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perseabeth · 9 months ago

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Milo’s Lyre

this is a one shot written about @anotheroceanid amazing fic titled When the Horizon Bloom, read it on AO3 you will enjoy it very much and get your heart broken in the most beautiful way possible. I published another one shot about this fic titled “What If” you can read it too- I got this idea last night during my angst hour with @anotheroceanid, and after few tears, and of course her inspiration, I decided that you should cry with us too! - i do not own the idea of the fic and i certainly do not own any character, all belong to the great author of the fic that made me cry more than my college curriculum enjoy ✨

Apollo no longer remembers how the dream began. He isn't even certain how he can dream at all. He once believed that gods were immune to such mortal experiences, but ever since his love vanished, dreams and nightmares have haunted him in every stolen moment he tries to delve into slumber. This dream, however, was different.

It was serene. Apollo sat upon a rock, a glittering sea stretching before him. His heart ached with a profound sorrow. The sea... How could he ever gaze upon the ocean again without seeing her eyes? How could he ever look at the waves and not remember the way they mirrored her gaze?

Sometimes, he would embark on frantic quests, searching for the sea that truly captured the color of her eyes, just to glimpse those sea-green eyes once more.

How long had it been? Seven years? For gods, time was an irrelevant concept, a fleeting notion in the face of immortality. Normally, seven years would pass as quickly as seven minutes. But these seven years... These years had stretched into millennia. He never knew time could crawl so slowly, could torture so mercilessly.

Apollo cradled his golden lyre, the instrument that once brought her such joy. He remembered the first time she heard him play, the radiant sparkle in her eyes, the breathtaking smile that stole his soul forever. His fingers, delicate and reverent, brushed against the strings, coaxing a serene melody from the lyre. Each note floated through the air like a whisper, and even the restless sea stilled its waves, entranced by the music.

Minutes passed in this harmonious reverie until Apollo felt a presence behind him—a presence so calm, so peaceful, carrying the unmistakable scent of the sea. Hope surged through him. Could it be his love? Could he finally see her in his dreams?

He turned his head slowly, afraid to wake from this fragile hope. As he did, his eyes met sea-green ones, and his heart melted, his soul awakening. Percy’s eyes… But something wasn’t right. The figure before him was a young boy, no older than six or seven, with golden curls that framed his face in a halo of sunlight. The boy was breathtakingly beautiful. Apollo's heart clenched as he took in the boy’s features. They reminded him of himself in one moment, and then of his love in the next, as if he were a perfect blend of them both.

Apollo's heart clenched. This boy… he looked like the son he might have had if Percy were still here. Shock rendered him speechless as he gazed into those familiar eyes. It was as if the child embodied the essence of their love, a living testament to a future that had been cruelly taken from them.

The boy stood cautiously, studying Apollo with a curious intensity. His golden locks tumbled over his forehead, and he wore a simple chiton that only enhanced his cherubic innocence.

“Can I see this, sir?” The boy’s voice was soft and melodic, yet firm and confident—far beyond his six years. His eyes darted to the lyre in Apollo’s hands, and Apollo finally realized what the boy wanted.

But Apollo was too shocked to speak. The boy stood silently, waiting for Apollo's response. When he finally understood, he nodded. “Of course.”

The boy took careful steps toward Apollo. As he stood before him, the sun god wondered who had raised this child. Most children snatched what they desired without hesitation; they didn’t wait politely for anything. Yet, this boy's sea-green eyes looked up at him with pure innocence and curiosity. He bent slightly to study the lyre, his hands kept respectfully to himself as if he were afraid to touch it.

Apollo realized the boy wouldn't touch the lyre unless he gave it to him.

“Here,” he extended the lyre to the boy. “You can hold it.

The boy hesitated, shaking his head. “No, no, it must be precious.” His voice was filled with a respectful reverence that belied his age, making Apollo's heart beats with admiration.

Apollo gave the young boy a gentle smile. “No, it will be fine here,” he said, pushing the lyre into the boy’s hands. The boy took it with utmost care, his eyes filling with wonder as he studied it. He looked at the lyre as if it were the eighth wonder of the world, his interest and amazement clear.

