Excellent In All The Tricks

Chapter 1

Back when the world was new...

Or, at the very least, new-ish. With the Titans imprisoned in Tartarus, deep underneath the earth, natural disasters were at an all-time low, the weather was beautiful, and Greece was fast becoming an idyllic place to live. Only a handful of generations into what would later become known as the "Second Age," and being a mortal on the planet had become much more palatable.

Mortals, in fact, had come to feel they owed a great deal to the gods up on Olympus, and blessed each day, clear-skied or dark-clouded, to the Olympians, with great respect.

It was one of those days with marvelously clear blue skies, the sun shining bright and pleasantly hot, a breeze rustling the grass. One of the days, that is, when it was even easier to feel and express gratitude to the gods.

Hermes, lying in the grass, didn't even open his eyes when he spoke to his friend Crocus: "Y'know, I think I've made up my mind."

Crocus was curious, and pushed himself up onto his elbows to look over at Hermes. The words had come from nowhere, unattached to any conversation up to then -- they'd been very quiet together for a while, comfortably so -- and Hermes had sounded so conversational. He looked serene, which was an odd look for him; in all the time that Crocus had known him, he'd rarely seen Hermes looking anything less than full of energy, and giving the impression that he couldn't bear keeping still.

Hermes didn't seem inclined to immediately elaborate, so after another moment, Crocus asked, "About what?"

"What I'm going to do with my life."

Hermes did open his eyes then, glancing across to Crocus, and from the sparkle in his eyes it became more obvious that he was teasing his friend a little. Not that that look in his eyes was rare; they always danced, just like his mother's. He looked like his mother, Maia, in many ways; the same oddly dark eyes, the same wave to their black hair, both inherited from Maia's own Oceanid mother.

Even knowing that Hermes was holding back an explanation for the moment on purpose, to get him to ask, Crocus played along anyway. Why shouldn't he, when he loved that playfulness? So he feigned innocence, and asked, "Aren't you going to stay with your mother, on your farm? Just like I'm going to stay with my father."

Hermes gave Crocus a quick grin, appreciative of how Crocus had his number and yet humored him anyway. But the grin faded, after a moment. "I know I should," he admitted, "but I'd be able to help her more doing something else. It's barely a farm, anyway. She deserves a lot more than two cows and a handful of sheep."

"So you're wanting to go off and become wealthy?" Crocus didn't doubt that he could, honestly. People tended to think that Hermes didn't take enough seriously and that he was too impatient and moved at too fast a pace, but he was very sharp, and had a lot of different skills. And when he set his mind to something, he stuck at it completely determined.

Which worried Crocus, when Hermes answered, with a confident grin, "I'm going to go off and become a god."

Crocus had stayed propped up on his arms, but he pushed himself up the rest of the way, then, sitting up and staring down at Hermes in shock. In response, Hermes rolled onto his side, propping himself up on one arm and returning the look, apparently pleased with the response. "You can't be serious."

"Well, yeah, babe, why wouldn't I be?"

Part of Crocus tried to imagine Hermes, petite and unmuscled, restive and clever and mischievous, terribly nearsighted and so wearing carefully shaped eye-glass made for him by a traveling inventor, as a god. Another part of him tried to imagine Hermes walking up to the gods and and telling them he wanted to be one of them. He could -- far too easily -- picture both, and as intriguing as the former was, the latter...

"Because you'd never get close enough to ask," Crocus decided upon his answer. "Mortals aren't allowed up on Olympus. And if you did, they'd smite you! Mortals aren't supposed to be arrogant and compare ourselves with the gods, remember?"

"I wasn't exactly planning on asking, Crocus." Hermes finally sat up, brushing himself off to get rid of a few grass blades and the bits of dirt that had stuck to his chiton. "I'm going to show them I deserve to be a god, first."

Now Crocus had to try to imagine Hermes trying to become a hero to get the gods' attention, and that he just couldn't see. Hermes wasn't violent. Like, at all. He could slaughter an animal for food, of course, everyone learned how to do that when they were young, but Crocus hadn't ever even heard him raise his voice at anyone before.

Plus, his eye-glass would probably break, and he only had the one pair.

"How would you do that?"

"They're meant to be pretty much omniscient, yeah? So stealing from them, without getting caught, is pretty guaranteed to impress them."

Crocus's jaw dropped. "They're going to kill you. Or turn you into something really unpleasant. Hermes, you're crazy, you're not even a thief!"

"There's no one around here who deserves to be stolen from," Hermes argued. "That does not mean I couldn't be a thief. Babe, relax, I've thought about things a lot and I'm sure I can do this."

"How would you even steal from them? You'd have to sneak onto Olympus. They'd see you coming from miles away, and you'd never be able to get in!"

"Not everything they own is up on Olympus," came Hermes's somewhat cryptic answer. "Trust me, I know where I should start."

"You should start by going home." Crocus reached out and took Hermes's hand, squeezed it imploringly. "Your mom might deserve more, but she also deserves a son who's alive, and not a... a spider, or something like that." Word had gotten around about Arachne.

But Hermes just shook his head. "It wouldn't feel right if I didn't at least try," he said simply.

"What if I asked you to? For me."

Hermes hesitated, then took his dearest friend's face in his hands and kissed him. "Sorry, Crocus. ...But seriously, I am not going to die, I promise. I'm going to be a god, I'm just going to go do whatever it takes."

Crocus was red in the face, but he laughed despite himself as Hermes rose, if tearfully. "You're going to be a tree."

"Then I'd better leaf, babe. See you." Hermes grinned at him, then paused. "Besides, you don't need to stay at home, either," he pointed out. "I've seen you throw a discus. You would make a great athlete, I mean that."

"Get out of here." And though he was worried, Crocus watched Hermes leave with a smile on his face.

Hermes had said to Crocus that he knew where he should start, and he had meant it. And as he neared the mountains of Pieria, the sun dipping under the horizon to cast the world in shadow and bring the cool night air, he finally sat again, and took a break, knowing that he would need his full strength for his upcoming tasks.

So he rested by the local shrubs, and idly picked some of the young myrtle twigs, and some salt cedar, and began to tie them together. And as he parted the shrubbery to find twigs that would best suit his purpose, he found a turtle in there, chewing on the leaves.

Hermes blinked, then laughed. "Looks like you got here first," he said wryly to the turtle, and lifted it carefully out of the bush. "Lucky for me I found you," he joked, and the source of his amusement is less obvious in English, for he had been named Hermes after hermaion, which meant a lucky find. This was a lucky find, all the more lucky because turtles were themselves lucky and protective creatures, and he was, through his name, blessed to be a lucky person. He was hoping that plus his skill would see him through, and hoped that maybe this turtle was a sign.

"You're a playful girl," he observed, fondly, because he liked animals, and cared for even the ones his family raised and hunted for food, and was kind to them and held a great respect for them. "Life of the party. Wish I could just carry you around with me, but I'm going to need to eat something before I get back to work." And there wasn't much around here except turtles, and birds that were far more difficult to catch, and the cattle that Hermes had other plans for.

The turtle he killed swiftly and mercifully; he cleaned the meat from the shell but still left it inside, and used the shell itself to cook the meat, putting in also water from a nearby stream and fresh sprouts he picked from close by. Then he scrubbed the turtle shell, placing it atop the small sack he carried to let it dry, knowing that he could make something useful from it later, rather than wasting any bit of the animal.

