Chapter Text
Moîrai kratousi pántōn - Μοῖραι κρατοῦσι πάντων.
– The Moiras rule all. (Unknown)
For Phoebus Apollon, it began like this: to the ethereal sound of the Muses that, together with the bubbling sounds of laughter and the beat of dancing feet against the white stone of the Banquet Hall, formed a splendidly harmonious symphony. Phoebus Apollon, with his eyes closed and his posture relaxed on his throne, enjoyed the ordered revelry with the certainty that it would soon be over.
And it did.
Suddenly, a loud laugh was heard, standing out from the rest and, as if guided by a shepherd, more noises followed. In the time it took for a sigh, everything was over. The music got faster, the sounds of feet hitting the stone got louder, the laughter grew louder and louder. A cacophony of noises and sounds. Unruly, chaotic. Wild.
“Oh, Lord of the Sun” - As if sensing the call, a slightly sarcastic voice interrupted the god’s nostalgic stupor. “What are you doing, Leader of the Muses, alone and lonely on your throne during such a sublime event?” the voice asked.
Even without opening his eyes or changing the posture in which he was resting on the throne, Phoebus could imagine the sight that awaited him, so he didn’t bother to respect the ethos and interrupt his meditative state – the young man in front of him wouldn’t mind.
“Νοῦς ὁρᾷ καὶ νοῦς ἀκούει, in such chaos, order must be found”.
Phoebus could hear the rustling of the vine leaves in the garland of vines, and he could smell the characteristic scent of wine that was ever present on the other, and which had become even stronger, as if stimulated by the festive chaos.
“Now, why should order take place in such a hall, when festivities take over?”
“Little god, you are young and unseasoned, so you must not realize: in such revelry, there must be someone in charge of order so that the balance is maintained.”
“φελε τὰς ἀνοησίας σου, Apollon!” the young god roared, dropping all false politeness from before. “Still stuck in the corners of the halls in a bad mood? Troy has already fallen, Μωρός.”
Phoebus Apollon pursed his lips in a fervent effort not to laugh.
“Contrary to what you think, Young Dionysus, I am not ‘stuck in the corners of the halls in a bad mood’, but honoring righteousness after all: Μέτρον ἄριστον. And I have within me the certainty that one day you, The Liberator, will find what you lack.”
Phoebus Apollon heard a watery sound, as if the young god, Dionysus, had just taken a sip from the perpetually full cup of wine he always carried with him.
“And what, O Lord of Truths, am I supposed to—” Another sip. “I lack?”
“ἀρετή”
The two fell silent. Phoebus Apollon couldn't resist opening his eyes a little to look at Dionysus, and he could barely hold back his laughter when the young man's face went from confusion to anger.
"Apollon!" Dionysus growled.
Phoebus Apollon relaxed his face into an apologetic expression, his face bleeding with the hurt in his soul.
"Forgive me, brother, Οὐκ ἔχω ἔννοιαν τί ἔγένετο ἐμοί, perhaps you are completely divinely right and the tragedy of Troy still fills me with the deepest sadness."
Dionysus quickly lost his temper, his anger evaporating like the wine he so prized.
“I do not know why there is so much pain, Πάντα ῥεῖ, only the divine is eternal. And you, Master of Healers, should know better. All of you should know.” Dionysus lowered his voice, as if to prevent anyone else from hearing, and approached slightly. The withered vine leaves of his garland rustled again, and one, almost completely decomposed and hanging by a thin tendon, swayed as if it were going to fall. Apollon watched it suspiciously. If the damn thing fell now, he would lose his bet with the treacherous Hermes.
Unaware of their diverted attention, Dionysus continued: “You would think that, being closer to the Titanomachy than to the present day, The Wise and The Bloody would know how to settle disputes between themselves, but a few moons ago, when I was enjoying the good taste of a well-filled glass, I saw them both screaming.”
“Oh?” Phoebus Apollon encouraged, even though he already suspected what would follow.
“Bloody is a sore loser, and what Wise has in wisdom, she balances with arrogance. Losing Troy to the goddess and running into her made Bloody explode, and what an explosion!” Dionysus exclaimed. “Look, they can’t even look at each other!” He said, barely refraining from pointing.
Phoebus Apollon thinks he was probably afraid of getting beaten up if either of the two gods mentioned saw him, it wouldn’t be the first time.
Apollon turned to look discreetly and, sure enough: almost slipping off his throne, Ares carried himself with a bitter scowl, legs spread wide and armor completely bathed in blood, as if he had just fought a hard battle or dived into a lake of blood – both situations were terribly likely. Athena, also in armor, clean, radiated pretension, but did not dare look in Ares' direction and if she did, she displayed an expression nauseating pressure, as if a mere glimpse of the god of War caused heartburn and vomiting.
