Shadows of the Sun

by Atalakyoshiwarrior

Summary:

The story of Hycainthus of Sparta as he grows up and deals with the mirthful rage of one god and the quiet love of another.

Notes:

This was a fun little project I decided to do after reading Metamorphoses and Song of Achilles within 24 hours and needing a literary combination of both <3

Sing, O Muse, they constantly scream at me.

Sing of the sorrows and the war-torn pain.

Of the destiny’s that were not to be,

Of the all the heroes and the futile gain.

But what is all that suffering’s true goal?

After all, there is no trial of more woe

Than that of any lost and hopeless soul,

And my dearest, so-called friend, Apollo.

But of course, then the time will come again,

Where me and my sisters must deal with him.

But I won’t sing to him ever again.

Not ever. Not for gold or diamond jewels.

After all, I’m writing my own story.

Let’s not play by all those tedious rules.

 

I am a muse of epic after all,

A woman of some legendary fame,

But despite all of my desperate triumph

They still don’t dare to remember my fame.

Calliope. What effort does it take?

To know that one, small, pesky little name?

But of course all they dare to care about

Is wars, honour - insufferable pain.

So I’m taking my mind away from them,

Gods forbid it, I’m starting right again.

And while their insistent, hopeless screaming

Of "Muse! Muse!" keeps inherently pleading,

Oh shush for once! I don’t want to condemn.

But, my, come on, as if I can hear them.

 

 

 

 

But I’m not a sob story like all those others.

After all, I’m muse of epic poems.

I’m the one who always tells the stories.

Adds in all the pain and suffering breezed

Over - dead heroes, destroyed families, 

mothers, sisters and brothers. That was me. 

I’ve long since stopped caring about all others. 

So, you want to hear about Apollo?

Of the shadows of the sun that had set

Long after my story had first begun?

The one who had always so feared to love

Yet he loathed to feel anything so true. 

Are you sure that you want to really see?

Well, go on then - its really fine by me.

 

The first story I will present to you,

Is one in which certain minded people,

Often those caught in their own selfish hate

Don’t dare look at, instead overview.

For out of all the stories I have told,

This one stands out - so very bright and bold

Against the tide of his oncoming wrath;

An aberration - one he can’t take back.

No matter the pleading or sad screaming,

To, Zeus, even Hades in his scheming.

But surely no force can bring the dead back;

So hopelessness set him on quite the track.

But this is purely, in all its glory,

Against all likelihood.. a love story.

 

 

 

The Shadows of the Sun - A Hyacinthus Story

 

Despite it being so long ago, I still remember the palace of Sparta, in which I grew up, very clearly in my mind. My parents, King Amyclus and Queen Diomede, a princess of Thessaly, had ruled over our people with unequalled justice and power for decades. I can still remember the court at which my father presided, where he sat atop his golden throne with my mother at his right, always offering unconditional interest in the affairs and petitions of his friends and anyone who entered the palace halls, despite the other courtier’s obvious disinterest or eventual boredom as the days went on. That was the thing about my father; he was always interested in others, and his benevolence meant he was truly and dearly loved by his people. The large halls of the palace that spiralled away from that throne room were intricately painted with flowers; the flowing archways were decorated with garlands and shrubbery; and my mother made sure to bring half the garden indoors in order to decorate the endless empty hallways. “What I will not have here is this…emptiness. For a palace to truly be a home, there must be life to it, at the very least," she stated dryly as she first entered, promptly ordering startled servants to begin gathering flowers, vases, and statues to furnish the bland walls and corridors. And so it was that our palace was virtually bedecked in flora, a living corridor of spiralling ivy and entwined hanging vines. The already existing heirlooms and treasures of our great kingdom really never did impress her, and, as a daughter of the king of Thessaly and being from an Aeolian tribe known for their skill in battle and warfare, there was no woman alive more determined and dangerous to cross than my mother.

However, my mother and Amyclus held a court together. Unlike Athens, Spartans generally believed that women had every right to rule alongside their husbands, and so it was that Diomede presided over our country’s court with as much might and deference as my father. My sisters, Polyboea and Leanira, were always the complete opposite of each other, with Leanira always sparring with the other women while Polyboea stayed inside, confined to her books and ever-expanding library. And I, it seems, was thrust into this world of politics and courtesy, being admittedly more of an out-of-place dreamer than a seasoned royal diplomat. I was never going to be king, of course; my older brother, Argalus, had been trained his entire life, practically since birth, to be. I spent more and more of my time outdoors, attempting to escape the closeted life that the rest of my family somehow desperately treasured. I’d scour the hillsides of Laconia with some papyrus, Phobos, my horse - a rare gift from my parents, and a pen, noting down and sketching the intricate details of any plant, animal, or creature I encountered. Away from the oppressiveness that was the Spartan court, where arguments and philosophical debates went on long into the night, I sat outside, normally drawing plants, something which never ceased to horrify my parents. While it may not have been the statecraft my father wished for or the propriety my mother insisted upon, it was the time that I always looked forward to. While my other siblings were trained in the arts of warfare, brothers and sisters alike, I had no interest in such things. However, the escape was only temporary and, for the most part, brief. My family would eventually realise and send a messenger, or, more embarrassingly, a sibling, to check that I was still alive and ‘hadn’t accidentally fallen or become otherwise injured and died’ as my brother once sarcastically put it. Not that they’d particularly grieve over anything other than their missed diplomatic opportunities, though. I was to be used only to gain Sparta a new wealthy heiress of a relative, after all, and was only even spoken to by my mother by the mercy of some god or goddess who acknowledged my lack of interest in every princely activity and decided to bless me with natural beauty instead.

"I do feel sorry for Hyacinthus, you know," I had once overheard my mother saying to my father, in public and blatantly in earshot of both me and my siblings. "He won’t have a throne, but he will bring us and our house glory by marrying well. His looks could go a very long way, you know, my dear."

Of course, my siblings were naturally a torment to me and took the opportunity to emphasise that no, I would never rule Sparta and would only live to further our country and my brother’s future interests by being married to some horrible foreign princess whose language I would not, I was assured, be able to understand and whose customs I would be forced to live by for the rest of my life. I desired no such thing. I only wanted to be able to be free of the burdens everyone was concerningly determined to place upon me, and be able to explore and travel the world, and, most importantly, be free of the family that had ensnared me for so long. To be able to paint, to draw, and to express the creativity that had been so inherently oppressed throughout my childhood, mostly because of my mother's insistence and my constant and never-ending fear of being mocked by my siblings. It was in such circumstances that I met Thamyris for the first time that summer. A singer, according to Leanira, he came to our court with a group of musicians from Thrace, and he and his friends played for our court. Being a prince of Sparta, I had heard music performed by people from all walks of life, be it young singers or ancient lyre players already half-way down to the Underworld, but as soon as he began to sing, the room all quickly quietened, which, even for our standards, was rather unusual. 

"I heard that he was taught along with Orpheus and Heracles," a boy on my right quietly whispered.

"Well, I heard the Scythians proposed making him king for his sithara skills alone," another said. 

Ordinarily, I would have ignored them; everyone always had everything to say about everyone in Sparta and the majority of the time it was all completely conspiratorial nonsense. And, well, would have proceeded to dismiss it as usual if I had not heard the man sing.Then, as if he’d heard my own internal thoughts, he looked up from his lyre in my general direction, his eyes slowly finding mine. I, unsure exactly where to place what I felt in the moment, smiled, and then quickly turned away and proceeded back over to the boys who I’d heard whispering before, and became all too enthusiastically engaged in their conversation. The night continued as normal, the fires and candles being lit by the palace servants as usual, and the decadent banquet table was set with a mass of food - meat, wine and fruits from as far as Thebes and Thessaly, the latter upon my mother's constant insistence that her personal heritage shouldn’t necessarily be sacrificed just because of something as undignified as marriage. If I could have dared to rebuke her at any time in my life, it would have been after those words came out of her mouth, since that was exactly what she was proposing to do with me. The music slowly came to a stop, with the court applauding audaciously and certainly with more enthusiasm than usual.

"Thamyris." My father uttered. "Come to our table." The room quickly filled with quiet conversation. In Sparta, the royal family sat separately from the nobility, and to be invited to our table was an honour nearly so unheard of that I had only seen it twice - once with Heracles when I was younger, then only with Orpheus. Hearing the summons from my father, he set aside his lyre and walked up to us. The silence of the entire onlooking court did not dissuade him as it would have, and he promptly sat, to my internal horror, next to me and my sister Leanira.
"It is an honour, King Amyclus, to sit at your table," he modestly said, nodding in acknowledgment to my mother.

“The honour is mine, Thamryis. I heard on good authority from my brother that you were also taught by Linus, the singer," my father replied, ignoring my mother's deadly glare for presuming her wishes and inviting him.
"Yes, I was. He was a great teacher, but also a mentor to me for many years, as I’m sure Orpheus told you." My father’s eyes widened slightly, which told me he hadn’t. "While he may have taught Heracles long before I even met him, I still hoped the talents I learned could one day be put to good use. And now, as King of the Scythians, I wish to do so."
"So why, King of Scythia, do you come to Sparta?" My mother asked, clearly not believing his story.