Having eaten, and regained some of his strength for the work ahead, Hermes got back to binding all the twigs he gathered together, leaves and all, to make a pair of sandals. He replaced his own with them, then stood and tested them, smiling at the lack of sound they made and how light they were, and how unlike footprints the marks they made were.

"Okay," he said to himself. "This should work."

He had heard tell of the magnificent cattle belonging to Apollo, of course; you couldn't keep a huge number of cows even in a distant field away from humanity without people noticing, and cattle thieves would have been a real problem if someone -- possibly Apollo himself -- hadn't let slip that those cattle belonged to a god and thus trying to steal them would be a career-ending decision.

Luckily, Hermes was looking for a career change. He just had to do things in a way that would get him the reward he wanted, rather than being punished for arrogance and insolence and a lot of other 'nce's.

First things first, he had to make sure not to be caught at this early stage. So he waited until the sun had disappeared entirely. There was no moon in the sky that night, which he had planned for; he knew that Artemis didn't always get along with her brother, but there was no sense risking her telling him if she spotted what was happening, or telling Zeus, or just getting involved herself.

It wasn't difficult to sneak into the field. There were no gates or fences, the cattle incredibly well-behaved, because they belonged to Apollo and back in those days Apollo held livestock and cattle in his domain. But Apollo's dominion over livestock didn't make them stubborn or unwilling to listen to a cattle driver, and Hermes separated a good dozen from the rest, urging them to follow him.

His own footprints were barely visible and not that identifiable in the sand, and he knew that the wind would get rid of them completely by the time the sun rose. The cattle were heavy animals, though, and left a definitely traceable trail, and he tried to figure out what to do about that, eventually settling on turning them around and driving them backwards -- slower going, and they were more confused, but at least they moved, and it might buy him the time he needed. It wasn't really necessary that Apollo never find them, he just couldn't catch Hermes at this until Hermes was ready to step forward himself.

Hermes also didn't want to lead them home. Of course he didn't; he wasn't going to get his mother wrapped up in all this! Besides, he knew where he was going to be going next, and so he made the trek towards Olympus with the cattle in tow, and had just decided to lead them into an abandoned barn he'd heard of nearby when a voice spoke up from the vineyard beside his path, practically giving him a heart attack.

"Haven't seen you around these parts."

It was mild and not at all accusatory, but Hermes spun to see the man's eyes look from him to the cattle, which were far finer than any Hermes had seen before, and probably way better than any of the local stock, as well. He didn't know if it was suspicion or if the man was considering thoughts of thievery himself, or if it was just a glance, but he spoke quickly anyway, mind racing (almost as fast as his heart was, thank you very much).

"Y'know, actually, I don't think you've seen me around these parts yet," he agreed, and as the man's eyebrows went up, he continued, "Or heard me say that. See, I'm not here to cause you problems, so I think we can make a good deal."

"A deal?" the man asked, dubiously, but he glanced at the cattle again, perhaps hoping to be given one as a bribe.

"What's your name?"

"Battus," said the man.

"Battus, that's nice." Hermes absolutely didn't give his own name in return, instead giving the man a winning smile. "You know, Battus, I think if you, say, haven't seen anyone pass you by on this road today, your harvest this year is really going to be something else."

Now Battus was cautious for a different reason, and one that Hermes had sort of hoped for. If he was talking to a god, it would be folly for him to refuse, or to even question too much. But he did still find bravery enough, after a moment, to ask, "And who are you, that you can offer me something like that? Some god of the vine, or Demeter in disguise?"

"Nnnot exactly," Hermes said slowly. It might have been better if he could just lie and claim to be a god, but doing that was even more of a no-no than stealing from the gods, and lying about being a specific god was a good way to get their immediate and immediately wrathful attention. Not a good idea. Instead, he tried to give his grin megawatt confidence. "But I am going to be one," that hadn't gotten him smote before, so he decided it was safe, "and y'know, Battus, I remember my friends. So what do you say? Keep one little secret for a friend?"

Battus looked about to argue, but apparently decided that if there was even a chance that what Hermes was saying was true, and since he wasn't being troubled in any way by a young man passing by driving some cattle, there was no reason for him to make trouble for Hermes, and possibly for himself. So he just shrugged, and agreed, and Hermes nodded to him cheerfully and carried on.

Once the cattle were holed away safely in the barn, Hermes still had a bit more work to do before he could move along to his next theft. Heartbeat still quick, and trying to chase away the mild doubt that had suddenly entered him when he had, for a moment, thought that he had been caught, he pulled two of the cattle outside, and led them some few miles away, through the grass so that they would not leave lasting tracks. Before the dawn, he slaughtered them, skinned them, cleaned the meat from the bone and stuck it on skewers. Then he started a fire to cook up the meat.

Through all this he was very glad he'd eaten earlier, because it was a lot of work. The two cows were huge, and Hermes wasn't, and even if he had been, butchering was a hard job. And now the meat smelled delicious, but it wasn't for him, and he stuck to that.

Instead, he divided the freshly cooked meat into twelve portions, making very sure to get them exactly equal. It wasn't like this was a magic spell, of course; each serving being perfect wasn't any more necessary than all the rest of this sacrifice was, but it was a sacrifice, and he had more than just one reason for it:

• Just in case, it might be a good idea to do something to appease the gods;
• it was probably going to get their attention pretty quick, and he wanted their attention to be on Earth, and for them to know that something was happening; and, well...
• for some reason he felt like he should be setting out to establish himself as a god now.

Maybe it was all in his head, but it felt like good luck, or maybe like it almost was a spell, or at least trying to trick the universe into a promise even the gods couldn't break. When people made sacrifices to the gods of Olympus in those days, they made it to eleven of them, discounting the "more minor" gods and those of the Underworld entirely.

Hermes was making a sacrifice to twelve. Zeus and Hera, of course, and Poseidon, and Apollo, Artemis, Demeter, Athena, Ares, Aphrodite, Hephaestus, Hestia... and Hermes.

Making a sacrifice to himself probably fell into the same smite-worthy category as claiming to already be a god, but it felt like a good idea at the time. Besides, he was already in way too deep. If this didn't pan out, he was in trouble anyway, so why not do anything that might improve his chances? Even if it was a long shot.

The scent of the cooked meat wafted up, blessed to the gods, and Hermes left the rest of the cows inside the barn and beat a swift retreat before their attention could be drawn to him. Hopefully.

Hermes's next stop was one of the few other places where one of the gods left things valuable to him on Earth. It was the forge of Hephaestus -- not the Forge, but the one he kept so that he would always have a place to work, even if it was necessary for him to be somewhere other than Olympus for a time.

That was where it all started to go wrong, in a few ways. The man in the vineyard had been nothing compared to this.

The forge was closer to Olympus than even the barn had been, so Hermes spent the better part of the day traveling again, stopping to eat and drink a bit every so often, making sure to keep his strength up. But it was well before sunset, this time, when he broke into the forge, which was actually surprisingly easy to break into.

And one little problem immediately presented itself: Hermes was much less clear, this time, on what he wanted to steal.

Most of the equipment was out of the question; he probably wouldn't even be able to lift it. And coal wouldn't be missed, not unless he actually stole all of it, and again, carrying all of that out was out of the question. That was the problem: Stealing a dozen cattle was easier than it sounded if you knew your way around cattle, because they moved themselves. Hermes hadn't had to carry them!

It was a shame that Hephaestus didn't seem to leave any finished or even partially finished projects around his forge on Earth. If there'd been a sword, Hermes could probably have taken that, and if there'd been armor he could have at least stolen a piece of it. Maybe the tongs...

