as an arrow needs a pulsing heart

precipitating in an anterograde cycle

[Author's note]

This will most likely be a 10 to 13 part story, so please stay tuned for more! I am writing as I play through the game.

Some pertinent themes that can be taken from the game will be explored along with Zag/Than's dynamic, especially those of Life vs Death, the nature of existence, identity, the hero's journey, and the natural cycle of being.

The idea for this, of course, is taken from the bed in Zagreus' room - when you interact with it, you always get the line "can't sleep" or something similar. Running amok in the Underworld must be impossibly exhausting, and it seemed so fitting that Zagreus would seek Thanatos to help him to rest. Naturally, I took this idea and ran with it.

Rated Mature for future parts, which will contain sexual content.

- x -

Thanatos tells himself that he reaps a great fulfillment in embodying Death—in his revered place in the natural cycle of being, his blessings that herald a new beginning, a shepherd in the end of days—but it is not quite true. Personal gratification comes second to the strings that bind him, a predestined fidelity to the sacred-cursed role bestowed to him by those estranged sisters, the Fates. Thanatos has never questioned this station, in any facet of existence. But he has, over the vast-stretching reaches of time, lost interest in such mundanities as pride for a job well done (and so has his Master lost interest in holding Thanatos in any regard of esteem—for there need be no special bearing for one who so meticulously performs his duty, in absence of praise or complaint).

(And the rest? Well. Even if it may have lost some of its novelty, Death cannot deny that there is satisfaction in searching and rearing and tending his charges. And beyond this...the saving of said souls does beget its own reward.)

Yes, he would like to fancy himself a reaper, chaser—and yes, the god of merciful death always reaps those whom he chases. Except, except—

The bottles collect like so many lost souls. Thanatos doesn't touch a drop, would rather face the fate of his wards than be caught imbibing off-duty, let alone something so precious. The heaven-sweet smell of nectar taints him where he goes—pruning and processing and protecting lost souls, keeping an ever-discerning eye. Zagreus doles them out freely, waving away each time his offers of reciprocation, asking only for one thing in return:

"Thanatos. Please... help me sleep."

(This domain is yours), thundered Lord Hades' voice, autarchic when Thanatos had woken into existence—shattering that primordial all-touching silence, roaring heavy in his ears. It resounded through him, the first Fated voice to tell him that he was a blessed god, with a sacred charge: the one to bring death swiftly, sweetly, favored among men. The people would adorn his likeness with butterflies and poppies, gentle and soporific; and he would feel them, their conscious wishes and desires, and cradle their psyches within the core of his being.

Thanatos thinks of these things every time that he is greeted by that same scarred-and-savage face emerging from the death-blood river to the House of Hades' shore, one red eye probing like a soul in search. He thinks of this as he swats Hypnos' flitting queries away—as insolent as ever. And of the Prince? Their conversations flow just as they did on that first occasion after he left, cordial but always with that disapproving undercurrent, Thanatos biting back his bruising tongue and Zagreus biting back his sense of shame and each of them pushing the other further, until the sweet-scented bottle is inevitably brandished and with it, the request. It is Zagreus' imploring face that does him in each time.

(Thanatos fulfills his duty, and blesses Zagreus with rest.)

- x -

Zagreus is ever-persistent. That is nothing new, and has always been something of a thorn. But now, he is in kind flagrantly motivated, and the combination is destructive. Thanatos hates it when he disappears, when he knows that he'll be made to follow like a haunt. Keeping a close guard as he ferries the dead, fields their ceaseless calls and clamors—because if Zagreus insists on being foolish, then at least Thanatos can still come save his hide. (He knows to expect this call now, as well.)