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There is very little to be remembered of Asterius’s life—darkness, walls always a little too tight, screaming, meat.
There are other parts too, but sometimes Asterius cannot tell the dreams from the memories. He must’ve seen light—genuine, true, all-encompassing light—at one point, because he does not think that is something his sleeping mind could create on its own. The same goes for soft hands cupping his cheek or stroking his forehead, or the sound of gentle laughter, or warm gray eyes and a song he can never quite remember when he wakes. But none of it is clear and all of it hurts to think of and those tiny fragments are so utterly dwarfed by years and years and years in the dark.
He also sometimes remembers, unbidden, the light of a torch, a voice that alternates between booming and soft, hair the same pale buttery tone as the stone floors in his memory-dream-fragments. He remembers a face slack with an expression he cannot name, eyes that stared straight into his own, and a conversation without any screaming or begging or tears. When his mind drifts to these things, Asterius pushes them aside with the phantom sensation of an arm across his windpipe. He does not wish to think of them any more than he does of the mother he half-remembers, and has half-constructed.
He convinces himself all these bits are irrelevant. His life was darkness and screaming and too tight walls, and now his death is too. And so shall it be forever.
But what feels like eternity is eventually broken. Sound carries oddly in this place he was informed is Erebus, and though he has heard footsteps and grunts and cries of pain, he has never before heard the echoes of conversation, and something in him is compelled to listen.
This first voice is sharp and grating and cruel, and after a moment Asterius places it as one of the Furies. He does not know them well enough to identify which, only that they traverse Erebus sometimes, and they each had paused, briefly, the first time they passed through his chamber. One had stared at him a long time, and then shook her head and said, in a quiet voice, “You poor bastard.” The second had tilted her head briefly as she considered him, eyes piercing in a skeletal face. She had opened her mouth, and then said nothing before moving on.
The third, whose voice matches the one now had actually dropped into a squat before him to stare into his face. Then she’d leaned back onto one arm with a dramatic sigh. She’d said, blatantly goading, “You never even had a chance to be driven by sinful passion, did you? You never felt much of anything at all.” Her grin had been a knife-slash across her face, but when Asterius did not answer, it had fallen, and she’d stormed off with a scowl.
“—And I hope you know that you’re damn lucky, your highness. There’s a lot of people who are quite fond of you, but if I had my way I wouldn’t be doing you fucking favors, chaperoning you around Erebus. I’d drag you to Tartarus and punish you myself.”
The voice that answers is the one that made Asterius’s ears prick, that stirs something in his chest that insists this is important. It’s loud and brash, despite the content of its words.
“Yes, well, I would fall under your purview by most standards, and frankly I’m surprised the lord of the dead did not see it that way himself! Not that I am ungrateful of course, only that I rather agree with you!”
There’s a brief pause, and then sharp cackling laughter.
“Ahaha ha! Oh you’re smarter then you let on, are you? Surprisingly perceptive! You actually think I should be torturing you! Ahahahaha! Oh that’s a good one, that’s fucking delightful! I could just hand you my whip and you’d flagellate yourself all on your own!”
And then the door opens, and there stands the Fury next to a broad-shouldered man with pale hair.
“Well, Hero, Prince, and King of Athens, here is the minotaur! Just as you asked to see!”
Athens. Something about that further stirs the odd sensation in Asterius’s chest, and the first words he has spoken in a long time tumble out:
“Do I know you?”
The man looks away from Asterius, and somehow that feels... not right.
“Ah, well, you see—“
The Fury bursts into laughter.
“Ahaha oh fuck! This makes this little escort trip all worth it! Does he know you! Ha ha! Now that I think about it, maybe I wouldn’t be the one torturing you, maybe you’d be better suited to Tis!”
And then she turns to Asterius, throwing her arms wide in a showy gesture. “You sure know him, all right! Let me re-introduce you to King Theseus of Athens, the man who murdered you!”
