tigriswolf | All That Is Eternal - SN/Greek mythology fic

Title: All That Is Eternal
Fandom: “Supernatural”/Greek mythology crossover
Disclaimer: dinna think ‘em up, duno own ‘em
Warnings: spoilers for everything aired, I guess
Pairings: implied Dean/Sam, mentions of ancient het and slash
Rating: PG13ish
Wordcount: 1045
Point of view: third
Notes: This may only make sense in my head.

My sisters are the famous ones—the Weaver and the One Who Shears. I oft go unmentioned, neither beloved nor feared.

Of all the Ancients, we three alone remain. The King has long since faded, with his sister-bride, his siblings, and all his spawn. The mists of Time do not tremble before anyone, least of all an immature god.

Do I sound coarse if I say I miss of none of them? They were reckless, all of the Olympians, all of their court. They were reckless, children playacting with power, and after a handful of millennia, they burned out.

But we three remain, the true Immortals, the true gods.

We watch the animals, from insects to men to whales and eagles, and everything in between. We weave, we measure, we cut.

Clotho, the youngest, the Maiden—she is adored, when remembered. She weaves the Thread of Life for every thing that breathes.

Atropos, the eldest, the Crone—she is feared and hated, when thought is given to her. She wields the Shears, she cuts the Thread of Life.

And I? Oh, so few remember my name. I am not important, Lachesis, the Matron. I do not weave and I do not cut—all I do is measure.

All. But I am, in fact, the strongest—after all, if I do not decide it is time to weave or time to cut—what point is there?

But, it is time to leave behind the past. I am sure you—as all young things—are impatient to discover why I have pulled you aside and begun talking.

It is the name on all lips, young trickster. You yourself have spoken it, stood in his presence. Anansi has told me of you, the potential you have; the Spider, in his own way, is Immortal. Not from the Mountain, like my sisters and I, but old enough to matter. And he thinks you could one day be his equal.

Clotho and Atropos have delegated telling you, one who could possibly become like us, the story. The tale that all Immortals should know before their thousandth year. Those who have not learned… oh, they do not last long, after.

Do not roll your eyes at me, child. You already forget what I have told you—I commanded Clotho to weave your thread… and I can command Atropos to cut it.

That is my power, Trickster. That is my gift. That is why I am the one true Immortal in all the realms—as are my sisters.

However, as I was saying—there have always been hunters. From the beginning, when Chaos spit out the worlds, there has been Darkness and Light, ever embroiled in battle.

In his first life, that mortal you were so called to—he sold the world for a song. He went by Orpheus in those days, hundreds of centuries ago. His great loves were music—and a woman named Eurydice. Dark hair, green eyes, bronzed skin, tall for those times… sound familiar? It should.

He died after he failed to take Eurydice from Hades, of a broken heart. That boy was never meant to be alone, away from his soul—and his soul has always walked the world in a body different from his own.

He’s worn many shapes over the decades, not all human. He’s been all the great predators, all the graceful prey. He raced the wind as a wild stallion, soared the sky as a falcon, swam the deep waters as whale and dolphin and shark, paced the African continent as the king of wild beasts—you get the idea, I’m sure.

His next famous life, one I know you’ve heard of—Alexander the Great, who ruled the world. And Sam? He went by Hephaestion. They are entangled, those two. Never to be undone. You can try to come between them all you like—and nothing will be the result.

From the beginning, as I have said, there was Light. And there was Dark. Chaos created both and tossed them into the endless void of space, gave them form and fate. Many, countless numbers, have tried over the millennia to come between them, to separate them, to claim one.

Do not look at me with such shocked eyes, Trickster. You felt the power when you stood in their presence. You felt the threads binding them; you tested the threads with your paltry tricks.

All seek to possess the Light; none can help it. Light whispers of hope eternal, of no pain at all. Light is—well, every good thing you can imagine multiplied by forever. Then add in cheesecake.

However, young Trickster, this is what you must understand. This is the thing many have failed to comprehend and so frolicked gaily to their doom.

Light belongs only to Dark. And the reverse is even more true.

Eons come and eons go—we three weave, measure, and cut. A few besides us stay around, but one day their threads will end and my sister will sever them.

This is the way of the world. Light and Dark, and us—we alone will never die.

No, no, don’t even think it. Contemplating that will lead you straight to Atropos’ shears. What it is about those two souls, I do not know. But I have measured their lives an infinite amount of times—and always they are rewoven. Light and Dark—two halves eternal.

So, boy—can you begin to understand? The power between them is unbeatable, as that foolish firechild will soon learn. He seeks to claim that which is not his. And Light will burn him to ash for that.

Do not believe Light is always kind. Light is possessive, protective—and vindictive, when angered or hurt. The firechild chases after Dark, wishing to own that unbreakable spirit. And Light will not relinquish what has been his since the dawn of creation.

This is but one facet of the eternal war, dear Trickster. And do not seek to subvert their attention. The war has never been between Light and Dark—but rather, between them and everything else.

We three are the Immortals who have witnessed every battle, who have woven and who have measured and who have cut. And we shall do so forever.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

From:

sardonicsmiley.livejournal.com

Ooooooooooooooooooo. I like this very much. Particularly:

Light is—well, every good thing you can imagine multiplied by forever. Then add in cheesecake.

and

The war has never been between Light and Dark—but rather, between them and everything else.

I'd actually rather like to see more of this, but maybe that's just my perverse fondness for the trickster creeping in.

From:

i'm awake, and i'm young, and i'm alive

Page Summary

Style Credit

Expand Cut Tags