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Most drivers on the grid were descended from the gods in some way. It hadn’t always been that way, but nowadays the branding opportunities were just too good. When choosing between two promising rookies, wouldn't you want to pick up the one who shone like the sun, or grew flowers from their helmet? Lando couldn’t complain. He benefitted from it after all. His family had been committed to Apollo for generations, his mother a disciple and his dad a distant descendant. If he tried hard enough, he really could make the sun shine a little harder.
He still felt for the kids that got dropped for being too boring, too mortal. Swept away by brighter prospects, who could bring in godly support, alongside the prerequisite millions of pounds. It had happened to Max F. It was hard to pretend he didn’t see the longing looks, the jealous twist of the lip when Lando was asked to glow a little at a sponsor party. They both ignored it now, after all the dust had settled. No use licking old wounds when you might risk opening them again.
When Lando joined F1, the only mortal on the grid had been Lance. And he was hardly a relatable figure. Lando could understand why he had chosen to withdraw from the media year on year. In a grid filled with divine tensions clashing together, it was easy to get lost. To seem a lot more dull than you were.
Max was a son of Ares. Lewis’s mother had been Nike; Nico’s dad was Janus and Seb’s father was Hermes. The pattern was easy to work out. The gods made victors, and the mortals watched on. Sometimes Lando felt like he might as well just give up. No matter how good he was, he wasn’t born to be a victor. Destined to glow only because of his proximity to greatness. The halo effect, someone had called it once.
-
Oscar was meant to be different. His parents were divorced, but aside from that they were completely ordinary. Lando had met both of them, back in his Alpine days. Nice people. Perfectly normal and nice people. When he joined the grid, it caused quite a stir, not just because of his twitter fame. People spoke like he was the only mortal on the grid, ignoring Lance entirely. Lando found it hard to feel too sorry about that.
He was the people’s princess, a breath of fresh air. His unphased attitude only stoked those flames, leaving online pundits raving about his champions mentality. After Max and Lewis had shown the world exactly what divine blood could do on the track, people were ready for a more level headed approach. Lando was happy, quietly smug that he was still firmly beating the merit-based new hire. They made a good pairing, a solid 1-2. Even Hungary failed to shake their synergy. If anything, Lando was a little impressed how well Oscar took being the second driver, even has he repeatedly told the press that there was no order within the team.
Then Oscar’s second win, in Azerbaijan, had to go and fuck everything up.
In retrospect, it made sense that things had to go this way. Hungary was hardly a proper win, no cause for celebration. But Azerbaijan was good, clean racing. Lando had been out of the picture, starting from 15th and working his way up to 4th. A good effort, but still. Nothing close to a win. When Oscar jumped out of the car, racing to celebrate with the team, the symbol had appeared over his head.
A shining gold trident.
Everybody knew what that meant.
Things got a little fevered after that. The podium was weird. If anything, Oscar was the only one being normal about it, making jokes and trying to swat the glowing symbol from over his head. It was everyone else that acted strange, looking at him with jaws slightly slack and stumbling through their post-race obligations. There hadn’t been a son of the big three revealed in ages, no one remembered how you were meant to treat them. Especially after such a dominant win.
When they got back to McLaren hospitality to do their post-race debrief, Lando mainly remembered Oscar seeming distinctly uncomfortable. Zak and Andrea kept looking at him deferentially, while Oscar seemed like he wanted nothing more than for their gazes to slide right off of him. Even then, the symbol refused to disappear, bathing the conference room in a pulsing golden light.
Far outshining the feeble rays Lando had been able to produce.
-
They drove home together, after the race. McLaren liked them to hang out alone, booking them rooms adjacent to each other and encouraging them to hang out as much as possible. Lando always drove, grasping onto his role as the older, more experienced team member.
The first few moments were spent in silence, Oscar slumped back into his seat, eyes closed as if to block out the glare of the trident above his head. Finally, after Lando had begun to consider turning the radio on, he sat up and blurted out, “Well, that’s one way to find out your Mum cheated.” His tone was stilted.
“Gods, I didn’t even think about that. Sorry, mate.”
Oscar barked out a little laugh. “Yeah, well. Wonder how long it’ll take the press to pick up on that particular line of reasoning.”
Lando couldn't help but chuckle back, slowly easing the car into a higher gear as they reached the motorway. “I hardly think they’ll be focusing on that, Osc. You’re a son of Poseidon!” He paused for a second before adding, slyly, “Apollo above, they’re gonna make you do so much media work now.”
Oscar groaned, sliding back down into his seat and pulling his team cap down over his face. “Nooooooooooo, don’t.”
“Nah, mate, think about it! I’m already seeing an ocean themed merch collection, maybe some photoshoots with a trident and some budgie-smugglers on. They might let you go surfing!”
They lapsed back into silence as Oscar responded by wriggling further down into his seat and groaning softly.
Lando could feel his throat going a little dry as the air conditioner pumped desert air into his face. He licked his lips a little. “Did you seriously not know before today, mate? I thought you lived by the beach back in Aus?”
Oscar went quiet. Lando wondered if he crossed a line. Then, he softly responded, “No, not at all. I have no idea what my family are gonna say about all this.”
“Have they called you yet?”
Oscar grimaced, “I haven’t checked.”
They spent the rest of the drive in silence, as Lando parked the car by the hotel and they walked up to their adjacent rooms wordlessly. If the post-Hungary celebrations had been subdued, that post-race night had been reverential.
So yeah, Lando could sympathise. He knew that Oscar hadn’t wanted this. He knew that the fact that Baku was the race that finally put them in the lead for the championship standings meant nothing. Oscar had already proven himself as a driver without the need for the backing of some big-name god. But as he knelt down that night to pray before his portable shrine, begging for just a little bit more luck for next week's race, he knew that things were different now.
Lando did win the next race. And he won again in Abu Dhabi, cementing himself above Oscar in the champions standings. But that hardly mattered now. The whispers had already begun, promising that Oscar was the next best thing, that 2025 would be his season.
The team was turning towards him, subconsciously, like flowers towards the sun. Lando could never compete with someone so predestined, so effortlessly bright. He was only human, after all.