“Can I ask how you made it, sir? It is amazingly beautiful,” the boy asked, his curiosity shining with pure beauty and innocence.

Apollo smiled fondly, remembering how the lyre came into his possession. “My brother stole my cattle and gave this to me,” he chuckled.

The boy chuckled too, hiding his mouth with his small hands. “This reminds me of a story Mama tells me, about the sun god and the messenger of the gods.”

Apollo froze. The boy’s interest shifted back to the lyre, while Apollo tried to process the millions of questions racing through his mind. His mother told him stories? Apollo was about to ask more when the boy looked up and spoke in his soft, melodic voice. “If you don’t mind… can you,” the boy paused, choosing his words carefully, “can you teach me how to play it? The melody you played was beautiful.”

Apollo, still dumbfounded, watched the boy. “I think I figured out how to make it, but I want to play it for Mama. She seems sad lately, and she loves melodies so much. She sings me lullabies, but I don’t know any to sing for her. So maybe, maybe I can play her something nice that makes her smile.”

Questions swirled around Apollo’s mind. How could a child so young speak with such confidence and wisdom? But the most pressing question came to his lips. “Where is your mother?”

The boy, still focused on the lyre, answered, “On an island.”

“Where is the island?” Apollo asked.

The boy smiled as if Apollo had asked something silly, his smile bright and peaceful. “In the sea,” he said, then paused. “But Mama says the sea is dangerous.”

Apollo looked at the boy, confused. The boy’s answers seemed to reveal everything and nothing at the same time. Dangerous sea? He couldn’t be Percy’s son. Apollo's shoulders slumped. He couldn’t be Percy’s son. Perhaps his mind was creating illusions, offering a glimpse of a future he could never have, mixing him and Percy together to create the child Apollo had always dreamed Percy would carry.

Apollo looked into the boy’s eyes—Percy’s eyes—deciding that maybe, just maybe, he could live this dream for as long as it lasted. For as long as this dream allows him, he wants to imagine that this, indeed, is the child he created with his love. He held the boy’s hand, guiding him on where to place his fingers on the lyre. “Here, let me teach you” he said softly, positioning the small fingers with gentle precision on the lyre’s strings.

The boy was, in fact, the eighth wonder of the world, Apollo thought, as he looked at the young boy whose golden locks glowed in the sunlight.

Once—that was all the instruction the boy needed to create the most beautiful symphony Apollo had ever heard. The boy’s fingers danced over the strings with an innate skill, plucking and strumming as if he had been born for this. The melody flowed seamlessly, each note a shimmering thread weaving through the air, enchanting everything around them.

Apollo smiled fondly at the boy, who was also in amazement, his radiant smile outshining even the sun. The sea sparkled with the boy’s joy, and the sun, feeling almost humbled, began to set beyond the horizon, casting a golden portrait over the world.

Suddenly, the boy stopped and carefully extended the lyre back to Apollo. “I have to wake up now. Mama will wake up soon, and I can’t let her do things alone.”

Apollo’s brows knotted in confusion. “Where are we now?”

The boy smiled brightly. “We are dreaming, of course.”

Apollo took the lyre, looking at it before turning back to the boy. “You can have it.”

The young boy shook his head, making his golden locks jiggle. “It is a gift from your brother. It is precious.” He smiled, a smile that warmed Apollo’s soul, his beautiful sea-green eyes glowing with kindness. Apollo didn't want to wake up. He just wanted to see Percy’s eyes a little longer. Even if it was a hallucination, he wanted to remember those eyes longer.

The boy smiled at Apollo as he began to turn his head. “Thank you for helping me make Mama happy. Next time, when we meet, I’ll try to teach you something too.” And with that, the boy started walking away, slowly dissolving into the dream's fabric.

It didn't take long for Apollo to lose consciousness of the dream. When he opened his eyes, he found himself in his bed on Olympus, the morning light casting a gentle glow through his window.

Apollo sat on his bed, his chamber unchanged, Olympus glowing just as it always had. But his heart was heavy with a sorrow that even the gods would struggle to bear.