There’s a long pause—not silence, because of the constant cackle of the Fury as she doubles over on herself, but Asterius and the man, Theseus, only stare at each other. The man breaks Asterius’s gaze first, looking away, and then his brow furrows as he takes in the chamber around them.
The Fury’s laughter begins to die down, and the man turns to her, slowly.
“Apologies, Lady Alecto, but I’d like to ask a question!”
The Fury wipes away a bloody tear, and sneers.
“Yeah I guess. I’ve been tasked with this job so let’s get through it.”
The man chews at his lip, and then asks, “I am meant for Elysium, am I not? And Elysium is meant to provide its inhabitants with all they desire?”
“That’s the fucking theory. Not that I’d know, but yeah, supposedly.”
The man (Theseus, Asterius’s brain offers, but he pushes it aside) seems to come to some sort of conclusion, and nods, resolutely.
“Then I’d like to take the minotaur with me!”
“What?”
Asterius feels the same shock that colors the Fury’s voice .
“If I am to reside in Elysium and have all that I would wish, then I wish to take the minotaur with me! I understand that is unconventional, surely, but I’d like to request it of Lord Hades nonetheless!”
“Why would you ever—“ but then some realization crests over her face in a malicious smile.
“You know what?” she says, “I’d be happy to pass on the request to Lord Hades.”
Theseus beams.
“Thank you, truly, I am—“
“In fact, I’ll go ask right now.”
She flaps her wing and shoots into the air, leaving Asterius and Theseus alone. (My killer, Asterius reminds himself, but he’s already started thinking of the man by his name).
There’s a long, awkward pause. Asterius still sits, and Theseus stands and refuses to meet his eyes.
“It is rather dark down here,” Theseus starts.
“It is,” Asterius answers, despite himself. The conversation, if it could be called one, tapers off into silence.
Theseus starts again; “Do you... have a name? I know you only as the minotaur, and that seems inadequate, if not outright offensive.”
“Asterius.” He then pauses, considering Theseus’s other words. “Why should it be offensive?”
“Well,” and Theseus looks surprised. Asterius can’t tell if it’s because of the content of the question, or that Asterius is asking a question at all.
“King Minos was... not a man I think you would want to associate with.”
“I do not care,” Asterius answers, honestly, “If that is what beasts such as I are to be called, then that is what I am”.
There’s a long pause. “Alright then,” Theseus replies. And then, “Nonetheless... I am... sorry I did not kill him.”
Asterius stares.
“It is only that I had my people and the princesses to consider as well, when we fled! Were I on my own I would have found the king and slain him myself, and even as it were, I nearly did, it is only—“
“Why should you have killed the king?”
This time it’s Theseus’s turn to stare, bewildered. Asterius still doesn’t understand, so he continues.
“Your duty was to slay me, and save your people, and you did so. Why should you have slain Minos as well?”
Theseus turns away, and does not meet Asterius’s eyes.
“He is the one who demanded it was my people who die! And for a— I— well, I suspect an entire fabrication.”
Asterius isn’t sure how, but he knows Theseus is lying. Or rather, that there is something he is not saying. Maybe if Asterius knew him better, or had more experience in conversation, he might be able to read between the lines, but he does not.
“What do you mean by a fabrication?”
Theseus’s head remains bowed. Asterius idly stares at his hair. Only when they can hear the distant flap of what must be the Fury’s return does Theseus answer.
He looks up abruptly into Asterius eyes, and says, “I do not think there was any reason for King Minos to have fed you people.”
And then the door opens.
“Alright King Self-Pity, Hades is willing to hear you out! Let’s go!”
Theseus stands, and then starts, and looks back at Asterius.
“Will he stay here while this happens?”
“You’re damn right he will; you think Hades is going to let a monster out of Erebus before you’ve convinced him?”
“He is no monster,” Theseus says, clear and with no trace of doubt.
“Whatever. If you want him free then you better do a damn good job convincing the big man of that.”
Theseus heaves a sigh, then turns to Asterius and says, with a wide grin, “I will get you out!”
