Chapter Text
“Hestia, you who tend the holy house of Lord Apollon the Far Shooter at goodly Pytho, come into this house. Come, having one mind with Zeus the All Wise, draw near, and withal bestow grace upon my prayer.” Theano murmured. “O Apollon, I ask for your blessing to be bestowed upon my son. Please, he is just a boy.”
She set the bread onto the altar with shaking hands and bowed over it with shut eyes, murmuring all the while. This had to work. It had to. At just two years old, her beloved son had fallen ill. She’d been praying at his bedside for a week, to his father, to Asklepios, to Hestia; to Plouton, begging him for Perseus to be granted Elysium should he die; to Apollon, every day without fail. Yesterday, she sang. The day before that, she poured out half a pithos of honey. She kept the other half so she might feed it to Perseus, but the boy’s constitution grew weaker by the day, and she could no longer force his lips apart to do so. The physician that had tended to him had told Theano it was the plague, and that it would be nothing short of a miracle if he recovered. They were lucky, she knew. They at least had the means to consult a physician, a comfortable-enough state of living that she could empty out their stores to make offerings to the Gods. It was not enough to lay her sorrows to rest. It was not enough to quell the indignation that rose up in her every time her prayers went unanswered.
Perseus was half-God! Surely, that should have granted him something, even if it was just a stronger constitution. Her boy had killed a snake in his cradle just a year earlier, had had the neighbor’s horses follow him around from the time he was born (that, more than anything, had clued her in as to his father was) and this would be what killed him? She could not bear it. She would not see that become a reality. He would get better, even if she had to upend their entire lives to manage it.
She lifted herself off the ground, intent on sitting back at her son’s bedside. But when she turned, there was a man in the chair she had vacated. Not a man— a God. He had golden hair, honey-colored eyes, and wore a chiton, white. Theano sank to her knees the second she recognized Him, but did not bow her head. Whatever He was going to do to her son, she wanted to witness it.
Apollon paid her no mind. He laid a hand on her son’s forehead, His head tilted in a very mortal-like gesture, then said, “Did you mean it?”
His voice was warm, like when she went outside and tilted her face up to the sun, but it did not bring her any peace at all. “Lord Phoibos?”
“You said you would do anything,” said Apollon. “Did you mean it?”
“Anything.” confirmed Theano, then cast a wary glance at the god. “He… he is only two.”
He sighed, yet another mortal-like gesture. “I do not want your son. ” He said it like the mere thought was an insult. Theano supposed it could have been, but then again… she had heard of Daphne. And Hyakinthos. And the thousands of others that the Gods had taken on as lovers at some point. She was not opposed to it entirely—she herself had been the lover of a God, if only for a brief moment—but Perseus was two .
“Forgive me.” she muttered, though she did not regret anything at all.
Apollon looked at her then. For a brief moment, their eyes met, and Theano felt the breath being knocked out of her. “You dare lie to the God of Truth,” He mused. “Yes, I see now why his father did not want me to answer your prayers.”
“He—”
“You will move to Sounion,” said Apollon, rising from the chair. “You will find a home by the sea, and your son will heal. But he will be powerful like no other hero, and bring you much pain and suffering.”
“He—”
“Or,” he continued, “you stay here in Sparta, and your son will die in five days’ time.”
“Can you not heal him?” she demanded.
“He is a child of the Earth-Shaker.” said Apollon, the only confirmation she would ever get as to her son’s parentage. The Gods were not ones to feel pity, and yet Theano was sure she saw something similar to swirling in Apollon’s honey-colored eyes. He leaned over her boy again and pressed a kiss to his forehead, an oddly caring gesture from an immortal that could have smited them both for her insolence. There was a faintly golden glow around Perseus, and then some of the color returned to his cheeks.
Theano did not throw herself at Apollon’s feet, but she also did not stand. “Thank you, Lord Phoibos.” she said, and did not know if she was imagining the warmth that settled over her. “Thank you.” she repeated, and felt it sincerely, closing her eyes and bowing her head.
The God did not say anything back to her.
And when she opened her eyes again, Apollon was gone.
☀︎⋆.ೃ࿔♆:･
She did not know what the blessing Apollon laid over Perseus did, and she did not wish to take any chances with her son’s life, and so she did as He bid and moved them to Sounion. There was a temple to Poseidon at the cape, and she glared at it every day even as her son’s condition got better. The audacity of Him, to prevent her son from getting godly intervention until it suited Him! It was, perhaps, not the smartest choice she could make, to harbor such resentment towards a God, and yet she did.
She did and she made it known in the only way she could: she did not pray to Him. She did not set out offerings like she had from the time she learned of Perseus’ conception. She did not pour out wine to Him, did not collect sea-shells or pebbles even now that they were only about a stadion away from the Aegean. Theano simply pretended that the Earth-Shaker did not exist.