"I wished both to meet you all as a newly crowned king of a neighbouring land and to convey a…prophecy from the great god Apollo. I was… instructed to convey to the most noble prince of Sparta his destiny, and was assured that the matter was of the utmost importance." Thamryis replied.
"Very well," my mother said, looking more pleased than suspicious now that she had realised there would be a benefit to her brief usurpation. "What is to be the destiny of Argalus?"
My brother, hearing his name from across the table, stared at my mother. I could see in her eyes the hope that her favourite son would grow up to become a living legend, spoken upon by renowned Greeks for years to come. My father’s name was already falling into obscurity - he hadn’t fought in any important wars or battles, and his only claim to memory was his title. Thamryis grinned. "With all my respect, your majesty, it is not Argalus of which the god speaks. It is Hyacinthus."
The shock on my mother's face was palpable, but even that was nothing compared to the faces of the surrounding court and my siblings. How could it possibly be that I, of all the royal progeny, would be spoken of by an Olympian? 

"I am to convey the message in private, if such a thing is to be allowed."
"Very…very well," the king stammered, not even attempting to hide the surprise in his voice.
"You are all dismissed," my mother spoke, much more clearly, to the waiting room, and begrudgingly they filed out of the great oak doors, one by one, until at last the rooms was cleared of my siblings and all the nobles.
"Well?" my mother demanded.
"I did not intend for such a misunderstanding,” Thamryis said cooly. "I was simply asked, as part of a favour I owe to a…prophet of Apollo in my lands, to convey to you that out of all your children, King Amyclus and Queen Diomede, Hyacinthus alone will be remembered for his actions and legacy. The great god did not specify what for, for he has conceded to me that even he does not yet know why, though I certainly suspect kingship. Matters such as this are best left to the Fates. That is all I was bidden to say."

Always, when strange visitors would visit our court, they would speak on behalf of priests, gods or the occasional merchant. Several times, they’d claimed to bestow future fame on my brothers, my mother, even my sisters on occasion. But never once, in the entirety of my life, had they ever deigned to speak about me. 

"Leave us, now." my father said, clearly gesturing to the door. Thamryis nodded and turned to me. I stared at him and watched disbelievingly as he turned around and walked out of the door in the footsteps of the others.
"So, what makes you better than Argalus then?" my mother said sharply, in a tone she used only behind closed doors.
"Why, of all your siblings, should a god claim you to be picked for glory?"
"Diomede..." my father started.
"He cannot throw a spear, let alone lead an army. Even Leanira can best him in combat. He spends half of his life walking around, absentmindedly drawing flowers. Yes, flowers! A prince of Sparta! Such a thing is unheard of. I will not let some oracle change anything. He is never to wear the crown, not even that of another kingdom."
As my mother and father continued to argue and mostly agree on my unworthiness, I quietly slipped out of my chair and walked out. They were so engrossed in their conversation that they didn’t even notice. I wasn’t particularly surprised. I walked out of the palace, something people had seen me do many times before, so didn’t question it, and sat down next to a tree in the meadow just beyond the palace walls. Then, after a while, I saw a figure also distantly exit the palace. As I began to panic that it was my brother and considered my options, I realised it was not. It was Thamryis. Clearly, he’d seem me walk out at some point, and had attempted to follow me.

"I did not realise that they would…" he started, walking closer to the tree.
"I think you may have contributed considerably to the wrath of my mother. She won’t let such a thing go. Neither will my brother," I said quietly, silently reserving to hate him for what he had done. 
He sat down next to me and put his hands on my shoulder, as if to console me.

"I’m so sorry," he said. If I had known you before I spoke to them, I would never have done so without telling you of it first."

He then leaned over to me and, of all things, hugged me. Perhaps the night before, prior to my world shattering around me again due to his actions, I might have thought very differently about it. But I did not. I quickly pushed him away. I’d never had the need to push anyone before, and it was an embarrassingly pathetic attempt for a prince whose family trained excessively in warfare. I tried to stand up taller and make it look more like some sort of symbolic gesture than a badly-aimed push. "The last thing I need from you is your pity," I said, somehow sounding more malicious than I ever heard myself before in my life. I was surprised, but silently relieved that I didn’t sound like the weak child my mother always compared me to. 

Thamryis winced. "If there’s anything, I can..."
"Explain to me why. Why would Apollo speak of me?" I asked him, determined to get straight to the point and never have to be in his presence again. "Why, of all my siblings—Argalus, who’s been trained since birth for full-scale Mycenaean war, or Leanira, who’s nearly his equal, despite her considerable age difference, or even Polyboea, I mean, she reads enough books to be more educated than any royal scholar —is it me? Surely he must have realised all it would do is cause me is so much more suffering, and that’s added to what I already have to endure from my wonderful family!"

He looked away from me then, looking guilty and slightly ashamed of what he had done. Finally. "I… I cannot say," he whispered.
"Why?" I asked him again, refusing to look at him, beginning to now believe that every person I put trust in, even only emotionally, would betray me.
"Because I said no such thing," a powerful yet beautiful voice said from behind me.

I turned around, expecting to see some priest or, worse, Argalus, and I nearly stumbled over with shock. Apollo, lyre in hand, was sitting by the very tree I had leant against only seconds before, his long golden hair billowing in the light wind.
"Thamryis here seems to think that just because I pay no heed to him, he should cause the suffering of others like him in my name." He turned to him. "Well, you can speak for yourself. Your misgivings surely have not made you vocally incapacitated. Well, is it true?" Apollo asked him, standing up, his eyes blazing with a fury I had never seen before in anyone. But he was no mortal.
"I..." Thamryis stuttered.
"Leave us," he said. "I would speak with Hyacinthus alone. If I hear a single word about another such thing, I will end you. Leave this place," he said, standing taller than any mortal I had ever seen. "Is that clear?"
"Y...yes." Thamyris said, visibly shaking. Once the god’s eyes averted from him to me, he ran.
"Coward," Apollo muttered.
"Thank you," I said, and I meant it. He sighed.
"It’s the least I could do. That idiot came under the delusion a number of years ago that I favoured him. When I told him I did not, I’m now afraid he might have gone on quite the rampage without my knowledge," Apollo said, his anger beginning to cool. "I’ll have to look into it."

I, to my absolute horror, laughed. Apollo looked startled.
"I… he did all that just because you rejected him?" I said, trying to hold in the rest of my snort of disbelief.
His face dawned with realisation and something like awe, and he grinned. "Yes."
We both laughed then. In retrospect, I’m still not entirely sure why, but the fact that I’d lost any remaining familial love in an afternoon and was casually conversing with an Olympian probably had something to do with it. He stared at me, as if trying to comprehend something.
"What is it?" I asked, silently reprimanding myself for the number of times I’d said what in recent conversations. My mother would be furious, naturally.
"Well, normally there’s a…level of fear most people tend feel when they meet me," he said, and it itself would have made me feel afraid if he hadn’t stated it with a blandness in which he could have said, ‘Oh, look, there’s a tree!’
"Well, I’m not just any mortal. I’m subject to a very important prophecy." I said, grinning.

"Oh, believe what you wish. The man’s delusional. He probably heard your name spoken by an Oracle somewhere and assumed you had something to do with me. You can’t even trust Oracles these days," he sighed, still looking quite amused. I laughed again. "It was nice to meet you, Hyacinthus. I hope we meet again," he said, smiling.
"I do too," I said, as he disappeared as quickly as he arrived, still inwardly shocked by my confidence. Normally, I couldn’t even hold a few lines of conversation without stuttering, something my mother constantly reprieved me for every time I spoke. Still a little dazed, I made my way back into the palace, out of the sun-filled fields, and back into the complex of elaborate buildings that I called my home. I entered the palace, and walked up the endless winding staircases to my rooms in the furthest part of the palace, only to be confronted by my brother at the top of the steps on the landing. He drew his sword. Well, I probably should have expected it. How could he let such an accusation slip, after all?. While my father would brush it off, my mother would be internally furious but outwardly amicable, my brother’s short-circuited brain never possessed such virtues. He was out for blood.
"How dare you insult me so earlier!" Argalus said, advancing on me. When the reality of the situation began to set in, I began to quickly panic. Argalus had waited here, in the farthest part of the palace, where nobody but a few servants, who would quickly flee, would even be in earshot. I had no weapons, save for a pen made out of wood, which could deal but a scratch compared to my brothers sword. 

"How was I supposed to know a stranger would come and tell me a prophecy I didn’t even know existed? No idea. Honestly." I said, smiling slightly.

 He pushed me to the floor. I closed my eyes, waiting for the knife, when my brother’s weight was thrown off me. I couldn’t fathom who would bother to save me until I saw my sister pull my brother in a chokehold. Leanira quickly had his own sword against him. He looked ready to send us all to the Underworld. For all my sister’s courage and skill, even she couldn’t hold my brother for long, who was nearly twice her size, and five years older. Argalus brought Leanira to the floor with a cry of rage and advanced towards her. I desperately stood back up, my head still spinning, and ran in between them."Thank you, for trying. I appreciate it. More than you’ll ever know." I said, turning behind me to face my sister and nodding, tears threatening to fill my eyes.

"You cannot…" she began.

I turned to my brother. "You will not hurt Leanira. She has done nothing wrong in this. Do you hear me?" I yelled, startled slightly at my own determination. 
"Very well, little brother." Argalus said, smirking, picking up his sword, and cursing at the bruise my sister had dealt around his neck. "Our sister can live. But you, well, you cannot." He swung the blade at me again and I closed my eyes. My sister was safe, at least. There was that small consolation.

A light flashed through the room. I was suddenly filled with hope. 