And then he leaves. Asterius is left sitting there, ears ringing with the confidence in Theseus’s voice.
Asterius had been certain he was used to the darkness and confinement of Erebus, that he had accepted it and could tolerate it forever. But despite his best efforts now, each time he closes his eyes he sees golden light and open spaces. Despite his best efforts, he finds himself counting the hours, measuring time as if it could possibly change the meaning of eternity.
The door opens.
There is a boat, with a tall skeletal figure upon it, floating upon the river. The Fury stands beside it.
Asterius cannot catch their conversation at this distance, only tone—a raspy rumble punctuated with sharp frustrated jabs. Beside him stands Theseus.
“Shall we go?” Theseus asks.
Asterius rumbles an affirmation, but Theseus does not move until Asterius does, remaining by his side, carefully keeping pace. Asterius is not sure what to make of that.
As they grow closer he can begin to distinguish words. Or, words from the Fury at least.
“Don’t fucking give me that old-age know-everything connected-to-the-realm bullshit!”
“Hrrrghrrrrahaaaaa...”
“Ugh I was just trying to tell you where you need to—“
“Gghhghhhhhrrrrhaaaaa!”
“Fine!” The Fury snaps, “Fucking interrupt because you magically know your orders and where to take these two! They’re your responsibility now!”
And she abruptly flies off without a single word to Theseus and Asterius.
Theseus greets the boatman—“I suspect it is odd for you to see the same shade so many times!” The figure clearly makes Theseus uncomfortable, though he pushes through it with a puffed out chest and a loud voice. Asterius must admit he feels a bit of the same. The boatman doesn’t really look at him, but his gaze glancing over feels like an icy chill.
The boatman only rasps a wordless acknowledgment, and gestures the two onto his skiff. Theseus climbs aboard, and then looks back at Asterius, still standing hesitantly upon the shore. The boat is small and light, bobbing gently in the current.
“Will my friend—can your boat carry someone so large?”
“Ggghhhhraaaaahhh!!”
The boatman gestures more vigorously with his oar, and despite the lack of words, the clear annoyance he displays makes Asterius want to step back, to flee. But he thinks of the darkness and of confined chambers and of eternity, and he steps onto the boat. It bobs gently, as if he weighs little more than a child.
The narrowness of the boat forces Theseus and Asterius to sit opposite each other as the boatman pushes off. Asterius watches the realm around them. Theseus watches Asterius. No one speaks.
The light of Elysium is blinding, and Asterius shades his eyes as they adjust. Theseus stands, a few strides ahead, observing him. Asterius can hear the quiet sound of the boatman pushing off behind them, drifting back down the river.
“It is rather bright, but I had hoped it would be such! I was worried even Elysium would be as dark as the rest of the Underworld!”
Asterius’s brow furrows.
“You have not been here yet?”
“Well, for a brief moment! When first I arrived, Charon—the boatman that is—began to take me here, and I did see that it was somewhat brighter when we stopped at the shore, but I insisted he instead take me to see Lord Hades first! The way down was quite dismal, as we had to deposit some souls upon the fields of Asphodel and the depths of Tartarus, and then the House of Hades was quite dark as well, and then Erebus was, well—"
Theseus is rambling and Asterius finds he does not mind, because it gives him the chance to observe the supposed king of Athens. He gesticulates grandly, and his voice is loud and booming, but there’s something shockingly quiet about the way his eyes meet Asterius’s. Sometimes they dart away, as if self-conscious or hyperaware of their history, but they always shift back, and sometimes Theseus seems to forget all the reasons he should look away and continues to stare at Asterius while he speaks. It’s odd and it’s bizarre and it’s almost enough to distract Asterius from how bright everything is, how sweet and clean it smells, how soft the ground is beneath his feet. Almost.
While the king continues to talk, Asterius examines their surroundings. The ground is coated in a layer of moss, thick and lush and dotted with tiny... somethings. Trees border the edges of the room, laden with fruit, and a gentle mist rises from the river.