A sad smile graced Apollo’s lips—a smile that held an ocean of pain, a pain too deep for mortals to fathom. The Fates had always been cruel to him, but now even his own mind seemed to conspire in their cruelty, conjuring hallucinations to torment him.

A young boy, the eighth wonder of the world—a boy he could have had if Percy were still with him. If only she were here, somewhere beside him. He was certain she would have adored this boy, cherished him with all her heart. But he was not real.. And his Percy was not here.

Apollo rubbed his eyes, longing to wake up, to return to his duties, to mourn a girl whose disappearance remained a haunting mystery. And to mourn an imaginary son, whom he was certain he would never see again.

—————————

Gaea’s Island

Percy was puzzled by her son’s urgency that morning. After helping her with his brothers, he dashed outside, claiming to have something important to attend to.

She didn’t pry too much into Milo’s affairs, trusting that whatever he was up to, he knew how to avoid trouble, unlike her eldest, Hector. As long as it was Milo, she assured herself, he would be fine.

But Milo had been unusually preoccupied for days now. Whenever Percy found him, he would hastily hide something behind his back, claiming it was important. Percy didn’t dwell on it, assuming it was a surprise he didn’t want her to see. She smiled at the thought.

Then, she heard it—a beautiful melody that froze her in place. For a moment, she thought it was a dream, a hallucination conjured by her own longing. an image of a man with the most beautiful sky-blue eyes, creating serene melodies for her suddenly occupied her mind.. But the sound of footsteps snapped her back to reality. She followed the sound, Hector and Luke trailing behind her, until she suddenly stopped.

On the grass sat a young boy with golden locks, his sea-green eyes shining with joy as he looked up at her. Her Milo. In his hands, a wooden instrument created the most enchanting melody she had ever heard since she arrived to this island

It didn’t take long for Percy to realize what her son had made. Her heart swelled with oceans of emotions, pain, sorrow, pride and love as she beheld her precious Milo, crafting a lyre with his own small hands.

Percy approached Milo, her heart overflowing with a mixture of confusion and love. A single tear traced its way down her cheek as Hector and Luke stood nearby, mesmerized by the beautiful sound emanating from Milo's creation.

Milo looked up at her with a bright smile, but confusion clouded his features as he furrowed his brows. “You don’t like it, Mama? I made it for you.”

Without hesitation, Percy rushed forward, enveloping Milo in a tight embrace, tears streaming down her cheeks. “I love it… I love it so much.”

“Then why are you crying?” Milo asked, puzzled.

“They're tears of happiness, my love,” Percy whispered, her voice choked with emotion. Tears of happiness—tears of memories, pain, and pride. Tears of many things.

Milo pulled away, showing Percy the delicate wooden instrument he had crafted. “Here, let me show you more,” he said eagerly, his fingers deftly plucking at the strings.

As Milo played, Percy couldn’t help but notice how he resembled his father in that moment. Not a mere version, like Luke, but a reflection—a radiant embodiment of his father's spirit.

Then it struck her—how did Milo know about the lyre? It was Hermes who created it, nd given it to Apollo, later becoming Apollo's symbol. How could Milo know exactly what a lyre looked like? She had always believed that their father lived on in their souls, but she never imagined it would manifest in such a tangible way.

Puzzled, Percy looked at her son. “How did you learn to make this?”

Milo beamed at her, his eyes sparkling with the wisdom of the universe. “In my dream, of course, Mama.”

The answer did little to quell Percy’s bewilderment. She watched as her son proudly displayed his creation, insisting that she should smile because he had made it for her happiness. He even taught his brothers how to hold it so they could all bring joy to their mother.

She watched them take turns playing, each displaying a pure talent they hadn’t known they possessed

Her Milo, her precious children, and her precious lost love…

A few days later, the lyre disappeared from the island, as if it had never existed before.