"You will put that sword down, or, regret your actions for the rest of your short, probably miserable life," Apollo said from behind us, taking the sword and resuming the grip Leanira had previously held at Argalus’s neck, albeit with a much more practiced and unwavering hand. "If you so much as think about fratricide again, you will no longer succeed the great kingdom of Sparta. I’ll ensure of it. In fact, you won’t live to the end of this week. Your very actions now only prove your unworthiness and clear, utter idiocy."
"Great Olympian, I… I meant you no disrespect." My brother started, still clearly shocked that a god, of all people, would step in to defend me.
"And you can disrespect me further by continuing to speak or stop by closing your insufferable mouth and leaving my presence." Apollo said, somehow more angry than he had been previously with Thamyris earlier. 
My brother put down his sword and knife, hidden in his pocket, like some sort of offering and gestured for his sister to follow him. Leanira promptly grabbed my brother’s sword from its place on the floor - she’d never cared particularly for the gods anyway, gave me a look of complete and utter relief, and followed him, though with his sword in her hand. I walked with Apollo to my rooms, not wanting to stay any longer in the location of my attempted murder.

"Thank you... again." I said, owing more to him in a day than perhaps anyone previously in my life.
"You know, I do quite like your sister. Had I not been dealing with Hermes, again, I would have gotten here sooner. She should not have had to do that just because of what I said to that idiot a year ago," he said quietly.
Hermes, the messenger god, another child of Zeus, was not someone I had ever wanted to offend. That Apollo was talking of him so casually and with such belated annoyance was astounding. But then again, I was not a god, so how could I compare to such things?
"Why would you save me?" I asked him, determined to get the thought off my chest. "Sorry to be blunt, but I’m the youngest prince of Sparta, not an heir, and not even gifted enough to pick up a sword." I gestured mildly to the pen I had very nearly attempted to use as a weapon. 

"If you measure yourself by those talents, you’ll only disappoint yourself," he said. My head slowly fell in resignation. After all, what had I expected as an answer? That I would be the new equivalent to Heracles or Bellepheron? "Anyone can hold and fight with a sword and shield if given the correct training, and anyone can rule if given the right tuition - I’ve seen it happen. Qualities such as yours are infinitely rarer. To find someone who’s both willing to fight for their opinions and beliefs and someone destined to create actual art, not just mere bloodbaths, is something else entirely. So, while I will concede the words didn’t previously come from my mouth, Hyacinthus, you are certainly more than worth saving." The way he said my name was beautiful - a hum of syllables compiled together into a melody-like thing. It might have gotten to my head once, but, having stared death in the face and assured myself I certainly preferred life, it was reassurance I desperately, unknowingly needed. We walked into my rooms, where the sweet scent of wisteria still lingered in the air from when I had opened the door earlier.
"Truly?" I asked, still unsure that he, an Olympian who had seen so many heroes, should have faith in me of all people, the youngest son of an unknown king that had no interest whatsoever in war or conflict or, well, anything my other brothers and sisters did.

"Truly," he said definitively, clearly dropping the topic. He walked through, past my far window and onto my balcony, surveying my  wide array of small trees and plants.

"You grew all of these?" he asked, gesturing to the variety of plants growing outside on my frescoed terrace. I had planted a purple wisteria at the base of the wall years before, and had watched it tentatively grow over the years into the spiralling tree that now towered over my balcony like a ceiling. Potted all around it, were numerous small plants I’d found or had wanted to bring back and sketch from the fields. 

"Yes," I said, "I know it’s not exactly a…"

"It’s beautiful." Apollo said fondly, picking a purple crocus from a plant in an amphora. "I don’t know how you have the patience," he muttered, picking the flower out of the pot. 

"Honestly, it’s not like I have anything else to do here. My brother fights, my sister reads, and, well, I draw. It seems a bit childish," I admitted, "but sitting out here or outside the palace are the only two places I truly feel free from all… this." I gestured haphazardly to the elaborate palace and my intricately painted walls inlaid with gold, expensive minerals from foreign lands and gods knew what. 

"You know, I think you would like Olympus," he said, sitting down on the scattered collection of cushions at the base of my wisteria that I usually used as a seat. "Though it’s never quite had this many flowers since the very goddess that created them journeyed to the Underworld. You and Persephone would have been good friends, I think."

The very thought that he believed that I would be a good companion for the Dread Queen of the Underworld made me shiver slightly, however, it did not disturb me as much as it probably ought to. Boldly, somehow suddenly not caring about any potential consequences, I sat down next to him and opened up my sketchbook, pulled out my pen and began to draw the wisteria above us. He didn’t rebuke me, as I had expected, and instead reached for my sketchbook, our hands brushing slightly. We both quickly turned to each other, before he began to flick through the pages absentmindedly. The deep purple of the wisteria glistened softly against the light of the sun that refracted through the gaps in the tree above me. I did not want to leave. We simply sat there, watching the breeze blow the wisteria petals down into the city. However, sometime after, a servant appeared at the door, seeming very nervous and mildly distressed, and when I looked across from me, Apollo was gone. I smirked at what appeared to be his escape, somehow knowing he would still be able to see me from wherever he now was, before turning and speaking to the servant, my blinding happiness quickly draining from me. My parents wished to speak with me, she said. Slowly, I made my way down the stairs I had come up so unknowingly before, now dreading the punishment that came with beating a favoured older brother. I would not have to be saved again, I thought; now I would have to save myself.

I walked into the throne room, and my parents were sat on two gilded chairs that were raised up on a dais at the end of the room. Behind them, carved into the plaster, was a golden painted mural of Lacedaemon and his family, a long-dead son of Zeus who founded our city for his wife. Unlike their happy faces, my parents looked practically enraged. 

"You dare invoke a god?" my mother screamed at me when the servants had shut the door.
"I didn't…," I began.
"Quiet. Your brother has told me you invoked some lesser god to save yourself when you yourself could not even hold a sword!" 
My brother had clearly wished me dead. If he had mentioned Apollo, my parents would not have dared to punish me or even shout for fear of his wrath. But presenting it as some minor river deity, one that could just barely keep my brother away from me, now that was a strategy I had never seen before in my brother. It was both admirable and terrifying. But I wouldn’t tell them about Apollo; I would rather be exiled.
"I will spare you your life solely for fear of angering whatever sea nymph you asked for protection. But know this: you will never again leave this palace." I paled. To take away the hills and valleys I spent most of my life in was like taking the crown from my brother. My father clearly did not fully grasp this, but, from the look on my mother’s face, she most certainly did.

"Leave," my father said, and I promptly turned my back on them both and walked out, genuinely wondering whether it was the only word in his vocabulary he had the capacity to utter when speaking to me. In the past, when I’d been found riding home with a satchel full of flowers, or a painting, it had been the only word he’d used when faced with my presence. Leave. But considering I would be dead otherwise, this alternative, as cruel as it was, could work. I would make it work. The corridors I’d once bypassed so quickly to reach the glowing fields beyond no longer felt alive with their flora but rather like the crawling vines of an organic prison, intent on slowly crushing me inside them. Diomede had gotten into my head. As I arrived back at my rooms, there were two armed guards, who appeared to be friends of Argalus, stationed at the bottom of my stairwell. Perhaps my brother had thought that by placing his friends as my guards, he could achieve some sort of twisted moral victory. Perhaps he didn’t. I sighed. It had been a long day. I walked past them up into my rooms. I left the door open on my way in; it was not like anyone would be interested enough to visit, except maybe Leanira, although given the circumstances, I thought it would be extremely unlikely my parents would even let her anywhere near me. I was still to be married off for their gain, as was she. Nothing had changed in that respect. I walked into my bedroom and found a pile of books on one of my tables, along with a note from, of all people, Polyboea. It seems it took me nearly losing everything to realise I should never again take either of my sisters for granted. Tears began to slowly brim at the edge of my eyes, before I hastily wiped them away. After all, crying in blatant earshot of my brother’s friends wouldn’t exactly be the best idea, so to speak. I opened the first and gasped. Inside were intricately painted flowers and plants, clearly a book imported from Athens. I got out a panel, a pen, and paint and attempted to copy it, sketching out the petals and the leaves until the plant began to develop. After a few hours, I was decently satisfied with the result and hung it in one of my already painting-filled rooms alongside a drawing of a crocus from earlier in the week.

"You did that?" Apollo asked from behind me, staring intently at the painting and walking inside from the balcony. 

"My family haven’t all abandoned me, it seems." I said, smiling weakly, still trying to adjust the picture to be straight as it was leaning slightly to one side. "Polyboea sent books."
"You don’t have any more siblings, do you?" he asked, quietly laughing.
"Well, there’s Harpalus and Cynortas, my two other brothers, who tend to keep themselves away from court in an attempt not to anger my mother, and Hegesandra, but she married an Elean prince, the son of King Pelops, I think. It could be someone else though. It all happened I was younger, so I never really knew her, if you must know."

"You really should become an ambassador."

I grinned. "Because I’m such a great representative of my kingdom and I embody the peace and lawfulness of Sparta?"

"News to me." Apollo muttered. 

"Of course it is." I said, stifling a laugh. "Aren’t you supposed to be the god of prophecy too?"

"I can’t see everything you know," he said. "I leave that to the idiots at Delphi."

"Well that turned out wonderfully for me." I said.

"Why did you not tell your mother of me when she asked?" he said, more serious. "Surely you wouldn’t take a punishment like this for something that didn’t happen?"

"I didn’t want to anger her further. This was her being merciful; I can’t even imagine what I’d have to endure if she were any more enraged." I swallowed. "And I didn’t want her to think I was actually as hopeless as I felt when he had a sword to my throat as I could do nothing." I added quietly, my voice barely audible.
"I’m sure we can see about the second thing in time," Apollo said, somehow hearing me from the other side of the room, "but I feel that a word to your parents, specifically mother, may solve this... situation."