Asterius looks up when he realizes Theseus has gone silent, and discovers that Theseus is staring at him again.
“This place is... strange...” Asterius offers, unsure of what the king wants from him.
Theseus hums, and looks around thoughtfully.
“It’s entirely unlike the labyrinth, isn’t it?” he says. His voice is so soft, Asterius isn’t sure if he was meant to hear.
Theseus gaze alights on one of the trees at the edges of the chamber, one of the ones bedecked with round fruit the same pale golden-yellow color as Theseus’s hair. He looks back at Asterius again for a long long moment, then turns, walks to it, and pushes himself onto his toes to pluck one.
He brings it back over, and though his head is tilted down as if to look at the thing in his hands, Asterius can see him peering up through his eyelashes.
“You said you did... not eat other things... when we spoke. That King Minos had not given you anything else to eat.”
When Theseus pauses, clearly waiting for some reply, Asterius answers: “I did.”
“So you have... not had fruit?”
Asterius takes a long pause. He knows of fruit, of the concept, which means he must have been exposed to them once, but he cannot remember. He isn’t sure he wants to reveal this vulnerability, but he also sees no real reason to hide it.
“I do not know. I think I may have had them once, long ago, but I do not recognize the one you hold, and I cannot imagine the taste.”
Theseus nods, again, and Asterius wonders if maybe it’s as much to reassure himself as it is to communicate.
“Well then!” He says brightly, and he pulls a knife out of his belt.
Asterius lurches backwards with a bellow. He knows that shine means it will cut deep, and that though it is short, it can still hurt. Minos’ soldiers swords had shone with the same polish, and once a sacrifice had shakily pulled a smuggled blade out, pointing it at Asterius in fear. He had killed and eaten them all, but he remembers the way the blades slid between his ribs and gouged his limbs, even if his new body here in death no longer carries the scars.
Theseus has leapt back as well, and stares, startled.
Asterius tosses his head, digs his feet into the ground, and prepares for a fight.
“Oh!” Theseus shouts, eyes going even wider. Then, inexplicably, his shoulders lose all their tension, which is odd enough that it startles Asterius out of some of his own alarm.
Theseus’s body is loose and relaxed and he backs away, with both his hands lowered by his sides, until he reaches the farthest wall of the chamber. It is not the behavior of someone readying for a fight, nor is it the behavior of someone cowering in fear, and Asterius knows not what to do with it.
From across the chamber, Theseus shouts, “I merely mean to cut this fruit, my friend!”
Asterius does not acknowledge Theseus words, but when he does not tense up either, Theseus slowly raises the knife. Asterius snorts, readying himself again, and Theseus stops. Asterius forces himself to relax, trying to understand what is happening, deciding to see how Theseus will respond to the change, and again Theseus begins to raise the knife. While Asterius’s instincts scream at him to charge, to fight, the rational part of his mind tells him, at this distance, with a blade that small, he has plenty of time to react. And this man has drawn him from Erebus for reasons he cannot comprehend. And he did not fear Asterius when they encountered in the labyrinth. And he had apologized for not killing Minos, and he had said Asterius did not need to be imprisoned to feast on human flesh, and he had said Asterius was not a monster.
So Asterius waits.
And Theseus slowly slices the fruit, setting them on a pedestal beside him. And when he is done he carefully bends down and sticks his knife deep into the dirt, before he gathers up the fruit and approaches.
“It’s an apple,” Theseus offers, setting the slices down again onto a pedestal, this time closer and between the two of them.
“When I was young I— There were cattle around Troezen. Not that you are a bull, precisely! But, well—! Apples are enjoyed by humans and cows alike and so I should think they are at least worth trying!”
And then he carefully backs away from the pedestal, grinning widely, and his now empty hands hanging loosely at his sides, palms carefully angled forward as if to prove there is nothing hidden.
Asterius looks at the slices of fruit, and at the man before him, and carefully picks one up.
It’s soft and sweet on his tongue and Asterius has the inexplicable urge to cry.