He was just deciding that the tongs wouldn't be an absolutely terrible idea when, with the burst of a small cloud that smelled of smoke and coal, Hephaestus appeared in the forge himself.

It was pure luck that he was facing away from Hermes, who flung himself behind the door, reacting almost faster than he had time to think, pressing against the wall and holding back any sound, trying not to even breathe.

Hephaestus was muttering as he looked around the forge, apparently not thinking much of the door being open but seeming to be looking for something. Hermes heard Zeus and the phrase cattle rustlers, both spoken in the same general tone as someone might if they were rolling their eyes at the same time, and was incredibly glad that he hadn't had time to grab anything of Hephaestus's before he'd shown up.

That relief calmed him down just enough that he was able to make himself peek out from behind the door. Hephaestus didn't notice him, luckily, and Hermes tried to reassure himself. This was okay. In fact, it was probably better that Hephaestus looked around now, and that Hermes knew he was doing it. After he'd satisfied himself that nothing of his had been stolen, and left, Hermes could steal from him knowing that the god wouldn't think to check again immediately.

Unless he decided to stand guard, in which case Hermes was in big trouble.

Relax, Hermes thought to himself. You can still salvage this. And then he noticed the ring of keys at Hephaestus's belt.

...He really could salvage this.

For the first time, though, Hermes had to wonder if Crocus had been right, when he'd said he was crazy. This was a truly crazy idea and, looking at an actual god, in person, for the first time in his life, Hermes was feeling the his first real twinges of doubt in his overall plan, too. Hephaestus was huge. But...

There was also no way Hephaestus would be expecting this. That might make him less likely to notice. And besides, Hermes had said that he could be a thief; it was time to put his money where his mouth was.

He didn't touch the door at all, and the stone floor held nothing that could creak. If he hadn't switched out his sandals for these lighter makeshift ones, the stone would have made his footfalls louder, but he was as quiet as a cat as he drew closer to Hephaestus.

He reached out, then hesitated, then quickly and quietly dug in his sack for a strip of cloth. He held it carefully in his hand, then grabbed the keys with it, with the softest of metal clinks, but holding it so that it wouldn't jingle as he unhooked it from Hephaestus's belt and pulled it back.

The god moved and started to turn as he pulled his hand back, and for a moment Hermes thought that either Hephaestus had heard or felt him despite how careful he'd been, or that he was just going to move to face him by chance and Hermes would be screwed anyway. But he only turned slightly, to cross over and search in one of his cabinets, and Hermes backed away and then slipped behind the door again, heart pounding.

He actually felt faint. If he was being honest with himself, there was no way that should have worked, and no way at all that he should have tried it. He pressed his back against the stone wall again, and held the key ring tightly in the cloth, shaking and trying to make sure he didn't accidentally knock up against the door or make any sounds.

He is going to be so angry. And if Hephaestus checked for his keys before he left...

But instead, Hephaestus's voice came again, clearer this time. "Nothing. Just as I thought; it was only a matter of time before someone rustled Apollo's cattle. Zeus has no sense of perspective."

There was another soft sound, the same that Hermes had heard when Hephaestus had appeared inside the forge, and once again the scent of coal and smoke came to Hermes. He relaxed back against the wall, almost boneless for a moment, and started to laugh, a little, as he let himself breathe normally again.

"Oh, my gods. Maybe I am lucky. And crazy." Hermes fought back any more giggles, though, and left quickly, not wanting to risk Hephaestus glancing down and realizing that someone must have been in the forge with him. He wanted to be far, far away by then, and he knew exactly where he was going next.

Up to the gates of Olympus.

It was just a guess that Hephaestus's key ring had the key to the gates of Olympus on it, but Hermes felt that it was a pretty good guess. Who else would have the keys, and, now that he thought about it, who else would have made the gates in the first place?

The climb was, surprisingly, not impossibly long, and didn't even take two full days, even with Hermes stopping to rest. Neither did he reach freezing temperatures, or thin air, or anything else that would have threatened his life -- other than some steep drops, which he managed to avoid. He was starting to get hungry again, though; after the first day, the local wildlife kind of dropped off, though luckily there were still streams.

It just meant he had to finish this up, and maybe steal something to eat up there while he was at it. It hadn't been in his original plan, but hey, if it was necessary...

It was awe-inspiring to finally break through the clouds, and abruptly realize that he was now standing on cloud, and that clouds formed the stairway that stretched up before him, leading up to a set of golden gates. He approached, keeping an eye out for anyone who might be around, any gods who might catch him, but everything seemed to be still at the moment.

Trying the different keys until he found the one that fit the locked gate while standing completely out in the open was nerve-wracking, and he fumbled the keys a few times, but finally one clicked and the gates swung open to him, and his way onto Olympus was unimpeded. He wondered if any mortal had ever set foot inside before, and a smile crept onto his face as he crossed the threshold, widening as his steps took him further and further inside.

He paused, then closed the gates carefully behind him, deciding that he'd risk needing to get out in a hurry; better that than having the gods go on the alert because they realized someone must have broken in. Even if he hadn't been wearing his new sandals, though, his footfalls would have made no sound; there was no audible impact on cloud, no echo.

And it was beautiful up here. He had to remind himself not to just wander around, trying to get a look at everything; he told himself that he'd get to stay up here soon enough, so there was no need to act like a tourist about it.

It was hard not to do just a little wandering, though, and that was mostly because Olympus was huge. Huge, and seemingly empty at the moment, and it wasn't like Hermes had a map or a You Are Here sign. He'd thought there would almost certainly be something up here he could swipe, before walking up to Zeus in person and proudly stating his accomplishments and requesting godhood, but it was actually starting to look like he might not find any godly belongings lying around up here -- or, come to that, any actual gods.

A small part of him, he was dismayed to note, was relieved. That run-in with Hephaestus had shaken him more than he'd thought. He'd tried to tell himself that it had worked out fine, and that he was over it already, but it had definitely made him feel a bit less confident about the prospect of actually walking up to one of the gods and really facing them.

But he couldn't just turn around and go home now. It wasn't just that there was no backing down; he wasn't sure it was exactly a viable option to try to slip back into his ordinary life and pretend he'd never done anything, and just hope the gods couldn't ever track him down and lost interest in finding out who'd committed the thefts.

Besides, he was still determined to become a god. Sure, he was starting to think he might have planned it out a little better. But, he reminded himself, despite not planning enough, he'd still managed the impossible. And if he'd walked into Hephaestus's forge with a solid plan about what to steal, Hephaestus might have caught him. At the very least, he wouldn't have made off with the actual keys to Olympus. He wouldn't even be up here right now, and even if he failed, being the first mortal to set foot on Olympus was an amazing accomplishment to have to his name.

And he did know one last thing he wanted to try to find. Zeus threw thunderbolts down from Olympus, so there must be some up here that he kept for such occasions. That would be the most impressive theft any human had ever pulled off, and Hermes had known from the start that it was that theft that would be the one that made him the god of thieves.

Zeus's throne, beautiful and sculpted of cloud, was not actually terribly hard to find, once Hermes had figured out the layout of the place a little better. And his luck was holding out, because he hadn't known for certain that Zeus's thunderbolts would be kept beside his throne, but there they were, almost like umbrellas in a stand. It would have been funnier if they hadn't been so deadly, but Hermes couldn't help grinning anyway.

