Why would you--” Luke stopped himself quickly, shaking his head. “Sir, I don’t blame you or any of the gods for the choices I made. Not anymore. You did what you had to.” “Yes,” he agreed. “I did what I had to do. And I did not act wrongly. But that does not mean that things occurred exactly as I wished. There are higher powers even than the Gods, and we cannot always control things to the extent that we desire. I knew from the time that you were very young that there was a destiny you had to fulfil, and it was unlikely to be a pleasant one. The fates of demigods are rarely kind, and yours was harsher than most.” He stopped for a moment, looking closely at his son. There was so much of his mother in him, that it had almost been painful to see him after May had - after she had taken ill. It brought back so many memories. “You were given a hero’s task, and you fulfilled it. But many times I wished that such a fate -that such ‘honor’ - had not been given to my son.” Luke had done his best to remain polite and neutral through the conversation, but the use of the word “honor” managed to crack it. He silenced the laugh almost as quickly as it had come, but a short, sad trill of it escaped his lips before he could think better of it. “I’m sorry, sir,” Luke immediately said, but he still shook his head at the mere concept of “honor” being applied to his life. “I’m sorry. It’s just...honor. Hero. It’s the same stuff the kings in the Hall of Judgment said, and it doesn’t make any more sense to me now than it did then.” Hermes raised an eyebrow at his laughter, but shook his head slightly at his next words. “You truly don’t see it? How you are a hero? Luke, being a hero is not always about doing the right thing. It is about being strong enough to realize that you have done wrong, and to do what you can to make your wrongs right. And in the end, you realized that, and made the ultimate sacrifice. That took a strength far beyond what it takes to simply be good. This was what the Fates had planned for you, and why they chose you - they knew you would be strong enough to destroy Kronos when the time came. You are a hero, Luke. And to many, the role you were given in this prophecy would be an honor. Perhaps you do not see it now, perhaps you never will. But it is true, nonetheless.” He took a sip of his coffee, then set the cup down, looking at the dark liquid for a moment. “I am proud of you for what you did, Luke. But that is not surprising, I suppose. I have always been proud of you.” Percy had told him that, in one of those early conversations here on the other side of the Tesseract. Until this moment, Luke hadn’t ever really been able to bring himself to believe it. With his father sitting right in front of him saying it, though, it was hard to deny. His father, somehow, was proud of him. Thought he was a hero. Thought he had the strength to do what was necessary, then and now. Luke choked down the tears that threatened, because you just didn’t cry in front of gods, or your father. He took long, steady breaths instead, forcing himself to calm down enough that he could speak without his voice breaking. “I didn’t know,” he quietly replied. “Thank you.” Hermes could tell that his son was near tears, and looked away to give Luke a moment of privacy as he got control of himself. He looked back to him when he spoke, giving him a soft, but intensely sad smile. “I loved your mother, Luke. And I loved you. The first time your mother let me hold you - “ He trailed off, the sadness growing, burning him from the inside out. “I never wanted to do anything but do right by you. Having to step back, being forced to watch as you suffered through everything that you did...it was the hardest thing I’ve ever done. And I understand if you are angry. I always did understand, as much as I hated it.” “I’m not angry anymore,” Luke said. It was strange, maybe, but true. “I’m sad, and tired, and guilty...but I’m not angry. The only times I really get angry anymore, it’s at me, not at anybody else.” Luke wasn’t sure what inspired such complete honesty. He hadn’t talked to anyone else so bluntly about how he felt, not even Annabeth. Maybe it was because Hermes was being so honest with him. Or maybe it was just because for the first time, he had heard his father say that he loved him. Once he would have said that it was meaningless, that the gods said things all the time that they didn’t mean, or that it was too little, too late. He knew better now. “That is perhaps the worst kind of anger, though,” he said softly. “For it has no outlet.” He raked his hand through his hair with a sigh, an outward side of the emotions at play inside of him. Gods were stronger and wiser than mortals, no doubt, but they were also as much prey to grief and love - if not more so. “I do not know what this place is, or how it holds us here. Maybe, however, this is a place where you can let that anger go, come to terms with that sadness, guilt and exhaustion. Maybe it is a second chance for you - and for us.” Luke pressed his lips together, feeling the strain that came along with so much revelation all at once. In the past two weeks he had been punched in the face by his best friend whom he had been in love with since he was twelve and who also hated him, shot while saving that same best friend who now maybe didn’t have him after all, told the long and painful story of his past choices not once but twice, narrowly avoided a fight to the death that he had no intention of even attempting to win, and finally met the person his mother actually was rather than a mad shadow of her. And now here he was, sitting across the table from his father, a god who was nonetheless just as trapped as everyone else in Potts Tower, and who was proud of him. Who loved him. Who thought that this was a second chance not just for him, but for all of them. Things couldn’t be any more surreal if they were surrounded by melting clocks. “When Thalia and I first started traveling together, I taught her Rule Number One,” Luke finally said, his voice remaining quiet. “If it seems too good to be true, it is. I’m having a real hard time getting past that idea right now.” Hermes nodded, if a bit sadly. “It is a good rule to follow,” he agreed. “But I think perhaps this is not too good to be true. Not at all. I think that this will