"I don’t think it will." I said, shaking my head.
"Why not?" he asked, a look of confusion appearing on his face, and I realised that he was an Olympian, and people like my father would practically crawl at his feet if they got the chance.
"Well, for one, my mother called you a sea nymph and a lesser god."
"She said what!"
I laughed at the expression on his face.
"Now I see what you meant about her," he muttered. "I would go and speak with her, but I won’t if that is not what you want."
That a god of Olympus would even consider my opinion was shocking, but the way he said it so tenderly dissolved any shock I might have felt. "No," I said to him, now determined. "Talk to her."
"Very well," he said, mocking a bow, smiling at me triumphantly and then vanishing. The room became duller, each shining object seemingly losing part of its lustre in his absence. I went and sat back on my balcony for some time, watching the wind gently blow past my balcony and down into the expansive city below. Slowly, the sun began to set, drenching the sky in a plethora of soft hues of purple, peach and magenta. Apollo reappeared.

"She will not interfere again," he stated simply, ending that conversation before it began and sitting next to me and staring at the sunset that dyed the sky above us. "You know, it’s been a very long time since I’ve actually watched the sun set," he said, sighing.
"Really?" I asked him, in disbelief. "I assumed you were, you know, the god of the sun."
He sighed. "I really never have the time. There’s always some familial issue, normally where Zeus has angered Hera, Demeter’s moping over Persephone, or there’s a council of the twelve Olympians to attend. Or there’s idiots like Thamyris to deal with," he added with a slight smirk. "Still, I would rather be here now with you than with them."

"Tell me about it." I said to him, closing my eyes. "You don’t even want to hear about some of our family history, but I think you can ascertain it involves..." 

"Family bonding and hugs?" he suggested. I choked. We both laughed then, a sound of happiness, that echoed through into the night. This was it. There was no further goal in my life other than to have moments like this. The sun went below the horizon, and when I had finally summoned up the courage to move slightly further towards him, spurred on by some foreign force I couldn’t seem to keep in check, he was gone. I sighed contentedly and walked back into my bedroom to look at Polyboea’s other books before eventually falling asleep, the wind still distantly rustling the leaves of my plants.

The next day, to my surprise, a servant arrived to wake me. Normally, nobody would ever bother to arrange such a thing; they knew I’d wake up eventually anyway. I was quickly, as I predicted, summoned to my mother’s chambers. Clearly, her conversation with Apollo had not been heard by my father. Her women quickly dispersed, leaving just me and her in the room. Diomede sat on a chair, and I stood by the door.
"I did not know," Diomede started, "that you were on such... terms with such a god. If you had only told me, we could have resolved this." Clearly, she was trying to make the most out of this situation. Like she did with everything. But for once, finally, I had decided that I wasn’t going to let her.
"I do not want your excuses, for they work no more on me than they do on my brother," I said. "I will do as I wish, and you will not attempt to stop me again. I did not attack Argalus; I would never, and I was ambushed and punished for the crime of refusing even to fight back."
My mother, who clearly believed I tried and failed to fight, quickly concealed her shock.
"So Apollo chose you because of your courage?"
"Firstly, Apollo did not choose me. And no, I knew of him before my dear brother attempted to murder me."

My mother’s look of shock was now visibly apparent on her face. Perhaps she felt she’d placed her loyalty and love in the wrong sibling, or wanted to try and exploit me as much as she possibly still could. The latter was most likely to be true.
"Hyacinthus, dear..." she began.
"I do not want to hear it," I said. "Because, quite simply, I do not care anymore. You may do as you wish, but leave me out of whatever diplomatic web you’re trying to spin out of this. I am certainly more than capable of living my own life, and whether I am on good terms with a god or not has nothing to do with you, nor will it ever. I do not forget about your actions as easily as my other siblings do." I added quietly, before walking out of the room, leaving my mother to her ladies, who swarmed in to offer their sympathies to her and no doubt insult me. But their whispers had never mattered to me, and were not about to now. I ran back to my rooms and hastily grabbed a piece of papyrus and my pen, which, despite nearly becoming a weapon in recent days, was miraculously not any worse for wear. I walked to the stables, deciding that since I was free to leave the palace, I might as well do so properly, and tacked up my horse, Phobos, a purebred Thessalian whose jet black mane blew in the wind as I attached his bridle and breastplate. I mounted, jumping from a raised platform into the stable onto his back, and rode out of the palace at the fastest pace that would still be seemingly acceptable for a prince. Once I was out of their view, however, I urged Phobos on, and we began galloping across the lush summer landscape, the blue sky above us brimming with warmth. The sun was out, and the wind was blowing in just the right direction, sending stray leaves into the air and across the meadows that we galloped through. After a few hours, I reached the banks of the Eurotas, my favourite river, the sun shining brightly onto the glistening water below. The willow trees next to me, where I tied Phobos, blew gently in the wind and scattered shadows across the water and river bank beside me. I grabbed a book out of my saddlebag - one of Polyboea’s, and sat down, dipping my feet into the coolness of the river while staring at the colourful leaves above, and began to read. The tale of Orpheus, clearly written by my sister judging by her concise handwriting, was told, with blank pages spaced in between the pages of neatly written text. I realised then they were there not for notes, but for me to paint on. Shadows dancing on the page, I gently dropped the book onto the grass and ran back to the saddlebag, this time bringing out my pen and paints. I went deep back into my memory, trying to picture the Orpheus I had known during my childhood, the beautiful man who had graced our halls between his missions, both visiting my mother and father and entertaining us, telling of his recent adventures and journeys with a voice that felt like it didn’t belong in this world. Even Thamyris, who had certainly rivalled him, could not begin to compete. As I began to dive deeper into my memory, I began to sketch the images in my mind, slowly getting them down onto the papyrus of the book, the face and lyre slowly becoming more defined. I eventually finished sketching out the outlines and added splashes of colour to the drawings that gave them life. I turned to Apollo, who was then sat beside me. 

"I hoped you’d come." I conceded, smiling softly at him.

"Well, I’d rather be here than at Delphi. The priests are arguing again and I’ve left it for Dionysus to sort out for once. We do, as he so conveniently forgets, actually share a temple," Apollo said, grinning. "What’s that?" he asked, gesturing to the book.

"Another of Polyboea’s. She wrote out the story of Orpheus and I think I’m supposed to paint the story on these pages." I said, showing him the page with my finished painting on.

"You think?" Apollo mused. "You could be unintentionally desecrating the book, you know."

"She did give me them, you know. But I really do owe her. Both for these and for yesterday." 

"Well she’s certainly ready to replace my sister at this point." Apollo said, laughing. "Though I’m honestly surprised she isn’t a priestess of hers already." 

"Polyboea has never been interested in that sort of thing. She loves books, her dogs, and the occasional houseplant." I replied, laughing.

"She sounds rather an awful lot like you." he said, grabbing the book in my hands from me before I could resist and flicking through the pages at me sketches. I repressed my reply.

"You know, these are actually quite good," he mused.

"You really think so?" I asked, unsure how he, as a god who clearly knew Zeus, the Fates, even Persephone, would be interested in some vague sketches of a tortured man and his dead wife, who I’d only even met once as a young child. 

"I really do." Apollo said, his smile and gaze on me unwavering, taking my hand in his. Fuelled then with the hope, the determination that something could somehow happen, that I would somehow not be able to live if it didn’t, I leaned forward and committed myself to the unthinkable. Our lips touched. He pulled back, seemingly startled. I quickly resigned myself for rejection, my chest sinking, or possibly even the death I had avoided, yet readied myself for the day before.

"You… truly want this?" Apollo said, his gaze not one of anger or hatred, but rather concern. And something else I didn’t dare to name. As if something like this had happened before to him.

"Do… do you?" I asked, not daring to move lest I preempt the question. 

"You have not been coerced, forced, or tricked into this by some god?" Apollo asked quietly, gazing intently at me and closing the book slowly.

"What! Gods, no! I am perfectly capable of making my own decisions, despite what …"

He kissed me then. It was nothing I had ever known, nothing I had ever been allowed to know. As a prince of Sparta, I had never previously had any interest such in things, despite what others my age had. Even then, I think any experience I could have had would have paled considerably. Right then, I needed nothing else. 

He sat back, his lips parting from mine, and laughed softly. 

"I had hoped," I said, "but… I didn’t quite dare to believe it." The wind blew vehemently behind us, making leaves fall off the willow and slowly twist down. I leaned into his shoulder, and he sighed. 

"I have admired you, from afar for… quite some time actually. Thamyris knew of it, I think, how I do not know; probably Hermes - I think it’s why he tried to hurt you through me, although if he ever so much as tries to…"

"You’ll turn him into a sunbeam or whatever, I get it." I said, laughing, freely using my newly found ability to kiss him again.

"I think a sunbeam is far too good for him personally, but if I ever see him again I’ll take up your suggestion," he said, smiling at me and picking a daffodil from the river bank beside us, before pinning it behind my ear. He did have a thing with flowers. We sat under that willow for a long time. I discovering things I never even knew I had wanted, and realising only after that bliss that somehow what we shared felt deeper than mere actions, mere deeds. Yes, I had only known him for a short amount of time, but it simply felt right, or Fated, as my mother would surely call it if she found out. Which I would, of course, never let her. But I would never let her cloud my mind at such a time as this, either.