Oh Gaia, may your sleep be deep and eternal! Phoebus Apollon could not contain himself, he laughed loudly.
And then it happened.
The sound faded, muffled, as if Phoebus Apollon had just entered his uncle's kingdom. In the distance, a chorus of voices greeted: Ζεὺς παντοκράτωρ!
Dionysus' worried expression - one that the sun god thought he had never seen on the god of wine, but the surprise of such an expression being directed at him was softened by his tingling body.
The noises diminished until total silence, the colors around Phoebus Apollon lost their brightness and his vision became increasingly blurry, as if everything had been covered by a veil.
It could have been an eternity or just the blink of a mortal eye and Phoebus Apollon would not have noticed.
A phrase kept running through his mind on repeat:
Μοῖραι κρατοῦσι πάντων
The Lord of Prophecies could hear in the distance a faint hum of something spinning at a steady speed, accompanied by the soft, rhythmic sound of friction, as if someone were spinning threads beside him. The faint hum of what sounded like the spinning of a spindle grew louder - as if the person spinning had become in a hurry. The sound seemed to pierce the god's consciousness and he could almost feel the linen fibers passing through his fingers.
Click.
Silence.
Apollon blinked. Then he blinked again. And again.
Slowly Dionysus's flushed face began to take shape and the noise of the party became clear and loud.
Dionysus was still staring at him with concern and Apollon could feel his body burning with the force of Athena's gaze, who seemed to have noticed the small disturbance. He settled back on the throne with a perfectly placid face and looked around to observe the rest of the hall.
In the distance, Hermes was busy among the banquet tables and seemed quite absorbed in whatever story his satyr son, Pan, was telling. But Apollon was not easily fooled: the Ceryneian would occasionally peek at him out of the corner of his eye. Which was not surprising, nothing escaped the Father of Thieves's sight.
Hestia poked at a fire in the center of the hall, to the right of the dancing satyrs and nymphs the singing voice of Euterpe, the muse of music. The goddess of the Hearth, as if she felt his gaze, raised her head to look at him and seemed to realize something, as the calm smile on her face gave way to a maternal concern. The sight warmed something inside Apollon's chest, despite the strangeness of such an expression on a child's face.
Apollon looked away.
On the thrones, Ares tried to compete for glances with Athena, who was still looking at Apollon with suspicion. Zeus and Hera had arrived at some point and although they seemed perfectly happy, Apollon could see the tension in the Lord of the gods' shoulders and the falseness in Hera's smile. The discovery of another betrayal, he thought.
Aphrodite looked at herself in an oval gold-plated hand mirror and arranged her red hair, as if it had ever been anything other than perfect. Hephaestus was frowning on his throne, as always. Demeter, on the other hand, seemed happy on hers, for spring had arrived and with it, her daughter. Contrary to her, her uncle Poseidon represented the personification of boredom, Apollon thought that he might want to be anywhere but there and, to tell the truth, the god of the Sun identified with him: if Zeus had not made the presence of the other gods of Olympus mandatory, that place would not be even the millionth place he would want to be.
He did not need to look for his sister to know that she was somewhere in the corners of the hall, surrounded by her hunters, and probably fantasizing about killing all the males who dared to look at her and her protected ones, not that anyone was crazy enough for that – Not anymore.
Dionysus was still standing next to him and the sight of the two of them together was starting to attract the eyes of the lesser gods.
“What the hell was that? You had a vision, didn’t you?” Dionysus asked, bringing his cup closer to him. “Oh my beloved óinos, is this going to be another Troy, isn’t it? I’m not drunk enough for that.”
“Why, my dear brother, are you losing your touch? I thought you were always a sailor on the waves of oblivion, with a soul intoxicated by murky dreams, the use of wine, whose taste you so cherish.”
“Waves of what? What—” Dionysus stopped, confused. “Stop this meaningless litany, Apollon. What disasters do your words bring us? No. Don’t tell me, I don’t want to know anymore.”
“Now, Liberator, I thought the Trojan tragedy had been your main source of entertainment for the century.”
Dionysus’ mouth jutted forward and looked suspiciously like he was pouting, making his wine-red cheeks even plumper. It was at times like these that Apollon truly realized how young the god of wine was—only a few centuries old.
“Lord of the Sun, god of Wine.” Another person approached, it was Hermes who greeted them with a smiling face and friendly voice.
“God of travelers.” Apollon replied. Dionysus nodded, too busy taking a deep sip from his cup to respond with words.
“The party is magnificent, god of Music. Your Muses are even more harmonious than the last Solstice,” the trickster praised.
“I appreciate the compliment, Lord Hermes. But I regret to inform you that I had little to do with the Muses' performance in this presentation. The girls are too talented in their own right, and my help only polished what was already there.” Apollon said with false modesty, for no matter how talented a musician is, someone still had to teach them. Despite their prodigious talents, the girls were personally mentored by him, and Apollon was not ashamed to say so, as was the truth.