be very difficult, for both of us, and that there is much we will have to overcome. You say you are not angry with me, and perhaps you aren’t. I will take you at your word. But I think if we actually began to speak a great deal of the past, you might find that anger again. Or, at least, resentment. And that is understandable, with what you knew.” He shook his head. “It will be a very slow progress, coming to understand each other, Luke. If we are able to do so at all.” He looked at him, his eyes narrowing a bit in concern. “But for now, I think you are very tired. Perhaps we should talk again, when you are better rested. Take tonight and think about what I have said.” Luke nodded. The conversation had been brief, but it had taken a lot out of him. He hadn’t figured on sleeping much tonight, but now he thought he just might be able to. Or at least, he could as long as he didn’t think too much about the possibility of discussing the past in more depth with his father - or with his mother, for that matter. Thoughts of his mother raised one last thing that he wanted to say immediately to Hermes, though. “I’m trying to look out for Mom, this time,” Luke said as he stood. “She feels really bad about what happened, even though it wasn’t really her fault. So...please, just...be careful with her. I don’t want her to have to go through anything like what she went through on the other side. She should be allowed to be happy somewhere.” After settling the bill with the waitress, Hermes stood too, unsure of whether to be offended by Luke’s words, or to find them strangely cute and reassuring. May needed as many people watching out for her as possible, and he was glad Luke was. Still, warning him to be careful might have been pushing it just a touch too far. “Luke, I love your mother. I have always loved your mother, since the moment I met her. I know you likely find that hard to believe, knowing how gods often behave with mortal women, but your mother...was not like that for me.” No, it could never have been anything permanent, and they both knew that. That was why he had treasured every moment that they spent together, tried to make each second last as long as possible. “You do not need to ask me to watch out for her, or warn me away from her.” “It wasn’t a warning, sir,” Luke replied, his tone still subdued. “And I don’t even know whether staying away from her would be the best thing for her. Last time I tried to make decisions for other people based on what I thought would be best for them, a lot of people got hurt. I try not to do that anymore. I’m just requesting, respectfully, that you...” He couldn’t come up with any other words for it, so he settled on the same ones he had used before. “Be careful. That’s all. And since you love her--” Luke wasn’t about to accuse a god of lying. “--then that shouldn’t even be a big deal.” “No. It won’t be a big deal. I ever intended to hurt her. And I am not pleased that you think that I would do anything to hurt her. That it is even necessary to say these words.” While his eyes were not full of fire like Ares’, they could look plenty intimidating simply in their depth. And the look that he was giving his son now was not a happy one. “It is honorable to try to protect one’s mother. But it is also insulting that you think you have to protect her from me. Or that you could. Do not forget who I am, Luke. I am your father, and I love you very much, but I do not take kindly to such insult, direct or implied. And I challenge you to find one time in the past I have hurt your mother. You will not find one. I am not even the one who ended our relationship.” “I wasn’t saying I thought you were going to hurt her!” Luke protested. “I’m just saying that sometimes people get hurt not because anybody means to hurt them, but because people just...they don’t know!” He hadn’t intended for a moment to warn his father off, or even to tell him not to do any harm to his mother. He didn’t think Hermes intended her any harm. It was just that in the past few days, he had seen how sensitive his mother was. She was strong in a lot of ways, but she seemed so fragile in others. Luke just wanted his father to realize that. He wanted some help looking after his mother, now that his father was actually around. But so much, it seemed, for all that talk of love. And as soon as that thought crossed his mind, Luke actually felt the color drain from his face in abject horror. It was the kind of thing he would have thought before. Thinking that the gods were all talk, that they didn’t care, that they were just messing with everyone for their own immortal kicks - that was what had started him on the path to Kronos before. It made him feel sick, and it made him want to run, but he had to finish this first. “She’s under a lot of stress,” Luke bit out. “She’s hurt. I just wanted you to know that, because I know she won’t tell you. That’s all.” Hermes’ expression softened slightly, and he no longer looked so much like an angry god about to exact vengeance for an insult. Like Luke, he also looked tired. And sad. “I know your mother well, Luke. And I fully intend to look after her here. I always looked out for her, even after she got sick. That was why I was even there on the day when we first spoke. Does that ease your mind?” He was not really angry at his son, but he was very sensitive when it came to May. There had been other women since her, yes. Cabin 11 was testament to that. But in all of them he had been searching for what he had known during that shining year and a half he had spent with May Castellan. And he had never found it. “Yes.” Luke was quieter now, the frustration fading. His own self-loathing for the all-too-familiar moment of anger at his father, however, was not. A good night’s sleep was seeming much less likely than it had only a few minutes before. “Thank you,” he said, and bowed his head. “Am I dismissed, Lord Hermes?” He bit his lip, looking at Luke sadly. He was not exactly sure what had brought on this...change in his demeanor, but it was not a good thing - of that he was certain. Still, he would give his son the respect of not pushing, and allow him to deal with his own problems. He was, after all, a man now. “You are welcome, my son. And yes, you may go. I hope you are able to rest tonight. We will talk again soon.” |