He reached out for one, then hesitated. Okay, so Zeus could throw them without being harmed himself, but he was a god -- the god in charge, even. For all Hermes knew, touching one might kill him. And they were touching the metal of their stand without letting off sparks, but that might be some special kind of metal.

But he couldn't just turn around empty-handed of the very thing he'd come up here for in the first place! Hermes dug in his knapsack for a moment, mouth twisted in thought, and pulled out a drachma. He flicked the coin towards the bolts, and it hit one with an odd clink!, as if hitting metal, bounced off it onto one of the others, and dropped down into what Hermes couldn't help but think of as the lightning stand.

Hermes relaxed. "Maybe I should have made a wish," he murmured, smiling, to himself, and reached to pull out one of the lightning bolts. It was lighter than he would have thought, even though it felt like warm, solid metal, and solid metal of this size and shape should by all rights have been much heavier. He weighed it for just a moment in his hands, intrigued, then turned to leave.

"What's this?"

Hermes could almost feel his luck disappear entirely. He fumbled the bolt, almost dropped it, luckily caught it again as he spun around and looked up at one of the biggest people he had ever seen. He'd thought Hephaestus had been big, and yeah, for a human-looking guy, he had been, probably around seven feet tall. But Zeus himself was almost twice Hephaestus's height, not constrained at all up here in his own domain, and Hermes's heart sunk as he gave ground a step, cringing back.

Zeus didn't even look angry, exactly. More amazed, sort of like he was looking at an animal that would usually be beneath his notice but had just shown that it had learned to do some completely unexpected trick. Or at least, that's what Hermes was reading into his expression.

Light was dawning on Zeus's face, too. "You're the one who's been stealing from the gods?"

There was really no use trying to deny that. The lightning bolt in Hermes's hands was about as big as he was, so there wouldn't have been any use even if he'd decided to do something farcical like try to hide it behind his back.

He found his tongue, somehow, even through the fear and awe. "Apollo's cattle," he agreed. "A-and Hephaestus's ring of keys. And," he added, amazed by his own boldness even though it was obvious without him saying it, "one of the mighty thunderbolts of Zeus himself."

"But you're so small." Zeus stepped closer, crossing over to his throne, and Hermes nearly tripped trying to get out of his way, circling around so that Zeus could sit and he could still keep his eye on him. Not that it would do much good to have his eye on Zeus, but it made Hermes feel slightly better.

Very, very slightly.

"Certainly no hero," Zeus continued, as he lowed himself into his seat and leaned forward to look at Hermes. "So why would you dare to steal from us even on Earth -- much less up on Olympus?"

"You're right, ba– uh, sir," he corrected himself quickly. "I'm not a hero." And then his words died, because what had he been thinking? That he'd prove himself by stealing from the gods, some amazing feat? He'd been planning to come before Zeus, to boast that he had stolen from him and his fellow gods, and to say that meant he deserved to be one of them!

Hermes had never understood the big deal about hubris, but he was realizing a bit too late that it didn't matter if he thought it was a big deal or not. Because the gods absolutely did, and they were the only ones whose votes counted in these matters.

He should have turned around and gone home back when he'd been telling himself that wasn't an option, because he'd been wrong. It had been an option, and the only sane one at that point. Now that option really was well and truly gone. And he might go down in legend now for his amazing thefts, true, but he was also going to be yet another story warning people about the dangers of hubris.

Zeus looked annoyed, now, and Hermes shut his eyes. "Well then, out with it, man! Don't be a coward now, you're already up here holding one of my thunderbolts."

He had a point. Hermes could not get much more screwed. So he forced himself to open his eyes again, to look up -- and up, way too much up -- at Zeus, and he swallowed hard.

"I thought-- that if I could steal from even the gods themselves, I could prove my talents and ask-- Zeus, sir... if I could be the god of thieves."

Zeus just stared at him, for a long moment, and Hermes kind of wanted to close his eyes again; he was almost as embarrassed as he was afraid by this point, which was not the cocktail of emotions he'd always wanted to experience at death.

And then Zeus laughed. No, he didn't just laugh; he started to guffaw, a type of laugh that Hermes hadn't actually heard before. It was big, hearty laughter, as if delighted by some joke. Hermes had to assume that this joke was on him.

"You want to be a god?" Or, rather, he was the joke. That was great.

Actually, that was great. While Zeus was laughing at him, he wasn't angry at him, and that gave Hermes a chance. A chance for what, he wasn't sure, but he didn't have time to worry about that right now, and he let himself speak without consciously thinking, mind racing.

"I think everyone wants to be a god, really," he said. "Difference is, I know I can be one. The very same reasons you have to be angry with me are the reasons I'm not just some ordinary mortal, don't you think?"

Hermes was amazed by his own audacity. Even he could barely believe what he was saying as he listened to himself talk... But that was what he'd thought, wasn't it? And what he still thought, deep down, or he wouldn't be able to say it right now. He was even managing to keep his voice from shaking! At least, from shaking much.

"Ha! Listen to you! You've got guts, I'll give you that." Zeus leaned further forward and reached out, and Hermes flinched, but the huge god just plucked the thunderbolt from his hands and settled back into his throne. It was almost a relief, really. Hermes had been starting to feel like he'd been holding a live bomb. "And I like mortals who have spirit... But then again, not too much spirit!"

He grinned expectantly at Hermes, like he'd just told some great joke. The joke was kind of terrifying from Hermes's position, but the almost conspiratorial, almost friendly grin made Hermes feel almost as much relief, and it was the relief more than any actual humor to the joke that made him laugh.

Zeus seemed satisfied with that, and still amused himself, and he leaned back. "I'll tell you what." He nodded to Hermes, smiling. "What's your name?"

"It's-- it's Hermes."

"Well, Hermes, you caught me in a good mood. I'll make you a deal: If you're brave enough to return what you stole personally -- and not only that, but if you can earn the forgiveness of the gods that you stole from -- then what the hey! You can be a god. I'll give you divinity and make a place in my pantheon for you myself."

Hermes could barely believe what he'd just heard. His heart was in his throat and he felt almost dizzy; he couldn't stop grinning. Zeus himself had just told him that he actually would make him a god? The details of the deal didn't even matter--

Zeus hefted the lightning bolt in one hand, peering at it, then looking meaningfully back down at Hermes. "Of course, if you can't..."

He laughed at the look on the small mortal's face. "Good luck!" he said cheerfully.

Hermes took a deep breath; that had been an obvious dismissal but he wasn't quite done with Zeus yet. Unfortunately. "Uh... Sir?"

"Hmm? What is it?"

"Does that mean I have to earn your forgiveness, too?" Hermes was far too aware that Zeus could nix the deal even if he did get Apollo and Hephaestus to forgive him. The gods could be tricky like that, and though he'd never, ever say it to his face, Zeus could certainly be petulant.

Zeus looked surprised, though, like that hadn't actually occurred to him yet. Or maybe he hadn't expected it to occur to Hermes so quickly. "Well, I suppose... Yes, of course you do! Naturally."

Hermes hesitated a moment, considering a few different ways he could handle this in his head. But he only let himself take a moment, and in the end, what he did was bow low before the throne. "Then, O mighty Zeus, may this humble mortal offer his deepest apologies -- can you ever forgive me, babe?"

That was a calculated use of 'babe'. A risk, sure, to be so informal and potentially insulting, but he held the bow and held his breath and was rewarded, as he'd hoped, with another booming laugh from the king of the gods.