#wthb fic #wthb Apollo #wthb percy #wthb Milo #perpollo #Bahia writing

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anotheroceanid · 21 days ago

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TWO OF THE (MANY) SCENES DELETED FROM CHAPTER 7 OF WTHB

(If something looks weird, it's because I converted markdown to html and THEN to RTF)

SCENE 1

APOLLO

WINTER SOLSTICE OF 2007

OLYMPUS

First thing Hermes says is: ‘No!’

Very loud. Very rude. The poor nymph who was serving the drinks runs the other way.

Apollo had his head turned so he could have a clear sight of the object of his desires, so Hermes grabbed his face with one hand and forced Apollo to look at him. ‘No.’ It was more of a whisper now, almost a prayer.

Twinged by jealousy and disappointment, Apollo addressed the elephant in the room. ‘Are you…’

‘No!’ Why Hermes sounded like a broken record, Apollo had no idea, but the knowledge that his brother possessed no passion for their lovely cousin made Apollo’s—very—stressful day a thousand times better. He beamed and looked at her again, just to be once again interrupted by Hermes, who invaded his line of sight. Before Apollo could protest, his brother was already speaking. ‘I care for her as you do for Artemis.’

Apollo furrowed his brows.

That was… odd.

Hermes wasn’t one to deny himself any sort of beauty, and he got a good eye for precious and forbidden things he could steal. What was more beautiful, precious and forbidden than the daughter their uncle sired in secrecy with a mortal with whom any other god would avoid meddling?

Apollo stretched his body so he could see beyond his brother. Across the room, stood Persephone—what a poetic name for a girl who bears the choice to save or destroy them all. She was the most glorious vision Apollo had ever had in front of his godly eyes. Confusing as it was, it had little to do with her striking looks—not that Apollo denied in any way the fine traces that designed his cousin’s face, for she had been gracefully constructed by her parents; Uncle Poseidon and her mortal mother made an exceptional work.

However, there was something even more charming underneath the gold silky skin that covered her nearly unhuman skin, something dangerous behind the porcelain teeth, something delicate than the shade of her indescribably sea-ish eyes. The beauty that puzzled Apollo was something warm and bright, very much like himself. Something kept as a secret, a poetry he hadn't yet read, a melody muffled by louder noises that refused to go quiet so he could delight in it peacefully.

As the God of Knowledge, the feeling of being in the dark was _unbearable_—for he was also the god of the sun, it was twice as painful.

He had merely met the sea’s Persephone, yet he felt completely drowned by the mystery of her deepnesses. What a wonderful day his sister had asked for his help. Like everyone else, he had been curious about the Forbidden Child, but nothing prepared Apollo for the greenish blue lakes of salt water that would welcome him that day. Then his sister was taken, and Persephone Jackson chose to go on that quest.

He knew she sought for her own friend. But she was there. Now, Artemis was returned to him and all thanks to the non-rule-abiding daughter of the sea, who may be the cause of his death in a few months. By trying to help her quest, Apollo only got more interested.

With Artemis returned, he found himself with nothing else to think about but Percy Jackson. Well, technically the war was happening, but as she was the most important piece of the chessboard, by thinking of her, he thought of the war.

One thing in particular twitched inside of Apollo: did Persephone Jackson know what she was owned?

She just saved his sister. She could ask him anything in exchange. However, nothing so far. What sort of mortal did not demand payment from a god? Apollo would grant her any gift; be it the art of prophecy or an EGOT. Anything.

There she was, laughing at something her father just told her. Apollo sighed dreamily, imagining himself as the reason for her smile.

Once again, Hermes grunted. ‘_No!_’

‘She is bewildering.’ Apollo blinked slowly, tilting his head to the side slightly.

‘She is.’ Hermes, though mourningful, agreed. ‘But she already has too much on her shoulders.’

Playfully, Apollo opened a smile. ‘I can be helpful.’ He sang.

‘She doesn’t need this sort of help.’ Hermes made a face, then softened it when he turned to look at her. ‘Percy wants a quiet life. She never wanted any of it, and yet, because of us, she has so little to live of her own life. It’s not fair.’

Apollo pressed his lips together, the lines of the prophecy dancing on his mind. There were so many ways that could play out, yet he did admit that most of them ended up badly for her.