“And what a fine job you did!” Hermes, the flatterer, rejoiced. “Ah, don’t think I didn’t notice your hand in the revelry, young Dionysus! The fauns and nymphs were even wilder than they had been just a few hours ago.”
“What can I say? Wine tends to bring out the best in us.” Dionysus said.
“The wild, you mean.” Apollon commented, amused.
“The best.” The drunkard stated with conviction.
“I can’t help but deny the appeal of a sweet wine at times like these, however, I couldn’t help but notice the small situation that occurred here just a few moments ago.”
Ahh Hermes, with the eyes of a hawk and the curiosity of the sacred deer he protects, would not fail to find out. But in any case, Apollon needed him.
Dionysus groaned in dismay. Apollon thought he was still not drunk enough, so he tried to encourage him: “Drink more, brother, here.”
Then he turned to Hermes who was watching him with a smile on his face. “Let our Lord Father Almighty know that the Divine Weavers have made themselves known, our tapestry awaits us.”
“They! All over the vineyards!” Dionysus exclaimed in fright. Some lesser gods looked at them curiously before quickly looking away when Apollon turned to face them.
“Shout to the four corners of Olympus, brother, and see if I will help you when our misfortune spreads and the Lord Father finds out.” Apollon hissed, narrowing his eyes at the fool, before smiling softly again.
Dionysus swallowed hard and lowered his eyes to observe the magical cup in his hands, as if there was something deeply interesting at the bottom of it.
Hermes stopped smiling, but otherwise showed no distress. But Apollon was not the god of Truth for nothing and he could still see the anguished fear in his blue eyes.
"Do not worry, Phoebus Apollon, Lord of Prophecies, I will pass your message on to our Lord Father." He stated solemnly, before silently disappearing.
Apollon turned to observe Zeus and witnessed the exact moment his message reached the ears of the Lord of the Gods: the divine's shoulders stiffened and his gaze shifted from the festivities to Apollon. No other indication was made known. Zeus, despite being impetuous, was cunning and experienced. He would not arbitrarily show distress in front of all his subjects, that would only bring even more trouble and now, on this occasion, he would tempt fate.
Apollon nodded. Zeus looked away, expressionless. Hera gave no sign that she noticed the exchange, but Apollon knew better. She was even more perceptive than her husband.
Apollon turned his attention to the shadowy corners of the hall and saw the childlike figure of his sister in the distance. Artemis was leaning against a klinai, with a cup of nectar in her hand and surrounded by her hunters, the closest to her being the blonde Atalanta.
Their eyes met. Artemis raised an eyebrow. Apollon stared at her. He could almost hear her thoughts being projected into his mind by the force of her gaze: ‘What disasters have you foreseen, golden cub?’
Apollon tilted his head to the side and smiled, the very image of sparkling innocence causing the minor gods and goddesses around him to blush and Dionysus to roll his eyes discreetly. Artemis narrowed her eyes slightly, her mouth twisted in fond exasperation.
– – –
This banquet, unlike those of the solstices that could last on average three to seven mortal days, was just another demonstration of power, so it was over in just one day.
Once all the minor gods and goddesses, fauns and nymphs had left (in one particular case, a satyr had to be dragged by his feet by his other three staggering companions), Zeus summoned everyone to the Council Hall.
The Council Hall was a large round hall with twelve thrones arranged in a semicircle, with Zeus's being the largest, located in the center, next to Hera's. The floor was made of clouds that would occasionally part to reveal the civilizations below, and the ceiling was so high that one could not see the end. The entire place seemed to glow with a powerful divine aura, and all the descriptions that have ever been sung by mortal mouths have failed to portray such magnificence.
As usual, all the gods had already arrived when Zeus prepared to teleport himself in front of his throne with a mighty crash and a brilliant flash of lightning that would have blinded any lesser god.
“Ζεὺς παντοκράτωρ!” all the gods greeted, standing with their heads bowed. Only when Zeus, the Lord of the gods, sat down could the others follow suit.
“Immortal Gods, hear me!” The Lord’s deep voice boomed through the walls of the hall.
“With your leadership, παντοκράτωρ!” The voices of the other eleven gods echoed in unison.
“Noble gods of Olympus, we have gathered here to deliberate on your destinies, thus spoken by the god of Prophecies. I call to our ears: Phoebus Apollon.”
“As you command, Lord Father,” Apollon began. “During the festivities that occurred this day, a warning came to me: The Divine Weavers have made themselves known to my eyes and soon, to yours as well.”
A silence permeated the hall. Dionysus almost slipped from his throne, hugging a jug of wine with a flushed face – his cup was nowhere to be seen. Athena’s body stiffened and Ares rejoiced, a sadistic glint in his eyes. His sister, Artemis, looked at him with concern evident in her eyes.