"Oh, why not, you've given me a good laugh. Besides, you're going to have your hands full with Hephaestus and Apollo!" Zeus proclaimed cheerfully. "So, certainly -- have your forgiveness from me."

"Very generous, your graciousness," Hermes flattered him as he straightened up out of his bow, trying not to look too pleased with himself. Yes! One down, two to go. And if he'd managed to play Zeus like that, figuring out just the right things to say...

Well, the other two were probably still going to give him a lot of trouble. It was very likely that Zeus had only agreed to forgive him because he didn't think Hermes could ever manage to earn forgiveness from at least one of the other gods.

But the details of the deal really didn't matter. Even if it was practically impossible, turning down the offer would have just meant Hermes would have been smote immediately. At least now he had a chance, even if it was only one in a million.

Hopefully he could hit the long shot on this one. His luck had been mostly incredible today.

He didn't want to push it, though, so even though he wasn't exactly sure where he was supposed to find Hephaestus or Apollo, he left the 'throne room' hurriedly, without asking Zeus. He wanted to give the impression of confidence, anyway, and asking too many questions wouldn't help with that.

Stealing from the gods... Zeus hadn't said he'd just stolen from Apollo, and he hadn't seemed shocked when Hermes had mentioned Hephaestus's key ring. Hephaestus must have eventually noticed it was gone. Could that maybe help Hermes find him?

Or maybe he was making this too complicated. He headed to the gates of Olympus, but didn't head back out, instead taking a deep breath.

"Hephaestus?" His voice was quieter and more uncertain than he would have liked, so he cleared his throat and tried again. "Mighty Hephaestus? I, uh... have something of yours."

Just like in the forge, Hephaestus appeared in a cloud of smoke, that smelt like one of his forges might if he were busy at work. Compared to Zeus, Hephaestus now seemed outright unintimidating in size, even though Hermes knew that Hephaestus too was far more powerful than he himself was.

Hephaestus's brow was furrowed, but he looked surprised when he realized that it was just a mortal speaking, and that said mortal had called him back up to Olympus, at that. "How did you--" he began, but Hermes could see him realizing it as he spoke, and he pulled the ring of keys from out of his knapsack, dangling them from his fingers and holding them back out towards Hephaestus with a sheepish grin.

"Uh... Surprise?"

"How did you get these?!" Hephaestus snatched them back from him, and Hermes tried not to flinch. Hephaestus looked from Hermes to his keys, and then back to Hermes. "You were in the forge with me," he realized, and his eyes narrowed, and Hermes waited for the rage.

It didn't come. Storm clouds had gathered, but they were only grumbling, for the moment. Hephaestus seemed more considering than actually angry. "So you're the one who stole those cattle from Apollo."

"It's true," Hermes admitted. "And I was in your forge to steal from you, too. You're one of the only gods who keeps anything of any value to you on Earth."

"So you weren't planning to break into Olympus at first?"

"Actually, I was." Hermes sort of half-winced, half-smiled. "I... didn't really think things through."

"Obviously!" Hephaestus scoffed. "So, you troublemaker, what did you plan to steal from here? Where is it?"

Hermes held up both his hands quickly. "I already gave it back! Really. I promise."

"Hmmph. You can't have been caught," Hephaestus observed. "Or you wouldn't be walking out of here so boldly. So what is it? Did you have second thoughts?"

It was amazing; Hephaestus seemed like a ruthlessly blunt god, but not actually quick to anger. Protective but not kneejerk. He hadn't even actually threatened Hermes yet.

Hermes really wanted it to stay that way. And honesty, surprisingly, seemed to be working out for him so far. "Actually, I did get caught. Stealing one of Zeus's thunderbolts. By Zeus himself."

Hephaestus's eyes actually widened. "I find that unlikely. You're alive and still... human-shaped."

"Human-everything, as far as I can tell," Hermes agreed. "I know, the standard punishment for hubris is pricey, and you gods are tough on crime. And hey, I can respect that." Okay, maybe not so much honesty anymore, but this was when smooth talking needed to step in and take over. "But Zeus, in all his wisdom, had something else in mind... So I'm supposed to return what I stole personally, which, y'know, that's fair. I didn't plan on keeping any of this stuff anyway."

Hephaestus was looking at him dubiously, like he knew that Hermes was leaving something out. Which he was, but... Really, there was no good way to go about this, here. Leaving out something huge and important was not a great path to forgiveness, but making it sound like he was only apologizing because he needed their forgiveness to become a god and not die was not the best way to get it, either.

But then Hephaestus seemed to mentally shrug, letting go of his suspicion or at least assigning it as unimportant. "If Zeus made other arrangements with you, that's no business, or problem, of mine."

Hermes bowed, not as low or fawning as he had to Zeus. "Thank you, Hephaestus Polúmētis. I'm terribly sorry for any worry or trouble I may have caused you with my theft. Can I be forgiven?"

He glanced up, after a moment's silence. Hephaestus was raising a brow at him. "Did Zeus tell you he wouldn't smite you if Apollo and I forgave you?" he asked, voice dry.

Hermes's smile was embarrassed. "Sort of."

"Then, fine. You barely troubled me, anyway. And besides," Hephaestus added, walking past Hermes, back to him and maybe not even talking to him anymore, "Zeus needs to learn to stop making thoughtless deals with mortals."

Hermes's heart jumped as he straightened up, turning to face Hephaestus's retreating back. "--Thank you!" he called after him, after a moment, feeling light with relief.

Two down -- only one left to go!

Since it had worked with Hephaestus, Hermes decided that it was time for him to leave Olympus -- for the moment -- and head back to where he'd stored the stolen cattle, before calling upon Apollo there and telling him that he wished to return them.

It was possible that Apollo had found them already, and that would be incredibly bad. In fact, it might be the worst possible thing that could happen. Hermes had to return what he had stolen to the gods personally as well as earn their forgiveness, and by this point he was more confident, again, that he could appease Apollo, but if Apollo had already taken his cattle back there was no way Hermes could fulfill his end of the deal.

So he was sort of worried that he'd get back to that barn and find the cattle already gone; he'd thought before that it didn't matter if Apollo found them eventually, as long as Hermes had enough time to do what he needed to do first, but he himself hadn't realized how true that would end up being. The journey, several days from the top of the mountain to the barn, felt far too long, but so long as Zeus didn't smite him out of a clear blue sky he tried to tell himself he still had a chance...

So it was with mixed feelings that he found the barn again, and saw the cattle grazing contented outside of it, and saw a figure that could only be Apollo leaning against the doorway.

Hermes froze. Apollo stared him down for a moment, then straightened up.

"Battus told me you'd gone past," Apollo greeted. "In this direction, with a dozen magnificent cattle. He assumed they could only have been mine."

Despite the circumstances, Hermes couldn't help but feel annoyed. "Well, that's just poor sportsmanship. He is not getting a good harvest this year, I can say that much."

Apollo's eyebrows raised, and he walked forward, until he was standing in front of Hermes. All the gods were tall, even down here on Earth where they seemed to make more of an effort to be human-ish sized, and Hermes was actually incredibly short, which only made it worse. Still, he looked up at Apollo with an attempt at fearlessness.

"Are you some minor demigod?" Apollo asked, though Hermes thought he had to know the answer to that already.

Hermes shook his head; it gave him an excuse to break eye contact for a moment. "Just a human," he admitted. "Well, with a little bit of nymph. But not enough that I could curse the guy's harvest, even if that nymph were dryad, not oceanid."