Apollo studied the expression of his younger brother’s face—so sad it broke Apollo’s hypothetical heart. Sorrow did not go well with Hermes, though lately it was all that existed there. The betrayal of Luke Castellan was a low blow on him, and though the boy still lived, it didn’t change that he was forever lost. Nothing cut deeper than the loss of a child.

Softly, Apollo places his hand on the arm of Hermes, caressing it lightly. There wasn’t much to be said, and there was very little comfort to be offered in these dark times. Only a miracle could save his son, and even the gods were sceptical about miracles.

Then, like one his father’s thunder, it hit him. ‘You think she can do it!’

Hermes' eyes flared for a second. ‘It doesn’t matter.’ He shrugged. ‘I know that she can, but I also know how it would be damaging for her to keep trying until she succeeded. I will not insist.’

‘But you asked.’ Apollo didn’t need an answer, and Hermes did not try to give him one. ‘I see it.’

‘See what?’

‘Your affections.’ Apollo closed his eyes, letting the knowledge sink in. ‘You do care for her as I do for Artemis. I can see how pure it is, and the last thing I’d wish is to cause you pain, brother. I shall not pursue her, not without your blessing.’ That was a lament. Just because he intended to keep his word, didn’t mean he liked to say them.

Something roared inside of him. For a second, he looked again at Percy Jackson. A last glimpse of what he would never have—she would be to him like one of those unsolved questions in history that the mortals never stopped to look for answers, even if it was pointless to make such an effort; there was poetry in it. The eternal longing for answers. Had she been born in a different era, she too would be the object of wonder for those who came after her, the muse of artists and the hero of kids, and maybe his own name would collapse with hers, and they’d be tied together, one way or another.

There is something suffocating about her, and gods shouldn’t feel breathless.

His second lasted a little longer. When he makes a move to look away. It’s when his eyes meet with hers. Both turn away immediately. Warmth goes right into Apollo’s cheeks.

He’s flushed and his eyes flared gold for a second—he hoped no one had seen that. Apollo decided the best thing to do was to stare to the ground until he was swallowed by it.

‘Don’t make promises you cannot keep.’ He heard Hermes exhaling.

‘I can keep promises!’ Apollo retorted.

‘Let me rephrase it then, don’t make promises that’ll hurt you.’ Hermes murmured. ‘If you must, you have my blessing.’

Apollo widened his eyes and stared at his brother in disbelief. ‘Wait, really?’

Closing his eyes, Hermes continued. ‘I don’t know what might happen to us in the future. I mean, you don’t know, so you can imagine how lost I am. I don’t want to make your last moments miserable.’

‘Hm, thanks?’

‘I’ve noticed you have been at home recently.’

‘I live there, in case you don’t remember.’

Hermes took a deep breath. ‘You’ve been there. Daydreaming, singing to the walls, painting…’

‘I do that quite often.’

‘You do.’ Hermes agreed. ‘But there’s always a part of you with someone. Not in the past days. You’ve gathered your essence at home. And I know you.’

‘You’ve been stalking me!?’ Apollo raised a brow, thinking about the exceedingly long time he spent looking for a beach with the exact same shade of green of Percy Jackson’s eyes.

‘No. But our moms talk.’

‘Oh, of course.’

‘What I’m saying is: if that will bring you happiness, you shall have it.’ Hermes declared. ‘Under the condition that you must treat her with the utmost kindness, either Percy comes to want you or not. Her body, her soul, her mind and her heart, they’re far too frail to be handled bluntly, and I would not stand one more scratch on her.’

‘I see…’

‘You can promise me this?’

Apollo smiled thankfully to his brother. ‘Of course I can.’

SCENE 2

AUGUST 18TH, 2010

CAMP HALF-BLOOD

If there was anything more endearing than his girlfriend surrounded by little kids, Apollo was unaware of it. Made his stomach flutter with butterflies and his heart pump on his chest like a hammer—he did not possess a stomach nor a heart, but the metaphor stood.