As the sun finally, begrudgingly began to set, Apollo gave me a small smile. 

"You can come tomorrow?" I asked him then hopefully, playing with his hair, which was previously neatly arranged in a half-bun. It shone golden, like the sun he ruled over, and was longer than even that of my sisters, though, granted, they did keep theirs fairly short so it wouldn’t be used against them when they were sparring. 

"I wouldn’t miss it for the world," he said, kissing me tenderly on the head and cupping my face in his hands for a moment before, as if he’d stayed until the last second before the sun finally, truly fell, he disappeared, the echoes of his laughter singing along with the birds and the river.

I slowly untied Phobos and rode slowly towards Sparta. Even though the sun was long gone, Selene had done her work well, and the moon shone brighter than I had ever seen before, illuminating the path as I cantered across the glowing fields filled with flowers and trees, all shimmering in the moonlight. I noted to myself then to spend more time outside during full moons — the landscape I was rode past would have made a beautiful painting. Eventually, I reached the outskirts of my city, nodding to the guards stationed at the palace gates. They did not comment on the time, and simply opened the iron wrought gates and allowed me inside. I left Phobos with a groom in the stables and walked to Polyboea’s rooms, determined to thank her in case I didn’t get the chance to do so the next morning. I knocked on her door, and she promptly opened it, her eyes wavering with distrust before locking on mine and quickly softening.

"Oh, it’s you," she simply said, opening the door a slight bit more and gesturing for me to enter. It looked like she’d kidnapped one of the local libraries. Possibly three. Wherever there was space on her walls, there was shelving. Intricately painted volumes sat on them, ordered by colour,

shape and topic by the looks of the labels scattered around them. I was, quite honestly, amazed by her organisation. I had lost so many books, so many of her books, simply due to my complete and utter lack of logistics. Other than my painting room, all my belongings were generally scattered around all of my rooms, and I say scattered to conceal the total, utter mess I usually left things in. I walked down the hallway into another room filled with even more books, if such a thing were possible. 

"I didn’t know of this,” I said, staring round in wonder.

"Not many do. My servants are loyal, and mother and father never have reason to come anywhere near here." 

"Thank you, you know, for the books. They’ve done a lot," I said, staring at her gratefully. She smiled back. 

"I have to say though I am, admittedly, slightly shocked. Mother told us privately that Apollo, of all people, has ordered her to lift your confinement. She said she was so happy to do so, though. You’ve become the favourite now?" she asked, incredulously, but clearly glad to have someone to talk to. I realised that after spending all my days

alone in my rooms of the palace, she had also been doing the same, as confined to her books as I was to my plants. I kicked myself for never realising. 

"Far from it, actually," I replied. "It wasn’t my idea for him to go, he convinced me it was a good idea, but at least now I don’t have to suffer for Argalus’ idiocy, so there’s that."

"You’re… friends with Apollo?" Polyboea said, the puzzlement on her face slowly changing to amusement. "I thought it was some representative priest of his or someone that felt obligated to help you because of that random prophecy he made." 

"Apollo didn’t make the prophecy. Thamryis made it up."

"Word is he’s left court without so much as a word to the king. As a supposed king himself, you’d think he’d surely at least inform our father before leaving." Polyboea said, placing a book on her table back into one of the shelves on the wall.

"Well, I can’t honestly say I blame him." I conceded, trying not to show my laughter.

"Why? Surely he wouldn’t risk relations with Sparta over some stupid falsified prophecy? Sorry to put it plainly, but you’re not the firstborn, and people make up so many prophecies nowadays it’s

hard to even filter which even come from an Oracle."

"True. Well… Apollo did threaten to kill him, repeatedly, and then I think I accidentally gave him the idea to turn him into a sunbeam or a pebble or something the next time he sees him, so, if he’s gone, at least he’s smarter than we thought he was." 

"We?" she said, raising her eyebrows and picking up another book.

"We made a collaborative decision regarding his… um, competency,” I said, sounding way too defensive. I cringed inwardly at myself. 

"Apollo doesn’t share decisions with people. He doesn’t help people either. Gods, he doesn’t even leave Delphi!"

"Well he did today,” I muttered to myself sarcastically, quickly hiding the smile threatening to appear on my face.

"What did you just say?" she asked. I sighed, deciding that I might as well confide in my sister, since she and Leanira had more than shown themselves to be the only people who truly cared about me in the entire palace. 

"He did. All day." I said, waiting for her judgment.

"By the Goddess. You’re serious?" she asked, pushing the book she held into the shelf with much more force than was necessary.

"I was at Eurotas, you know that river where I usually go to draw?" 

"Yes," she said, clearly remembering the disproportionate amount of daffodil drawings I’d brought home with me from there last summer. There was still one on her wall, in the hallway where I’d entered.

"Hyacinthus, if he’s come out of Delphi, you do know what that means? I’ve never heard of it with a prince rather than princess before, but…" she trailed off.

"I…I am wholly aware of it." I said. I knew he was a god, and I a mortal, and such things rarely ever blossomed, but that it was much more than a gift to me that it had. She saw the look on my face then, and went paler, if such a thing was at all possible.

"You’re his lover." she said quietly. 

"Do you judge me for it?" I asked her simply. She sighed, leaving her books and walking over closer to me.

"No," she said simply, shaking her head slightly. "No I don’t. Despite what our parents might think, you’re more than entitled to make your own decisions about such things.”

"Thank you," I said, more grateful to her than I could possibly put into words. My mother would never have reacted in such a way. Polyboea hugged me.

"Do not thank me. I am your sister," she said. "I accept you no matter who you are or whatever you turn out to be one day. Remember that." She then showed me towards the door at last. "Be safe," she said.

"You too. I’ll send down that book to you when I’ve finished painting in it," I said to her, as she nodded and shut the door. And so it was that I worked on her book each day. I’d go down to Eurotas, bring the book, and spend the early hours of the morning recalling childhood memories of Orpheus and getting Apollo to fill in any of the gaps in my memory. One day, he’d teach me archery, which, to my utter surprise, I was actually rather good at, another, his gift of prophecy, which I could never really get my head around. We’d walk the hillsides of Laconia, swim in the rivers, even play his lyre under that willow tree we had now both come to love so much. My family, all too aware of the threat I now posed, left me to my business, and I to theirs. 

"What is it?" I’d asked him on one of those days, when he was staring distractedly at a willow leaf above us, clearly thinking about something other than the lyre in his hand.

"It’s nothing," he’d replied quickly, his gaze slowly turning back to me as he picked up the lyre from the grass.

"It’s not nothing. You can tell me, you know," I said assuredly, placing my hand on top of his. "I may not be immortal, or a god, but I’m certainly able to empathise with the majority of situations. I mean, I’m Spartan."

"And that means what, exactly?" he asked, a smile slowly appearing on his face.

"It means that I’ve dealt with all sorts of familial issues. My mother’s family hates her, my father hates my mother because my mother is more interested in Argalus becoming king than him being king, Polyboea is the single least social person ever to exist and communicates through reading recommendations, I haven’t even spoken with my two other brothers since I was seven, and now as far as I know the majority of the palace hates me for throwing my entire family under the Styx about you."

"You know, you forgot nearly being murdered," Apollo added.

"Oh, add it to the list. Still, you’re not changing the subject." I said, staring at him determinedly. 

"You’re sure you even want to know?" he replied, matching my inherent glare, and I saw a hint of sadness in his eyes.

"If it’s bothering you, yes." 

He thought for a moment, and then sighed. "I can’t help but keep thinking that this, it won’t last. I take it you’ve heard enough about what happens

to those people unfortunate enough to come upon Zeus to understand what I mean." 

"You’re not Zeus." I stated simply.

"I’m his son." He replied.

"And what, you expect that to make me run for the hills, go back home and marry some horrible foreign princess who I do not even know, or have the capacity to like, and live a discontented life in some faraway kingdom that speaks, what, Tyrian!" I yelled. 

"Tyre is a lovely place." Apollo muttered. 

"Carthage then. Athens. Gods, my parents would probably even send me to Troy at this point. Do you really think that’s what I want!"

"I don’t know." Apollo said. "You’ve heard about Daphne, Thyrie…"

"That was not your fault." 

"Was it?" he said, sighing. "Thyrie tried to kill herself and Daphne turned herself into a tree." 

"If I’m remembering the story correctly, Eros shot you with an arrow, which caused that completely. You couldn’t have stopped yourself even if you tried, and since you seem to have heaps of genuine guilt about it, I’m assuming you did. He couldn’t stop himself when he accidentally shot himself with his own arrow, you know." 

"But it was my fault." 

"My gods, Apollo. It wasn’t. When will you realise that? Most other gods don’t even feel remotely remorseful. Ever. I’ve been told enough stories to realise that, at least. You need to stop comparing yourself to your father. You know, I have strong opinions about him that I’d like to voice, but I’d rather not get struck dead by a lightning bolt," I laughed half-heartedly, "but, you get the point." "I am here because I want to be. Damn the consequences."

Apollo was silent. I turned around to see he’d been quietly crying. He didn’t cry like I would have, all messily and loudly, probably scaring all the birds within a considerable distance, but with such an amount of silent grace that I wouldn’t have even noticed had I not looked. 

"Damn the consequences," he said, smiling and shaking his head almost imperceptibly at me in a way I had never before seen. The awe and admiration was there in his eyes, always, but it was the deep respect there that shook me. "Right, I’ve bared my soul, or what’s left of it, at least." He sighed. "Archery?" 

I grinned. "I have other things in mind."