Apollo frowned, apparently not amused by Hermes's rambling, and dropped that line of questioning to just cut to the chase. "Why did you steal from me?" Hermes was kind of amazed that the gods had asked questions of him at all, instead of just smiting first, so he wasn't really surprised when he didn't get the chance to answer before Apollo continued more heated, "You sacrificed two of my finest bulls, and dedicated them to the gods -- to me. Was this some form of mockery?"

Oh, oops. That really did look bad if you thought about it like that, didn't it? "No mockery," Hermes promised quickly. "I meant that sacrifice -- Lord Apollo -- and I meant to honor every single god I made the offering to, honest." Which was true. It just also included himself, that was all.

Apollo subsided, some, but still looked at him untrusting. "Including Hades?"

Was that part of why Apollo had thought he hadn't meant the sacrifice? When people made their sacrifices to 'the gods', they usually meant 'the major gods', the ones who were a constant fixture up on Olympus. It never included Hades.

Honestly, given how death-defying Hermes's whole plan had been, maybe he should have offered something to the Lord of the Dead, but he'd thought that might garble his message. Turned out it had been well and truly garbled anyway, though.

"No... Including me," Hermes admitted. Well, there was nothing for it. Apollo looked astounded, and he added quickly, "I know, believe me, I know. I was wearing my Bad Idea Toga."

"You... thought to steal godhood?"

"Something a little like that, yeah. Not steal it from a god, just that you guys don't have a god of thieves, and..." Hermes sighed. His nerves were ragged by this point, and he wasn't really up to the bright and friendly and relaxed act. "Look, Lord Apollo, I am so sorry. I was actually coming back here to give you the rest of your cattle back."

Apollo was looking at him strangely, almost thoughtfully... No, Hermes realized, almost curious. "You put a good deal of thought into this," he pointed out, unexpectedly. "You came to my fields on a night with no moon, so neither my sister nor I would see you, and you drove the cattle backwards -- yes, I noticed that," he said, when Hermes's face fell a bit. "It's a clever trick, but one I'm familiar with. I may never have been stolen from before, but I look after those who have, it is my domain."

"I guess I was more careless than I thought," Hermes said quietly, looking away.

"You fashioned those light sandals so you'd leave no recognizable tracks, you made a man a promise you could only keep if you did become a god, and you sacrificed two of my cattle, placing a portion in honor to yourself..."

Hermes was kind of cringing now, as much in chagrin as in expectation of something unpleasant, but it wasn't just a litany of the ways he'd screwed up, apparently. Apollo finished, "That's a lot of effort for you to just decide to give up."

Honestly, maybe Hermes hadn't overestimated himself at all; maybe he'd just underestimated the gods on every account. This made Hephaestus and Apollo who'd both figured him out effortlessly... Zeus hadn't figured him out, but he had caught him in the act, which had honestly been more devastating.

Hermes was torn, but only for a moment. If he lied, even if it ended up working, would he have made an enemy of Apollo? Could honesty really put him in a worse position?

"I'm not exactly giving up," he admitted, and Apollo looked satisfied with himself. Maybe not so much with Hermes, but he took that as a good sign anyway, and quickly continued, "I may have been cocky, and I shouldn't have stolen from you, that was a bad idea. But if I may say so -- I also wasn't wrong."

Apollo frowned. "About what?"

"About thinking I could be the god of thievery."

"That's hubris!"

"I mean, you're not wrong." Hermes took one step back, but no more, retreating no further from the god of the sun, who to be fair didn't seem anything more dangerous than affronted. Hermes was just a bit leery, but his confidence had been bolstered. It wasn't just the way the gods had been reacting to him; he was starting to realize something... He glanced away, slyly, as if unconcerned. "But Zeus didn't think it needed to be punished, apparently. Not necessarily."

"If Zeus decided to not necessarily punish you, that means he still might," Apollo pointed out, keeping up easily. "If there's some task he expects you to complete, I suppose I'm not allowed to interfere."

"Actually, this is the task." Hermes reached up to scratch his neck, a bit embarrassed, then glanced back at Apollo to see how he was taking it. Apollo had stopped, surprised, but thoughtful again, giving Hermes a considering look. "And I'm not just giving your cattle back because he asked me to -- you'll just have to trust me on that one -- but what I mean is... I wasn't wrong about thinking I could be a god, because I'm one step away from it."

Apollo seemed actually shocked by that. "What did Zeus do?"

"He made me a deal. And, actually... I'd like to ask for your help."

"You're invoking me?" Apollo obviously hadn't been invoked in circumstances like this one before, and Hermes had to hold back an unwise laugh. Seeing a god nonplussed was actually pretty fun.

"Not exactly... Lord Apollo, Zeus himself told me that if I can get your forgiveness, he won't only not smite me, he'll make me a god. And, let's face it... I could do the job. I mean, it's ridiculous that I got away with any of this, but I made it this far. And if you help me now, I'll owe you. Big. So what do you say?"

Apollo looked dubious enough that Hermes's heart was starting to sink again, but he just smiled at him, hopefully.

"But why would I want a favor from a neophyte god, even if you were made one?" The god of the sun pointed out, "You're incredibly talented for a mortal, true. If you were a follower of mine, I would have blessed you. But you've proven that you can surpass other mortals -- not that you could handle being a god, or even a demigod."

Hermes spread his hands. "I can't prove it without being given a shot," he argued. "You may have a point about not needing any favors from a neophyte, but gods are immortal. I'd have a lot of time to grow out of being a rookie. And if you'd be proud to have me as a follower, wouldn't it be a waste if Zeus just killed me?"

Apollo snorted a little; he seemed almost amused. "You're good with your words, I'll give you that. You must have been convincing, to get Zeus to agree to this madness."

"Actually, I'm pretty sure he thought it would be funny when I failed," Hermes admitted, grinning sheepishly. "But, O mighty Apollo, you don't even seem mad. And you do have your cattle back. Can't we let bygones be bygones, and I'll make it up to you later? I give you my word."

Apollo shook his head, but it wasn't in disagreement. There was some grudging respect, there, on his face, and Hermes waited with his heart soaring, torn between elation and intense anxiety.

"Fine," Apollo said, finally, and Hermes could have cheered right there, could have leapt into the air in pure joy and relief. He tried not to show how overwhelmed he felt, tried to be more mature than that, but couldn't help grinning like an idiot even as Apollo jabbed a finger at him. "But you are going to help drive my cattle back. Then I will forgive you. Provisionally."

"Not a problem, babe," Hermes agreed immediately, then saw the look on Apollo's face. The god could still change his mind; in fact, that was far from unheard of. "Uh... Lord Apollo."

It was with a light heart, however, that Hermes helped lead Apollo's cattle back towards Pieria. Apollo was quiet and standoffish on the journey, true, and Hermes doubted that the he quite saw him as an equal, but that didn't matter at all. So long as he didn't make an enemy of the sun god, Hermes would become a god of Olympus himself, and if his success had come in a totally different way than he'd planned, well, that really didn't matter either.

But he always had to press his luck. It wasn't that he minded the idea of owing Apollo a favor, but though his godhood was pretty much assured, it would be better if he could feel that one of the gods was truly on his side. He didn't know how he was going to be received, how many of them might think of him as just some upstart.