What a lovely day it was. Couldn’t be any different. He personally made sure Percy had a perfectly sunny day for her birthday, with a pretty sunrise and an even prettier sunset, for Apollo knew she loved those. Beside his own interference, everything settled perfectly in place, creating a picturesque image that contrasted with the dreadful events of the past years. Apollo hoped she could make sweeter memories regarding her birthday, other than the bloodshed she witnessed during the war.

He longed for better memories. For her and for himself, too. Hopefully, together. Apollo can't help the warm flush on his cheeks, nor the smirk that stretches across his face. The baby in his arms—well, she is technically a toddler, but to him his kids were babies forever—laughs and touches his cheeks, accusing her daddy of looking silly. Thankfully, no one else notices. Kayla, Austin and Will, the eldest of his demigod kids, are laughing about something. In fact, it looks like Kayla and Austin are laughing about something that shifts Will’s face from rosy to scarlet. Apollo can imagine what it is. His son is not exactly subtle.

Apollo let himself be blinded for a second by the smiles on their faces. That was a good memory. It was, perhaps, maybe endearing enough to compete with Percy playing with little kids. As petty as it sounded, Apollo took pride in the fact that his kids did feel comfortable enough around him—most of his peers couldn’t say the same. He twirled the younger ones in the air, created sparkles around them just to see the glitter in their eyes, joked with the older ones and sang with them a song every now and then. He tried not to think about how his cabin numbers shrunk during the war.

Apollo closed his eyes and took a deep breath. He knew better than anyone else the consequences of dwelling on the past. Instead, he reminded himself the kids were in Elysium and nothing could hurt them anymore. They would want Apollo to take care of their siblings, and that was under his power. Now, not from the shadows and under his father’s rules. Thanks to Percy.

From now on, good memories only, he thought, smelling the sweet scents of flowers and sunshine from his children.

He wished Percy could join him. Apollo knew for a fact she was particularly close to Will, but as far as everyone knew, Percy wasn't really close to Apollo. To Hermes? Yes, a lot of talk about that. To Artemis? Of course, it was secret to no one that Percy was the very kind of person her sister enjoyed having around. When it came to Percy and Apollo, it was always ironically in the dark. That didn't bother him… Not as much as it would've, back in the ancient times. He could keep his cool, and if there was one thing he learned about romance, is that what nobody knows, nobody ruins—which was actually a joke about Odysseus being seriously unlucky, but the meaning changed overtime.

His _Ocean Belle_… So close and so far. For now, if having Percy in secrecy was synonymous to having Percy, then let it be it. He could watch her during the day and be with her during the night, where her smiles and laughter and the glitter in her eyes would belong entirely to him. When she would tell him and no one else about her day and confine to him her secrets, making of the curve of his neck a nest where she could lay her head and rest, warmed by the heat of his body as they talked through the night. Their secrecy was something he appreciated, however, to be in her presence and not being near her was torture; all that Apollo wished was to have her and his kids all together in one place, and to have his fingers intertwined with hers in public.

Well, one thing at a time. He wouldn't want Uncle Poseidon—or worse, cousin Triton—getting in their way, much less Apollo's own father. So close to the end of the war, all eyes were set on her and Apollo wasn't deaf to the whispers about his beloved. If what they had was known, all the vultures would come to spoil their happiness. They'd see it as an invitation, a challenge to overturn, a nuisance—not to say obstacle—that could be solved through trickery.

It happened before. It happened all the time. Happened with his stepmother, when she was a maiden and refused to take a suitor. Apollo's father tricked her in order to have her as his wife. Then the same with Aphrodite, who was forced into marriage to avoid a war amongst gods. Even with the first Persephone, whose fate had been decided spitefully behind her mother's back. Apollo knew his family. He knew no one would dare to cross Poseidon and chase after his youngest, most beloved, and first-ever demigod daughter. Problem was: Poseidon had already been crossed, and by Apollo, the nephew he loved the most and trusted the most. Other suitors wouldn't have to worry as much about his rage, if such rage was already directed into someone else.