“As such, wind can occur without any precedent? Never before have the Ladies of Fate involved themselves so directly in our affairs!” Demeter said, her happiness at her daughter’s return tempered by such misfortune.
The Fates did not interfere in the lives of those whose destinies they wove. But it was not the Fates that Apollon was concerned about.
“The factor of great concern is not the involvement of the Divine Weavers per se, Mother of the Harvest, but rather how great and important the disaster will be that no mortal or immortal has faced before and that we must triumph over or, at the very least, overcome.” Athena called, putting Apollon’s fear into words.
“Let the Fool come.” Ares roared. “It matters not which enemy is bold enough to attempt to face me. I will tear their limbs apart with one blow of my sword and drink their ichor!” Her bloodthirsty aura was so great that everyone there could smell the blood and hear the squawking of ghouls from afar.
“Impulsive as always, brother. Underestimating your enemies will be your downfall, don’t drag us down with you.” Athena replied easily.
“We shouldn’t be so quick to call for war at this time. Mortals haven’t had time to recover from the last conflicts.” Demeter reasoned.
“Worried about mortals, Mother of the Harvest? You, who feign pity, weren’t you the cause of the great drought that killed more mortals than the war itself?” Aphrodite mocked the other’s hypocritical attitude, without lifting her critical eyes from her well-manicured nails.
“Drought follows war, Cytherea, and it was your vanity that caused it.”
What joy. There was nothing that lifted Apollon’s spirits more than seeing the other Olympians fighting. He could observe everything perched on his throne, entertained and without getting involved except to fan the flames even more.
Apollon and Artemis exchanged epichairekakia looks.
“Silence!” Zeus roared, his words accompanied by a thunderous clap that made his voice ricochet off the walls and echo in the hall. “Every word spoken here and every decision made reverberates throughout the divine and mortal realms. Consider this matter with the seriousness it deserves, for our decision will shape the fate of mortals and Olympus.”
Apollon almost let a mocking smile escape. If the gods of Olympus fell into the ruins of destruction and oblivion, other deities would rise. For it is in the rubble of the empire that a new one takes shape. But in any case…
“We must not put the cart before the horse, whatever the enemy, The Inescapables have come to warn us, just as they showed me.”
“Phoebus Apollon is right. We should not rush into decisions before all the facts are laid out on the table, Father.” Athena turned to Apollon. “And when, Lord of Prophecies, should we expect such honorable company?”
“Well.” Apollon sat up straight on his throne, his back straight and his face smiling, adding, “Now.”
“Wha-”
Zhhhhh
All the gods present could hear in the distance a faint hum of something spinning at a steady speed, accompanied by the soft, rhythmic sound of friction, as if someone were spinning threads very close to them. The faint hum of what sounded like the spinning of a spindle grew louder—as if the person spinning had gotten in a hurry. The sound seemed to pierce the consciousness of everyone gathered there, and Apollon could almost feel the flax fibers passing through his fingers.
Click.
“Oh my óinos!” Dionysus exclaimed, lifting his feet off the ground and falling backwards, hitting the back of his throne, almost lying down. Despite his sudden movements, his jug did not spill a drop – Dionysus kept the arm that held it steady.
If it had been in any other situation, Apollon would have laughed (after memorizing the image for later use, of course) at the undignified position of the lord of wines and would have reveled in the similar situations in which the other gods found themselves. However, at that moment, Apollon was distracted by the three lugubrious women who had suddenly appeared in the center of the Council Chamber.
Glossary:
Νοῦς ὁρᾷ καὶ νοῦς ἀκούει: The mind sees and the mind hears.
Aφελε τὰς ἀνοησίας σου: Put away your foolishness.
Μωρός: idiot.
Μέτρον ἄριστον: Measure is best.
ἀρετή: Virtue.
Οὐκ ἔχω ἔννοιαν τί ἔγένετο ἐμοί: I have no idea what happened to me.
Πάντα ῥεῖ: Everything is fluid.
Ζεὺς παντοκράτωρ: Zeus, all-powerful.
Μοῖραι κρατοῦσι πάντων: The Fates rule everything.
Concepts:
ethos: Broad concept that includes norms of behavior, good manners and the morality expected of individuals in the ancient Greek society.
Ceryneian: Associated with the Ceryneian deer, one of the sacred animals that Hermes protects.
óinos: general term for wine.
klínai: a kind of couch or inclined bed, used mainly during symposia (banquets).
Ichor: blood divine. Cytherea: Reference to Aphrodite's birthplace, Cythera, a Greek island.
Epichairekakia: "ἐπί" (epi, upon) + "χαίρω" (chairo, to rejoice) + "κακός" (kakos, evil). Thus, epichairekakia means the pleasure or joy derived from another person's harm or misfortune.