As I rode back to Sparta that day, my hair blowing in the oncoming wind, I closed my eyes contentedly. Gone was the looming threat of marriage, the threat of Argalus… and, well, everything that had previously troubled me over the past month. As I dismounted and began to lift off Phobos’ saddle, a shiver ran up my arm. Realising that dusk had already fallen, I quickly left his saddle in the tack room, shut his stable and walked back towards the palace. The entire yard was silent, the guards who usually patrolled the stables to make sure the horses were safe - ours, after all, were pure-bred Thessalians, and very hard to come by, but no wind blew in the leaves of the still beech trees planted around the stables. I made a note to tell someone about the lack of guards and then quickly put it to the back of my mind, wondering quickly instead about how my mother would take my lateness. She had been rather subdued ever since Apollo spoke with her, and I honestly didn’t have the courage to ask her about it, or the want to bother him. After all, my life was perhaps the best it had ever been, and I was in no hurry to change any of it. Though, as I neared the steps to the palace, and more guards were almost within my sight in the far distance, a figure stepped out from behind a tree in front of me. His face, though certainly beautiful at a glance, was twisted with a mad array of love and inherent hatred, with shadows painting his face. Two swords were slung on him back. I stumbled backwards, and began contemplating whether it was best to run back to the stables, scream for the guards and desperately hope they were in earshot, or stand my ground. Had it have happened two months before, I would not have even screamed, just ran. But I was so tired of running.

"Who are you?" I asked slowly.

"You don’t know who I am?" he said, his voice somehow both raspy and soft at the same time, almost like the quiet whistle of the wind.

"No. No I do not," I said simply.

"I am Zephyrus, god of the…"

"And I’m Persephone. Goodnight." I said, turning and beginning to walk away.

"You dare turn your back on me!" he screamed, the sound of a gale shrieking from his mouth. "You are a foolish mortal after all."

I didn’t turn around, but I didn’t dare to walk away either.

"It seems Apollo got to you before I could. He always was taking what should have been mine, that insolent Olympian."

"I am my own person." I said slowly, failing to hide the anger in my voice.

"You are nothing. Simply a pretty little mortal that will rot away to dust before long. Turn around," he said, having the pure nerve to sound absent-minded.

I did not. Zephyrus walked up to me and twisted me round forcibly, staring into my averted eyes. I would not look at him. I could not be saved, not again.

"I do not wish to speak with you," I said slowly and simply, disentangling myself. "If you wish to speak to my father, do so in the morning. Goodnight."

"What right have you to dismiss a god?"

"I have every right. If he even hears about this, I’m sure Apollo will…"

"Apollo will what? Take out his vengeance? He doesn’t even know I’m here, nor do I believe you will tell him. I’ve taken several measures to ensure he’s far, far, far away. You, Hyacinthus, are not going anywhere."

Only then did terror slowly begin to sink into me. I couldn’t move, despite my muscle’s desperate insistence to run, to flee, to do something other than just freeze. He walked towards me, and placed his hands around my face, and tried to kiss me. I did the only thing I could think of, and pushed him away with all the strength I could conceivably muster, somehow throwing him to the floor. There was a distinct thud as he hit the ground. I smiled. He snarled. "You will regret doing that."

I picked up a stick from the ground beside me. "Not as much as you will."

He attacked. I knew what the stakes were, what could happen if I lost. I remembered everything Apollo had taught me over the months and miraculously managed to blocked each hit as it came, carefully ducking and weaving past each of his blows. He attacked with the speed of the wind, and I deflected with all the willpower had, my meagre stick becoming a sword even in my barely trained hands through pure, sheer will. He swung his sword towards me, and I brought my stick right up to meet it. I then promptly kicked him in the stomach.

"You’re an insolent little thing," he said, snarling.

"Why, thank you. You know, I’ve been called much worse, all things considered,” I said, mock-bowing and brandishing my stick at him again. He got up and snarled, his eyes filled with rage, and ran at me, slicing towards my head. I blocked his sword with my stick again. But my meagre months of training were certainly no match for an immortal, and I slowly began to tire quicker that I’d thought I would, each blow becoming harder and harder to deflect, and the panic and determination to block them, to fight back, slowly began replacing itself with dread. I’d taken a punch to the gut, but was otherwise, rather miraculously, unharmed. I was fighting a god, I realised. And, somehow, not losing. But, then again, I wasn’t exactly winning either. He seemed to be thinking exactly the same thing, that we were in some sort of twisted stalemate scenario, as he threw his sword aside and ran at me, clearly believing brute force might be the answer instead of mock swordsmanship with a makeshift stick. I ran out of the way of his lunge, dropping the stick in my hastiness to avoid being tackled. Of all the times I could have dropped it, it had to be when I was in the most imminent mortal peril. I’d say I was surprised, but, well, I wasn’t. I cursed and, in a blind panic, ran for his other sword, the one he’d hastily abandoned on the ground in his questionable rage-filled decision to charge. I managed, somehow, in a matter of seconds, to both grab the sword, twirl it round with a level of expertise I never really knew I had in me, and miraculously point it straight back at him. He drew the second sword sheathed on his back in response. He threw more blows down on me, but I now had a sword to block them, at least. Admittedly, I didn’t particularly have any expertise around how to actually use it, but I’d watched Leanira and Argalus often enough to get the general gist of it and, anyway, it was certainly better than a somehow miraculously intact long-lost stick. I fought back with every ounce of strength I had, but I began to tire again, quicker than I had before. Eventually, despite my desperate will to keep blocking his weapon, my sword clattered to the ground with a clatter, falling far out of my reach, my hope along with it, and he was on me again.

I finally entered the palace much later that night to Leanira sat in my room, still awake and waiting for me.

"Are you…" she began.

"I’m fine. Everything’s great. Can you please leave!" I shouted.

She looked shocked. I had never once raised my voice to either of my sisters —we were always united in everything. Without saying a word, she turned around and quickly left. The shell of happiness I had felt earlier was readily shattering into pieces.

"Hyacinthus?" Polyboea said after some time from behind my door.

"Polyboea, please, not now." I said, my voice breaking, willing her to leave me in peace with my silent tears.

She promptly kicked open the door and walked in, eyeing my tear stained face with shock, and then pure hell-bent rage.

"What did he do?" she said, in barely more than an enraged whisper.

"He did nothing. This… this was nothing to do with him. Truly. Polyboea, please. Just leave me alone."

"Well when you look like that I’m not going to. What happened?"

"It.. it was…" I trailed off, the tears I’d attempted to hold back swiftly falling again. Polyboea hugged me, clearly resigning to comfort first, and excessive revenge later.

I heard muttering outside on my balcony, and my head quickly filled with an overriding panic again. Polyboea pulled out a dagger from a pocket in her dress, and pointed it towards the door. We listened in.

"Thank Selene for me, sister," I heard faintly from outside, and I relaxed, overwhelmed with relief. I’d know his voice anywhere. Apollo walked into the room, his face turning pale with rage as soon as he saw me."Who was it," he said, walking into the room at a much quicker speed than I was accustomed to seeing. Usually he was graceful, but now he walked more like I imagined Hera would, with a with vengeance in his eyes that I had never seen before.

I tried to speak again, but the words got caught in my throat. I swallowed and spoke again. "Zephyrus."

Apollo’s eyes narrowed with rage. "That bastard. I will end him."

"He’s a god. I don’t really think you can," I muttered, laughing weakly.

"Watch me," he said. "I’m so, so sorry. If I’d have known…"

"You didn’t know. We’ve already had this conversation about you not blaming yourself for things out of your control. It wasn’t your fault. It never is." I got up from my bed and hugged him, shuddering at the relief it finally gave me. I kissed him on the forehead and pulled him towards me again. "Promise me you’ll make him pay."

"Oh, you can be sure of that." He squeezed my hand and turned to leave. Just before he walked through the door, he turned to Polyboea. "If you need anything, shout for Artemis. I can assure you, if he dares to come back, she won’t miss." I sighed, finally willing myself to try and relax, and failing miserably.

"Wait, where are you going?" I asked, puzzled.

"Olympus," he said, grimly, stepping out the door and disappearing.

"I… I misjudged him. Completely," Polyboea conceded. "He truly cares for you."

"You really think so?" I asked questioningly.

"You don’t?"

I sighed. "Sometimes I feel he cares too much. He feels responsible for everything that happens, even when most of it is completely out of his control." And mostly, not even remotely to do with him.

"You sound like an overbearing parent," she said bluntly, a hint of a smile on her face.

"I’m so glad to know you think that," I said, slowly beginning to laugh and, eventually, after a few hours, fall into the dreamless mercy of sleep.

I awoke the next morning to find Polyboea gone, and the room dimly lit by the morning sun shining brightly through the cracks in my windows. I walked out onto my balcony, a searing headache slowly beginning to form. I made my way onto my balcony, narrowly avoiding a head on collision with a hanging houseplant in my weariness, and sat down and watched two birds - jays that often sat in my wisteria, sing to each other against the backdrop of the morning light. I sighed, but couldn’t bring myself to pick up paper or a pencil. I couldn’t bring myself to do anything. But, then again, procrastination could probably have classified as one of my hobbies. Sometime, much later judging on how the shadows had moved, I heard the soft slide of my outside door opening, the only sign Apollo had entered. Still, despite the fact he could easily have appeared in the room, the fact that he purposely used the door to let me know he was there made me smile a little.

"I didn’t realise all-powerful Olympians were constricted to using balcony doors," I asked him, turning towards the door and grinning.