But she prayed extensively to the Goddesses Hera and Demeter, so they might protect her from their brother’s wrath. She was being insolent, irreverent. And yet Poseidon did not strike her down, nor did He give any signs of noticing her impiety at all.
The first sign of her son having inherited any power from his father came when he was three. He toppled into the sea like a little stone and, in the seconds it took her to react, was shoved right back out by the tide. Bone-dry. A curious thing. A terrifying thing.
Theano had known by then that the boy was a spawn of the Earth-Shaker, and yet the proof of it was something she had repudiated for years. As long as she was able to shut her eyes and ignore it, then Apollon’s ill-timed prophecy had no reason to come true. Her son, her precious boy, was not meant for the life of a hero. He was too softhearted for it, too kind, too willing to see the good in even the worst of people. How was a child meant to grow into a slayer of monsters? How was her boy meant to do the bidding of a God that had never sought him out to so much as claim him?
She held her son tighter, that night, in their little house in Sounion, and prayed to whichever God would listen that it would not come to pass. A hero’s fate was a terrible, terrible thing, and Theano would not see her boy go down that path. She would not be able to bear it if he died; a son should never see Haides before his mother.
So it was then that Theano found herself praying to Lord Phoibos once more, and cast the rest of the honey in the pithos out onto the soil behind their home. The moon was out—full—but she did not let that slow her down. She just made sure to cast a prayer to Artemis beforehand, as well. And then she sat and waited.
And waited.
And waited.
The protector of young boys never made himself known.
☀︎⋆.ೃ࿔♆:･
Her son killed six more snakes by the time he was five. The first one, when he was a mere babe, had been crushed in his tiny fists. These were different. They sagged like their muscles could not bear the weight of them, but when she picked them up to toss them out they weighed nothing at all. She asked him several times, keeping her voice light and curious despite the fear that tempted to overtake her. Surely, it could not be. Perseus was a child !
But when she carved the sixth snake open, it had no blood. By the Gods, he was dangerous. Not on purpose, not by choice, but that changed nothing. If Perseus, age five, could rid a snake of all its blood, then there was no guarantee he could not do it to a person. It would be terrible of her to keep him with her when the neighbors had little children of their own. They played together, some days. Little Ampelios could be rough at times. He and Perseus had fought before. What would happen if her son felt as threatened by Ampelios as he did by the snakes? Would he cause him to bleed out, too?
She would have to sit with him, explain things that even she did not properly understand to him, and hope that she succeeded. She could not let him kill that boy, or anybody at all, unless they were trying to kill him first. She would not let her son be shunned as a monster. She would not let them take him from her.
It was easier said than done. Theano spent many hours praying, and even more hours sitting by her son’s bedside while he slept; he always looked so peaceful in his sleep, and it allowed her to imagine a universe where Perseus was simply Perseus, her boringly normal son, and not Perseus, her son by Poseidon. But, Gods, she loved him as he was. She always had, always would. He was her son. And perhaps it was because she loved him that she wanted better for him. But then, Apollon had said so; Perseus was always destined to bring her pain. She just had not expected the extent of it.
How could she keep him, knowing it would lead to his death? How could she keep him, knowing the town would one day label him a monster and shun him? But where would he go, if he could not stay with her?
The answer came shortly after he turned seven. The very same God that had demanded they move to Sounion was back at her home, sitting on a rickety chair at the table. Her beloved son sat on the other chair, organizing his collection of seashells. “Lord Phoibos.” Theano said, bowing her head. “Perseus, did you greet our visitor?”
Perseus looked up, pushing his lengthy hair out of his eyes. “No, Mana.” he said, and did nothing to correct his oversight. Manners were… not her son’s strong suit. They were working on it, because an impertinent child would not make it very long in this world, but he made it difficult.
Apollon did not smite him, though. He smiled instead, an amused quirk of his lips, and said, “Young Perseus, I have an offer for you.”
“What is it?”
“A camp where you can learn about your father.”
Perseus tilted his head. Theano died a little bit inside. “But… I only have Mana.”
“Indeed.” Apollon agreed, “But you had a Pater once, too. All children do, even if he is not present.”
“Why not?”
“Well, because your father is a God. Like me.”
Childish curiosity gave way to suspicion. “A God? You ?”
“Perseus!” Theano chided, reaching out to take him as far away from Apollon as she could. Gods, this child would be the death of them.
But the Patron God of Boys laughed. “I can show you, if you like.”
“I do like.”
“Ah, but you see, it cannot be here. No, it would terrify your mother, and you would not want that, would you? It must be at camp.”
He gave her a pointed look, and Perseus turned in his seat to look at her as well. “Mana, can I go?”
And— Theano knew it would be safest for him, knew that the Gods did not personally collect heroes to take them to Camp. Perseus was dangerous, and Apollon knew it. But Gods, she did not want to part with her son so early. He was only seven! He could barely read! But it was a mother’s duty to make the difficult decisions, so she agreed.
Her son was taken away the next day, and Theano would not see him again for seven years.