Apollo was no fool to think that his uncle would endorse any god’s relationship with Percy. Not so soon after the war, and if Apollo knew a thing or other about his uncle, not ever. Apollo did know Poseidon. They had a relationship as solid as the walls of Troy that together they raised from the rubble of their—unfortunately failed—rebellion. His uncle was not the forgiving type. He would have to be gently introduced to the concept of having a son-in-law before being introduced to the son-in-law.

That's alright, Apollo thought, brushing away the pessimism from his mind, all it takes is a little patience and a few years.

He watched Percy through the corner of his eyes a little longer. She was dutifully followed by Hades’ son, who carried a plate full of cookies in his hands like a lion guarding its prey. Percy said something that got Nico di Angelo seriously troubled while she stormed into laughter. Adorable, Apollo thought, letting the sound of her laughs get into his ears, so he could appreciate the cadence of her voice.

Apollo took another deep breath and rested his chin on the top of his daughter’s head. ‘Dad is silly.’ Said the three-year-old girl, the youngest of his living children.

Apollo chuckled. ‘Sillier than you think, Amy.’ He said, kissing her cheek.

As the hours flew by and kids got tired, Apollo sneaked the essence of his body, making most of it invisible. He saw as Percy walked away from the crowd, following with Hades' son toward the beach—probably to watch the sunset, and Apollo hoped she’d enjoy the show made just for her. In the meanwhile, he used the opportunity to walk around and make sure everything was safe for the next hours—he didn't want anyone sticking their noses on his business.

Surprisingly, considering the place was crowded with gods and demigods who were fighting each other to death just a year ago, it was all peaceful. Well, except for a reasonably tipsy Persephone in a corner, because she tended to brag in detail about her excessively happy married life, and no one wanted to listen to her talking about Uncle Hades when she was like that. Especially considering it was summer, and she was probably missing him. Thankfully, Hecate was near Persephone, avoiding her from traumatising this generation.

Apollo passed through Rhode and Triton, his sibling-in-law. If he had to pick one to open his heart about his secret relationship with their sister, it would be Rhode. She was the calmer in her family, and Apollo once was the pupil to her late husband, meaning he would spend a lot of time in their household. Few gods had that lovely personality. But not at that moment. The former Sun Bride had a deadly expression on her face, and her brother Triton had a hand on her arm, just in case he needed to restrain her.

He couldn't help but feel sympathy for her obvious irritation. Apollo too hated her brother.

Not Triton. The other one, from her mother's side. Eros. He was a hateful feathery creature that no one deserved to endure—except, perhaps, the other hateful feathery creature that usually followed him around, Zephyrus. Of course, as much as Apollo hated Eros, he doubted anyone despised him more than his older sister, Rhode. In fact, his sister-in-law avoided anyone from her mother's brood, having herself an aversion for the Goddess of Love. Curiously, Aphrodite kept trying to retrieve her daughter's love and forgiveness, even after years and years of estrangement.

The little group, formed by Eros, Aphrodite and poor Rhode and Triton, tried to keep a talk. At least, Aphrodite tried. Every time Eros spoke, Rhode's eyes glazed with fury and Triton had to tighten his hold on her arm.

Well, they won't be interrupting, Apollo cheered.

A few metres away, Poseidon and Zeus… Laughed? Screamed at each other? Apollo wasn't quite sure. It was always a mystery between them, but they were loud. Poor Uncle Hades closed his eyes and inhaled deeply between every other word, moving his head in an attempt to avoid the sounds. Even Apollo thought he might go deaf if he walked too close.

They talked about something they did about the French Revolution. Uncle Hades had a nasty expression, making a remark about how much he hated how people died of stupid causes back then. As if it was the funniest joke they've ever heard, Zeus and Poseidon threw their heads back while Hades rolled his eyes.

Apollo didn't remember the last time he’d seen the Big Three _talking_—without the war threats or the comments about the time living (or not) in Kronos’ stomach. Before they started to talk about the most unsavoury parts of the 18th century and their adventures then, Apollo walked away.