"Well I… well, wouldn’t want to constrict myself," he said, laughing, although I could see the deep concern already shining through in his eyes.

"I’m fine. Honestly. You can stop worrying," I said, gesturing for him to sit with me on my bed.

He walked over, almost cautiously, and sat down.

"Are you sure?" he said quietly.

"I…" I trailed off. I decided I might as well be honest with him. "I don’t know. I… I really don’t know," I said, taking a deep breath to attempt to stop the tears that were traitorously threatening. "I never should’ve…"

"Hey," he interrupted me. "Look at me." I did. "It’s fine not to know. I’m not going to be the one who goes on a lengthy anecdote about my long, extensive life and what I’ve been through, but… I’ve been there." The tears I’d tried so hard to prevent began to fall silently. "Feeling sad, angry, betrayed," he said bitterly, "it’s hard to get over. You might never fully overcome it. But if you let yourself feel that you’re responsible, even for one second, then you let him win. And judging by the fact that he’s going to be severely punished, courtesy of my dearest father, you really shouldn’t."

"You went to Zeus?" I asked, incredulous.

"Well, he kind of owes me for killing Gaia’s son years ago. Honestly, it wasn’t my fault I was born, but he certainly had no qualms about sentencing me to nine years of pain for stopping some giant, primordial snake from killing my mother. Let’s just say he didn’t forget."

"I swear, you don’t tell me anything," I muttered.

"I selectively omit certain boring details, and, to be fair, you don’t ask," he countered, looking affronted.

"Tell me, how is killing a primordial snake boring!"

"Well, it wasn’t the most interesting thing, in all honesty…"

"You know what, stop. You’re just making me seriously question my life goals,” I protested, hitting him with a cushion. "Be quiet!"

He smirked. "Oh, get that look off your face," I said, a smile beginning to form on my face. "It’s not like I’ve exactly been gifted the opportunity to defeat any Titans yet."

"I’m half titan!" he retorted, "that’s very insensitive."

"You know what, I’ll count that," I decided, grinning.

"Suit yourself," he said, laughing. "You know, by the time I was four days old, I’d already defeated several feared…"

"I meant it!" I said, pushing him down and silencing him with a cushion. He could’ve easily pulled it out of my grasp, but he didn’t. I laughed.

"Alright!" he said, his voice muffled under the cushion. "I get your point. I’m sorry!" I reluctantly removed the cushion, but elbowed him on his way up.

"Alright, I’ll admit I deserved that. But, you know, you can now boast that you managed to successfully fail to suffocate an immortal god. I’ll see if I can get you a medal or commemorative badge or something."

"Oh, shut up." I said, still smiling.

"No, I genuinely do think that a badge should be made," he protested.

"Don’t make me rethink my decision," I said, eyeing the cushion just out of my reach on the other side of the bed. He did too. We locked eyes for a second and then both raced to try and grab it. He reached it first. I pretended to glare at him angrily.

"Don’t look at me like that! I’m the one acting solely in self defence here!" he said, "Right now I’ve been unprovokedly assaulted with a… blunt-ish weapon," he said, assessing the cushion in his hand and tossing it from one hand to the other with a frown.

"But you deserve it," I said sweetly, beginning to smile as I realised that for the first time, I’d managed to completely forget about the day before.

"Come here," he said, and I snuggled up to him.

"I do know what you’re doing, and thank you," I said, kissing the top of his head.

"No idea what you’re talking about…"

"Of course," I said, rolling my eyes.

"Are you attempting to use sarcasm?" he said, laughing softly, "That was quite melodramatic."

"Let’s just say I never really considered an acting career, because, well…I’m a prince of Sparta," I said dryly.

"Well, your siblings do seem to have random talents. It’s never too late to…"

"Stand on a stage and act out a comedy that starts with murder and ends with suicide?"

He frowned. "That’s actually concerningly accurate."

"Besides," I continued, "I’m pretty sure you’re the voice of reason and logic in some of the latest ones, so they couldn’t possibly be more inaccurate."

"When have I ever been illogical?" he muttered.

"Or worse, if they cast me as you. I mean, could there be anything worse than having to…"

"I still have the cushion," he said threateningly.

"…deal with the questionable humour, the narcissism…."

"Narcissus was misunderstood. And a daffodil. Which, since I last checked, you seem to have drawn and plastered nearly everywhere like it’s some sort of icon." He gestured to all of the daffodil sketches on my walls that ranged from the decent to the extremely questionable.

"It’s called artistic development," I said defensively, although, to be fair, he did have a point. 

"Well, it's a bit... hectic."

"I'm sorry, have you seen the levels of disorganisation that I'm capable of?" I said disbelievingly, "It's a miracle they even got to the stage where they got stuck on the wall."

"I need no convincing. You know, I was with you last week when you managed to lose that giant panel painting of... well it was actually daffodils too," he said, stifling his laughter.

I rolled my eyes again. "Someone moved it behind that hideous tapestry my mother gave me last year."

"And who would that be?"

I tried to think of who would have bothered to move a giant wooden panel, but the amount of people who actually had access to my rooms was pretty much limited to my sisters and Apollo. After Argalus had, well, attempted to murder me on the way up the stairs, I no longer trusted any of the palace guards or maids, and those I would allow in were few and far between, and mostly limited to Eurydice - me and Polyboea's maid, and Acrisius and Polynices, who had been my personal guards ever since I could remember and tended to just exist and not really interfere in anything. I hadn't actually seen them since just after Thamyris had left, and I was beginning to wonder whether my mother had dismissed them or given them leave in order to make me an easier target. Still though, none of them would have bothered to move a giant piece of wooden panelling. Except...

"You did it, didn't you?" I said disbelievingly.

"Perhaps..." he said, a smirk already forming on his face. 

"I actually can't believe your sense of humour."

"The look of utter disbelief on your face," he said, letting out the least godly laugh I'd ever heard. 

"I will suffocate you in your sleep," I threatened, but my traitorous face had already settled into a smile.

"Good luck with that," he replied. I laughed softly and, snuggling down next to him, slowly fell asleep, Zephyrus the last thing on my mind. He did always have a way of taking the worst things off my mind when I needed it the most.

I woke up early the next morning to sparrows singing sweetly outside on my balcony. I turned and Apollo was still half-asleep, lying on his side towards my window, and was definitely taking up more than half of my bed. I pushed him over and he groaned.

"You do realise that it is still half five in the morning?" he protested sleepily, pulling a pillow over his face. 

"It's not my fault I'm productive," I said sweetly, kissing him lightly on the head, "I'll be back in a minute."

I then, begrudgingly, got out of bed and went to go and get early breakfast from the palace kitchens. While I couldn't escape my mother and father at lunch and dinner, breakfast was a much more subdued affair and, depending on what I had planned to do, I would generally just skip it entirely and get out of the palace before my parents even woke up. The palace kitchens were quite far from my quarters, and so I made my way down my staircase and through the cool marble and gold plated corridors, passing lines of vases that came from important foreign delegates I was supposed to have remembered the names of, but really couldn't tell you, and corridors lined with the occasional piece of my mother's determinedly expansive greenery until I reached the large marble archway that marked the end of the palace and the beginning of the warm, crowded and, unlike the sleepy palace, utterly awake servants quarters. If my mother had ever caught me there, she'd probably have exiled me on the spot, but I found the bustling frenzy of the kitchens to be much more relaxing than my own cold, drafty rooms and Anticlea, the palace cook, was possibly the nicest person I'd ever met. She was older than most of the palace staff, but kind, unlike so many of them, and made the most amazing food ever to grace Sparta with it's presence. I walked up to her as she rolled out some bread dough on a table that was probably likely to later make an appearance on our dinner table. 

"Hyacinthus!" she smiled, beckoning me over with flour-covered hands. As I got closer, I saw the tray that sat to the right of her and restrained my squeal.

"You made breakfast cookies?" I asked, now almost certain that I wanted to hug her.

"Well, Eurydice told me that you came back late last night and had a friend in your rooms this morning, so I thought, with the combination of the two, that breakfast cookies were not only needed, but practically necessary," Anticlea said, pushing the tray towards me. "Go on, they'll get cold in a minute, and I've got other stuff to do than, as pleasing as it is, talk with you."

"Thank you so much," I said gratefully, grabbing some juice from the jug behind her and precariously balancing it and the cookie tray between my hands. I made the slow, mildly stressful journey up my steep staircase, trying desperately not to drop anything, and finally made it back to my room. Apollo was now fully awake, but still sat on the bed. 

"I've brought dinner," I said sarcastically, sitting down next to him and pouring the orange juice I'd brought up into two cups. He winced. 

"I'd ask the time... but, well," he said, laughing quietly.

"Yeah, yeah, I think we've established. Here," I said, giving him the cup.

"Thank you," he said, his eyes trailing to the tray I'd set down on the sheets. "What are those?"

"Cookies. Anticlea, the palace cook, may be the best baker between here and Knossos."

"That good?" he grinned. 

"That good," I said, passing him the tray. He picked one of them up and tasted part of it, before his eyes widened and he reached for a second. 

"This is better than ambrosia," he said laughing, but deadly serious. "I may need to request the services of your palace cook more often."

"I think she would bake you enough cookies to fill the entire palace if she ever realised you just genuinely said that," I said, kissing him gently, a smile beaming on my face. He smiled right back.

"You know what would be really fun?" he said, grinning, while sidewardly glancing at the remaining cookie on the tray beside me.

"What?" I asked jokingly, "if you're trying to convince me to let you have that, you're delusional."