But how could he get Apollo to go from 'forgiving him provisionally' to actually supporting him? True, Apollo had actually sounded somewhat impressed by how much planning he'd put into this, and how clever some of what he'd done had been. Hermes couldn't help remembering, If you were a follower of mine, I would have blessed you. That was some pretty intense approval, albeit of a weird kind, and -- as Apollo had said -- not enough to convince him that Hermes would make a good god.

But if he couldn't exactly prove just yet that he had it in him to be more than an exceptional human, surely there was at least some other way to earn more of Apollo's approval, to work him fully around to Hermes's side?

As they walked, Hermes idly reached his hand into his knapsack, and his fingers brushed against the turtle's shell, and suddenly he had an idea. A smile bloomed wide across his face.

He kept mostly quiet until they'd nearly reached Apollo's fields. It was when they were passing by a pond, not terribly far from where he'd caught the turtle in the first place and stopped to make his sandals, that he looked over at Apollo and, for the first time since they'd started their trek, purposefully caught his eye. "Lordly Apollo? I just had a thought."

Apollo slowed, looking at Hermes not quite with a frown, waiting to see what he had to say first. "Yes?"

And Hermes let himself grin, then, and stopped walking entirely, turning to face the god of the sun, and took a chance. "I'll bet you I can make a turtle sing."

Apollo huffed; Hermes must have seemed completely foolish, stopping them so close to their destination, when patience would have seen him safe to completing his task and finding immortality and, more importantly, safety from an aggravated (fellow!) god. "What are you talking about?"

"You're the god of music as well as god of the sun," Hermes pointed out. "I can make a turtle sing. Wouldn't you like to see something like that?"

There was a spark of something in Apollo's eyes -- curiosity? -- but his expression was schooled well, impassive. "But why would you bet? You already owe me."

"Okay, maybe 'bet' wasn't the right word," Hermes admitted, and Apollo's lips twitched. That was encouraging, and he continued, "But seriously, Apollo," daring to leave off any respectful titles, "just give me a couple minutes. Then I'll help you with your cattle the rest of the way, but I think you're going to want to see this."

Hermes couldn't say for sure if it was due to curiosity, or assuming that Hermes was making some excuse to take a short rest, or that Apollo just didn't feel like arguing with him when it seemed to be something so harmless. But he agreed, soothing his cattle and letting them rest and graze a bit as well. He seemed to be keeping an eye on them, but Hermes could see him glancing over at him as well, and politely pretended not to notice.

He gathered reeds and cut them to the right length, and rummaged in his bag for the rest of what he'd need. Hide, and something he could fashion into a yoke, and strings, and the shell itself, of course. He had made things with his hands before, and was clever at crafting; while he had never made an instrument, he had watched with interest as they were made, and had an incredibly sharp memory. He used that memory now, and put together a stringed instrument, one that he had never seen or heard of before, and strung it carefully, and tuned the strings.

Apollo had stepped closer by the time he plucked the first note, testing the instrument, and the god was no longer disguising his interest in the proceedings. "What do you call that?" he asked. "I've never seen any instrument like it before." And Hermes's mind raced.

"A lyre," he said, suddenly inspired, and didn't wait for that inspiration to fade, beginning to play.

It was, he was glad to hear, a sweet sound; the melody he did not copy from anything he had heard, but came up with on his own, bouncy and exultant, showing off even more. Why not? He'd made this instrument specifically to show off to Apollo, to appeal to his domain, his love, of music. No reason not to go all out with it.

He let himself lose himself to the tune, and began to sing. That was something he was less practiced with, still not bad but his voice certainly outshone by the 'voice' of the newly christened lyre. He sang of the story that everyone knew, the gods overthrowing the Titans and locking them away, making the world a better place and safer for the mortals who lived on it, and earning their eternal gratitude.

When he had finished, there was an exquisite moment of silence, that indescribable moment that came just when beautiful music had faded, as if it were part of the song -- which, of course, it was. Apollo seemed loathe to break it, but Hermes could tell from the look on his face that he'd been right to do this.

And mere moments later, when Apollo did speak, there was an eagerness to his voice and he was full of questions. "What music! I've never heard anything like it. Did you discover this instrument, or were you shown how to make it? Have you been blessed by the Muses? May I try?"

And Hermes truly relaxed around Apollo for the first time. "You just saw me make the very first one," he confessed. "I have a lot of respect for the Muses, but I've never actually met one myself. More importantly, you can do more than try it, babe. Truth be told, I made it for you. So, if you'll do me the honor of taking it... It's a gift. 'Cause I'm hoping that we can be friends, Apollo Hekaergos."

Apollo, for the first time in response to him, laughed. "You rogue! You're trickier than I thought. Better with your words, and more convincing, and more clever. I hate to say this, but I underestimated you. All right, how can I refuse? You have made a friend of Apollo, Hermes -- and I know you know that means you'll never be on the outside, even as a newcomer."

"Newcomer and upstart, heretical ex-mortal, that's me," Hermes agreed cheerfully, and clasped Apollo's outstretched hand in his own smaller one with a grin. "And unless you want to hold onto that favor, I think there's something I can do for you. You're the god of an awful lot already, and maybe you like it -- heck, gods know I would -- but if you let me have a spin at looking over cattle, you won't be stretched so thin."

"You're obviously an expert already," Apollo joked dryly, and took the lyre, as Hermes held it out for him. "But you have a point... I've taken on a lot. If you're certain you won't be spread too thin..."

It was a legitimate worry, that Hermes might not be able to keep up with having more than one domain as a brand new god. But he just smiled as he headed back over to the herd, patting the side of the nearest steer fondly. "I like to hit the ground running," he reassured him.

The rest of their journey to Apollo's fields was filled with camaraderie; they didn't speak much, but that was only because Apollo played the lyre as they walked, and sang. Hermes was more than happy to listen, because the god of music was appropriately skilled, and both his voice and the voice of the lyre were sweet. And when, from time to time, Apollo sang a song that Hermes knew, Hermes would joyfully join in for the chorus.

Hermes was resigned to making the long journey back to Olympus, then back up the mountain to the dwelling of the gods, but Apollo surprised him by calling down his horses, Lampos and Actaeon. They were not always attached to the sun chariot, of course, but somehow it was still odd to see them without it -- almost as odd as seeing them at all.

They were large, strong animals, however, and while Hermes had ridden before, he had always needed somewhat smaller mounts; he wound up sitting side-saddle behind Apollo instead, on Actaeon's back, which Apollo didn't seem to mind, and as the horse leapt into the air, Lampos only moments behind, he didn't give any indication of minding Hermes's death-grip either.

Hermes was not scared of heights; he hadn't had any trouble climbing Olympus. But flying on the back of a horse felt like a very different thing. He'd fallen off of horses before, and while he hadn't done so in a very long time, it still felt like much more of a possibility than falling off a mountain.

But after only a few minutes, he still leaned over to peer at the ground, amazed by the way it fell further and further away, and loosened his grip as he began to enjoy the way it felt to have the wind whipping past them as they cut through the sky.

"Nothing to fear," Apollo called back to him, and Hermes actually did feel better.

Apollo wanted to meet with Zeus with him, so Hermes waited beside the gate (which, to be fair, was locked once more, so he couldn't have gotten inside anyway) while he stabled his horses.

There were a few more gods and goddesses around as Apollo led the way to the throne room, and they looked at Hermes curiously -- some a bit suspiciously as well. And when they came up to the throne, Zeus looked absolutely astounded to see Hermes again.

"Apollo!" he exclaimed, amazed. "Did you forgive this boy?"