The demigods were dancing and singing to the same ABBA song they've been obsessing with ever since last year. Apollo smiled, thinking of how Percy would hum that song whenever she was distracted. He walked past her bestest friend, Annabeth Chase; smiling like that, leaning on a boy and cracking jokes, she looked like a completely different person from how she behaved when she was working as architect in Olympus—always so uptight and serious.

Nearing his brother Hermes, Apollo chuckled when he saw his face. Poor Hermes didn't have a thought behind his eyes, he just glanced away while Demeter and Ares kept talking to him furiously, while Dionysus stood right beside them with a serious expression.

‘My Katie is a good girl.’ Demeter boasted. ‘I don't want that Trant boy anywhere near her!’

Hermes sighed. ‘Travis, you mean.’

‘And I don't approve of Clarisse's relationship with your other son, whatever his name is!’ Ares pronounced.

‘Isn’t Clarisse like, nineteen?’ Hermes frowned, sipping his nectar mindlessly.

Ares crossed his arms in front of his arms. ‘So?’

‘Isn't that a little late to worry about who she dates?’

‘Well,’ Ares started, voice a pitch higher, ‘I never had to care about that before that good-for-nothing son of yours stepped in!’

Apollo made his better efforts not to laugh. That was funny when it didn’t include him being beaten out of existence by Uncle Poseidon. Yet, he should feel sympathy for his fellow… His fellow dating-a-Olympian’s-daughter friend? Maybe they should start a club, maybe Uncle Hades would enjoy having someone to talk with beside his brothers, and Apollo wouldn't complain about having a Big Three ally.

‘Ares, I don't think this is the way to approach 21st century parenting, you know?’ Hermes rolled his eyes. ‘The whole “not letting my daughter date"’ went out of fashion after World War II.’

‘I still don't trust that brat of yours, he's up to something!’

Demeter then was quick to add: ‘The other one too!’ She pointed out. ‘He also has a terrible diet. I cannot imagine what his intestines look like with that amount of sugar he eats.’

Like the words had been carried by the wind, Hermes simply nodded and then turned to their younger brother. ‘What about you? Are any of my kids dating your son?’

Dionysus smiled and shook his head. ‘Oh, no. Thankfully not!’ Dionysus raised his Diet Coke to the sky. ‘I believe he's seeing one of my maenads. I just love seeing someone who's not me getting a lecture.’

Hermes sneered, and this time Apollo laughed and made sure Hermes would hear.

‘Shouldn't you be with your kids?’ Mentally, Hermes inquired.

‘I am.’ Apollo answered, picturing in Hermes mind an image of another version of him playing with the kids.

‘If you three would excuse me, I'll go talk to Apollo.’ Naturally as breathing, Hermes dismissed everyone and walked away. ‘Whatever it is, don't do it.’

‘C'mon, where is my free spirited brother who'd help me in the craziest quests?’

‘My limit is whatever the distance between my pretty face and uncle's Trident.’ Hermes grunted. ‘Where is Percy?’

‘Don't worry, she's with Nico di Angelo.’

‘Your son's crush?’

‘Isn't it lovely that her little, uh, shadow is my Will's crush?’

Even if there was a glitter of endearment in his eyes, Hermes pretended to be annoyed. ‘It's almost as if they're hormonal teenagers.’

‘It’s romantic!’ Apollo sighed.

‘If you say so.’ Hermes retorted. ‘What do you want?’

‘Oh, I did not come here with demands.’ Apollo hummed. ‘I just assumed that my little brother would help me give my beautiful maiden a nice birthday night, you know? Just making sure her dad doesn't notice if she goes missing for an hour or two.’

‘Are you crazy!?’ Hermes exhaled. ‘Everyone is here, and they'll notice if the hero of Olympus simply vanishes.*’

‘I know you could buy me thirty minutes. Then thirty minutes more. And then a little longer, I promise we'll be back before 10A.M.’

‘You said the same last time.’ Hermes groaned.

‘You know I can't lie. Just one hour.’

‘You can if you believe in your lie. Thirty-five minutes.’

‘Forty-five.’

‘Forty. Last offer.’

‘Deal. You're the best, brother.’

‘That someday will get me fucked up.’

#wthb fic

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