"This has nothing to do with the cookie, although, since we're on the topic, I would appreciate..."

"Nope. That's just not happening. You've already had three!"

"Fine," he sighed. "I guess I'll go and play discus by myself then. Have fun with your biscuit." I sighed half-heartedly.

"Here you go." His eyes practically lit up. 

"Thank you. You know, if we can get to Eurotas quick enough, then you might still be able to draw before lunch." I always loved how he always considered small little things like that. I smiled and grabbed his hand, and we ran down, out of my room and down the staircase towards the stables, laughing. However, as soon as we got out of the palace and entered the marble archway that marked the entrance to stables, we were faced with, of all things, my brother carrying a saddle. Argalus saw our clasped hands and made a look of what I could only describe as utter disbelief mixed with anger, although, to believe that he was capable of feeling two emotions at the same time was shocking enough. I quickly dropped Apollo’s hand and as I turned to look at him, saw that his entire demeanour had changed. His face had hardened and faded away into the mask that most people saw him to be; cold, calculating and, most importantly, immortal. Argalus looked like he’d been slapped in the face. I tried to stifle how funny it looked, the brother I’d been scared of for most of my childhood looking up in pure terror at the person I loved the most. My brother opened his mouth as if he was going to speak, before abruptly shutting it, contemplating for a moment, and then promptly running in the other direction. I looked up at Apollo and we both burst into laughter.

"Did he just try to…" I said, through crippling laughter.

"I… I think so?" Apollo said, trying to restrain his own to the extent that he could actually speak. "You really have a unique family."

"I think you’ve mentioned," I said, reaching for some reins that were hanging next to Phobos’ saddle. "Now, will the scary immortal god of the sun settle for a normal horse, or magically conjure up something far beyond my poor brother’s mortal comprehension?"

"A normal horse is fine," Apollo muttered, "and when have I ever magically conjured anything?" 

"Normally," I said, ignoring him, "I’d be forced to give you the best horse in the stable. But, since Phobos in mine, you can have Ismene." I gestured to the fully-tacked grumpy chestnut Thessalian mare in the stable to my left, who gave Apollo a disgruntled look and promptly turned away to continue eating hay.

"Lovely," he said, walking towards Ismene’s stable and unbolting it, leading the clearly disgruntled mare out into the courtyard. I quickly attached Phobos’ bridle and, not bothering with a saddle pad, climbed up the mounting steps set up next to his stable and jumped on. Gathering up the reins, I walked Phobos outside to where Ismene was also standing, grinning.

"I bet I can beat you there," I said confidently, leaning down to adjust Phobos’ throat-lash slightly. 

"I cannot seriously believe you actually just said that," Apollo said, laughing.

We rode over the hills and valleys that led to Eurotas, and then dismounted, tying up our horses and leaving them to graze before Apollo produced a glowing discus from his pocket. 

"Do you want to play?" he asked, grinning.

"Play? I’m going to absolutely destroy you — I’m a natural."

"Last time you tried to play you dented a tree. I don’t even know how that’s possible to do."

"No idea what you’re talking about," I said. "Come on, give me it. I’ve obviously got to prove your insufferable ego wrong." I grabbed a discus from his hand with a grin and flung it an impressive distance of about a couple of meters, managing somehow to trip myself up in some part of the throwing process and fall ungraciously to the floor in an audible thud. Apollo looked at me seriously for a second before we both burst into inconsolable laughter.

"You are never going to live that down," he said, practically crying.

"Well, I’d like to see you try and do it," I muttered, getting up and brushing the dust off my tunic. 

"You’re going to regret saying that," he said, still laughing. As he picked up the discus, the sky begin to get darker. I frowned, and silently hoped that it would rain or something and somehow that would lessen the absolute thrashing I was about to endure when he managed to throw it a few miles or so to my measly meter. But as the discus left his hand, the sky darkened even more, if such a thing were possible. Apollo’s laughter quickly turned into shock as we saw a growing human-like shadow walk towards us in the distance. He looked straight at me with pure terror in his eyes. The wind picked up.

"Zephyrus," he whispered to me. Then he screamed. "Hyacinthus! You need to…"

Something suddenly hit my head, hard. My vision blurred, and, before I could even register what happened, everything went dark. I lightly felt a distinct thud as I hit the ground. I tried to move, but I couldn’t. I faintly heard prolonged crying, begging, and then, after some time, when my body finally went numb, I heard a death-defying scream of "Hades!" that shook the earth itself. The air went cold.

"Nephew, what business is this?" the ruler of the Underworld said, seemingly appearing from a crack in the earth itself in all his deathly beauty.

"Kill me,” Apollo said simply, his beautiful voice reduced to a hoarse whisper. "And Zephyrus too, if you can."

"You know I can not," he said, placing his hand on Apollo’s shoulder. "It is not the way of this world. Immortals cannot die, as you well know."

Apollo began crying again, horrible earth-wracking sobs that broke something in me each time I heard them. Hades, to my surprise, hugged him. "Call an apotheosis," he said quietly into Apollo’s ear. 

Apollo’s face suddenly looked up, filled with hope. 

"You think my father would allow it?" 

"You’ve been faithful to him, through the war with the Titans, and with Hera. It’s the least he owes you. I’ll convince the deities of the underworld to vote in your favour. Poseidon will oppose, naturally, but if you have Zeus’ favour, then…"

"I could bring him back," Apollo said, purpose suddenly in voice.

"Yes," Hades said, smiling weakly. "I must go now. My domain isn’t the earth, but what lies below it. I’m not welcome here. I shall see you soon, I think."

Apollo disappeared and I was left, cold and alone, on the barren banks of the Eurotas. After some time, three strange women appeared and covered me with a thick black cloth. I felt a strange sensation, like I was moving, and then registered that I was being laid on cold stone, although I felt it somewhat distantly and numbly. 

"Thank you, Lachesis," said a booming voice that came from my left and radiated throughout the room. I suddenly realised who the voice belonged to, and was enveloped by fear.

"Now, I’m sure you are all wondering why I have convened this meeting. As you know, an apotheosis has to be voted on by majority, and my son wishes to bring a new human into our ranks." Loud murmuring began throughout the room but quickly faded as Zeus coughed purposefully. 

"Now, shall we see what testimony he provide for us to consider an apotheosis?" 

I could hear the shuffling of feet as someone stood up. I knew the voice well.

"Father," Apollo said, "I know my request is an unusual one, but it’s not an unreasonable one, as you say. After all, when Dionysus graced these halls years ago, did we not allow the eternal life of Ariadne? Was he himself not chosen to become a god by this council? When Eros stood here beseeching us, did we not deify Psyche? Were Sisyphus, Tantalus, Aeolus and Aeacus not all chosen by various gods in this room to join our ranks? I have never asked such a request of you all, and never intended to until I was given no choice. I do not do this so that he might rival anyone, or to further my own power. I am asking you all to save the one person in these lands who has been unequivocally there for me these last few months, and has been subjected to horrors no mortal should have to face by a member of this own council. He faced a tyrannical queen, multiple assassination attempts, and still managed to fight for what he believed in. Now, I respect that you all have your own agendas to follow, I do too, but if you even have one little infinitesimal shred of guilt at what the actions of one of our own have done to him, then do what is right for once." I heard the slight hitch in his voice. If I could have cried, I would have, but I was still frozen still.

"Well… I still don’t see…," Zeus began.

"With all respect," Hades said, walking into the room with Nemesis, Charon, and the other deities of Hell, "we are also entitled to a vote. I’m surprised you started without me, brother." Zeus was silent.

"Hades! I… didn’t realise you would… grace our presence today." 

"Well, I do hope it isn’t too much for you to make the connection in your old age. I’m here to support my nephew. Aren’t you?" 

If I could have smirked, I would have.

"Of… of course! I stand with my son, as always," he proclaimed loudly to the entire room. "Let us vote." 

The muttering continued as the votes were collected in by a female with loudly clattering armour, who I assumed was Athena. 

After tedious minutes of counting and recounting, which I gathered from the shuffling of the pieces of parchment that would have been marked with either a circle or a cross, Athena spoke.

"We vote in favour of the apotheosis. Fates, call Hekate." A round of applause filled the room and, slowly, I heard the gods dispersing out down the echoey corridors that lined the chamber. I could still hear Hades talking to Apollo.

I lay there for a while before I suddenly felt a cold hand touch my eyes and a honey-like taste in my mouth and they opened again. I was suddenly enveloped in warmth, feeling, and a strange thrum of golden power. My head still hurt, but only faintly. I got up off the marble slab, and looked to where the only two gods left in the room were sat. Only one mattered. He ran over to me, tears streaming down his face. I let out a sob. I hugged him for a long time. Nothing else mattered.

"You… you brought me back," I stuttered, tears falling. "Why would you bothe…"

"Don’t finish that," he said, unsteadily. "Whatever sort of self-depreciation you always feel, just don’t. I’d have sacrificed my place as an Olympian if it meant you could have been brought back."

"You wouldn’t have," I said, still sniffling.

"I would. I’m sorry if you expect me to take the noble route and claim that nothing’s more important than diplomatic power, but I really couldn’t care less about it when it comes you. You’re so much more important than a title, and if anyone says anything different, well, they’re wrong."

I hugged him again.

"Thank you."

"No problem. I’d say anytime, but that’s not exactly how this works…"

We both laughed weakly.

"So, what’s next?" 

"Well, I guess we’ve both got a while to decide…”

 

 

 

 

 

 

Notes:

Thank you for reading <3