"I did." Apollo's tone was far more formal than it had been with Hermes, even when they had first met. "And I've more than forgiven him -- I consider Hermes a friend."

Zeus's brow creased. "And Hephaestus?"

"Granted me forgiveness, too," Hermes spoke up, adding, "And of course you were generous enough to forgive me first of all, O mighty Zeus..."

Zeus frowned. It seemed that he found the situation far less funny when Hermes was actually winning. Then a thought seemed to occur to him, and he brightened slightly. "But did you give everything back personally?"

"You took the bolt from my hands." Hermes tried to sound innocent, tried not to sound as worried as he was starting, once again, to feel, now that Zeus was obviously trying to get out of the agreement. The fact that Apollo was frowning slightly wasn't helping. "I handed Hephaestus's keys back to him, too, and I even helped drive Apollo's cattle back into his fields."

"All right," Zeus said, grudgingly, and sank back in his throne, slouching suddenly. "But... a trickster god!" he added. "They're never anything but trouble. I don't like it!"

"Well..." Apollo began, but Zeus interrupted, looking at Hermes again.

"Did both of them know the terms of our deal?" he demanded.

Hermes's heart sank, but another voice chimed in then, unexpected, light and sweet and audibly patient. "Now, darling. You know that doesn't matter."

Hera walked over to stand beside her husband's throne, calm in a way that Hermes hadn't seen of any of the other gods so far, and smiling with all apparent fondness at her husband, but there was still something chiding to her expression.

"Dear!" Zeus exclaimed, sitting up straighter, flustered. "What do you mean?"

"I've heard all about it from Hephaestus," Hera told him. "Or," she glanced at Hermes then, and her smile to him was actually sympathetic, "as much as he knew. And from what I've overheard just now, I can guess the rest. You agreed to make this mortal our trickster god, didn't you?"

"Well... Yes. But," Zeus began, but Hera interrupted him.

"No 'but's. You know you can't break your word. And if you didn't tell him he must be honest, a win through trickery would still be within the rules," she reminded.

"I know," Zeus groused, looking away. Hermes watched their back-and-forth with fascination, despite, maybe even because of, his own fate being the subject. "I just don't like it! Does our pantheon really need a trickster god?"

"Well..." Hera smiled. "I know something that we do need. He can have more than one job, can he not?"

"He's already volunteered to take over cattle for me," Apollo ventured.

"A new god with three domains?" Zeus said, doubtfully. "...What did you have in mind?"

Hera smiled at Hermes again, then leaned over and whispered to Zeus. He blinked, seemed thoughtful, and then, slowly, brightened.

"Ha! That's not a bad idea. Not a bad idea at all! Well, Hermes," he addressed him again, and Hermes tried to stand up straighter, "trickster god it is, and god of cattle, with Apollo's blessing, but first and foremost... I hereby proclaim you the official messenger of the gods!" Zeus gestured towards him with one hand, impressive.

"Messenger?" Hermes asked, and then gasped as the full power behind that gesture slammed into him. Literally, not figuratively; Zeus had basically thrown godhood his way, and it didn't settle into him gently, practically lifting him up off his feet.

It didn't feel good, and it didn't exactly feel bad; it felt like rushing water or strong winds, only on the inside, and he felt both energized and vaguely weak for a few long moments, like his body didn't know exactly what was going on or how to handle it.

But godhood was like a shot of something directly to the veins, the ultimate performance enhancer and restorative both, without any of the negative effects. And it was more than that -- in ways that Hermes had no hope of ever describing, because there was really nothing like being a god other than being a god. He'd never had any hope of understanding what this would be like, even in his wildest imaginings. It wasn't even just power, it was something else entirely.

He really wasn't human at all anymore, he realized. He wasn't mortal. He was... also not actually touching the floor. He actually had been lifted up into the air, no 'practically' about it, and he realized that only after realizing he hadn't come back down.

Hermes looked down at his feet. As he'd thought, his feet were well above the cloud that made up the 'ground' up here -- but he was also no longer wearing his sandals, the light ones that he had fashioned for his short stint as a cattle rustler. Instead, the sandals on his feet were much bigger, more supportive; they went up over his ankles and halfway up his calves, but most importantly, attached to them at each ankle was a pair of beating wings. They were small, and didn't seem anywhere near strong enough to lift even a child, but they held him up effortlessly, so much so that he felt like gravity wasn't there for him at all.

Also, he was blue. He was noticing that, too.

He looked himself over, speechless, trying to take it all in. "Oh... Wow. Just-- wow, babe." Then he looked back to Zeus and Hera; Zeus looked incredibly pleased with himself once more, and Hera was smiling at him, encouragingly. He smiled back, heart soaring as it all really started to sink in.

"But, uh... Why the sandals?" he had to ask. None of the other gods had flight sandals.

"Well, we can't have you walking everywhere, can we?" Zeus boomed cheerfully. "I'll need you to deliver messages. I'm a busy god; I don't have all day!"

"Point taken, man."

"Welcome to Olympus, Hermes," Hera greeted.

Next to him, Apollo laughed, and clapped a hand on his shoulder, carefully enough that it didn't jostle him too hard. "Welcome!" he agreed. "Let me show you around, my friend."

So it was through Apollo that Hermes was introduced to the other gods -- at least, what gods existed at that point, and were up on Olympus at that time. Some were friendly and curious (Hestia welcomed him like the goddess of hospitality she was); some were standoffish and seemed aggravated by his presence ("Ares," Apollo said, "is always like that. You get used to it."); some were... harder to figure out.

"Did you know that hubris is characterized specifically by excessive pride?" Trivia said when introduced, rather than a greeting. "So if it isn't excessive, technically, it wouldn't actually be hubris."

"Was that approval?" Hermes asked as he and Apollo took their leave, bemused. "I can't quite tell."

"That... was Trivia," Apollo settled for, insufficiently, seeming bemused himself. "She's always like that. I haven't really gotten used to it yet," he admitted.

And Zeus set a decree that, from now on, instead of no mortals being allowed on Olympus, from this point forward no mortals were allowed on Olympus, really, no exceptions, and any mortal who tried much less succeeded was to be immediately and harshly punished. Hephaestus managed to talk him out of putting a TRESPASSERS WILL BE SMOTE. SURVIVORS WILL BE SMOTE AGAIN. sign up on the Olympian gates, arguing that any signage would ruin its appearance and be an insult to the work that he had put into it, and Hermes was privately glad. Everyone knew the gods were petty and trigger-happy, but there was no need to advertise it so blatantly.

When he finally visited home, to tell his mother, Maia hugged him and cried, and laughed as well, proud beyond words. He assured her that he would bless her, and their farm, and make certain that she never wanted for anything, and that he would visit whenever he had the chance to, even if it was only for a few minutes. And when he went to see Crocus, he told him the entire story, and Crocus was torn between horror and laughter, and was incredibly happy for his beloved friend, even knowing that their paths would diverge here. So he held him tight, and kissed him, and promised that his sacrifices in the future would include a portion for Hermes, always, and Hermes promised to always bless him, too.

As for Battus, well. Despite some versions of the myths, he was not turned to stone; even as a god, Hermes never became so petty and trigger-happy as the other gods tended to be, and he saw no need to punish him so severely. But that year -- with just a small promise made to Demeter -- his harvest failed, bringing him hardly any wine at all, because Hermes surely couldn't be blamed for a little pettiness, and thus it was that Battus found a note upon his door:

Not so good at keeping secrets are you? Let's try to get along better next year.
—Hermes