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aj-artjunkyard · 5 years

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Trials Of Apollo Oneshot Series CHAPTER FIVE

This is a post-ToA chapter! Takes place after Apollo regains his immortality.

I sighed. Strolling aimlessly through the halls of my palace on Olympus, I wondered if it had always been this unappealing. The gold trimmings seemed fake. The extravagant furniture felt uncomfortable. Even my bed was too big. Every shiny object played murder on my eyes, and every smooth surface was too warm to be refreshing. It just wasn’t homey. Not like the Waystation or Aeithales or either demigod camps. It felt more like a sized-up garage to keep a fancy car in.

I found myself yearning to be outdoors - no uncommon craving. Like my twin, most of my domains are set in the great outside world. I threw open the golden double doors of the balcony, closed my eyes and breathed in the fresh Olympian air. There was still something missing. Furrowing my eyebrows in frustration, I opened my eyes and glanced around for anything that might sate my dissatisfaction, when my sight landed on a certain figure making her way through the buzzing streets of Olympus and towards the entrance of my palace. I felt a natural smile creep onto my face. I would have to look for the missing thing later. Right now, I needed to be with my mother.

…

We had been in this comforting embrace for almost ten minutes now. I combed my fingers through Leto’s caramel hair while she sobbed into my shoulder, her frame shaking considerably. I felt the wet tears soaking through my jacket and dampening the shirt beneath. I pressed my lips against her forehead, hoping to make her content enough to talk to me. Eventually, she pulled away and reached up, running her fingers through my hair, almost to reassure herself that I was actually there. She looked deep into my eyes, while tears danced in her own. I took her hands in my own, and gently led her to a white sofa, which was far to big for the space of the room. It looked like whoever had put it there was just trying to cram as much unneeded furniture into one place as they could. Oh wait…that may have been me.

Leto sat down beside me. She sniffled a little, avoiding my eyes. She fiddled with the brooch on my toga. I held her hand. She squeezed it.

“Apollo…” she trailed off, seeming lost in her mind.

“I’m alright now Mother,” I said in an effort to soothe her. “I’m immortal again. I cannot die. I learnt a lot too. And I want to apologise for not being the most attentive of sons. I should visit you more, and I will! Really, father was right to-”

“-NO!”

I fell silent, shocked that my mother would ever scream in such a tone. She looked at me, and I noticed how tired she was. No doubt staying up to watch every second of my quests, worried sick that something might happen if she took her eyes off me. It would not be out of character for her to do such things.

“Your father was not right to punish you in such a cruel manner. To have you forced into servitude, with next to no natural means to protect yourself or others!”

“Honestly, Mother I-”

She held up a hand for quiet. I obeyed.

“I know you should not have done the things you did. I know you’ve learned. That does not warrant your father’s merciless behaviour. You kept getting hurt and I could do nothing, he said if he caught me in the act of helping, he would make it worse for you. He said there would be more deaths, more guilt. So I obliged. I made sure he didn’t catch me. I convinced Artemis to send her hunters. I persuaded Hermes to crash the sun, and Athena to lure you to the child-” she paused. “-Whom I have been caring for. He is named Cindeo - the one who escapes danger.”

I nodded. “I see you have been taking care of everyone.”

“That is indeed my sole purpose, yes. It distracted me, which Artemis says is a good thing. But still…I was watching. That day on the boat.”

I swallowed a lump in my throat. I knew exactly what she would be referring to before she even said it. “You stabbed yourself.”

I drew in a sharp intake of breath, remembering the pain.

“I knew Medea would heal me.”

“You did it willingly.”

“It was only a distraction.”

“What was? Your life?”

“Caligula needed me alive more than my friends did.”

“They all needed you in the end, Apollo! I needed…I needed you.”

We sat, not talking. Just staring at each other, mentally comparing our broken pieces. I was willing to gather my pieces - make something new. I knew my mother wanted that as much as I did. We hugged again, this one lasting even longer. Neither party minded. Her caramel hair still smelt of honeysuckle, a trait inherited by my sister. She was still soft and warm and safe. After all these centuries, she had not changed. I was glad.

After an eternity, we separated. I examined my mother, my medical urges setting in.

“You look like you haven’t slept since I woke up in that dumpster. You need rest.”

She shook her head. “Apollo, you just got back. If you think I’m going to-”

“And I’ll be here when you wake up. Why don’t you use my bedroom? That way you won’t really be leaving. I’ll still be around, I promise. Even if you sleep as long as Gaea did.” She tried to protest, but I easily guided her to my sleeping quarters. By the time we arrived, Leto was practically using me as her only way of staying upright. I gently laid her down on my king-sized mattress, and she immediately melted into the warmth of the duvet.

I made my way to the kitchen, intent to taste ambrosia for the first time in months. A shape shimmered into existence on the blinding white counter. A freshly baked pie. Curious, I picked up the little note beside it, which read in perfect ancient greek calligraphy;

You deserve it! I love you!

-Leto

I chuckled and called down the hall, “Go to sleep!”

To which I received a muffled “I am, I am!”

I grabbed the pie and sniffed, enjoying my newly heightened senses. I could tell exactly what was in it. Ambrosia, sugar and chunky slices of…baked apple. The smell smacked me as violently as my realisation. My palace was golden, hard and shiny. It was devoid of life. Life like that of a particularly bossy half-blood. I decided to call in a discreet demigod quest.

…

“Soooo…about this quest.”

“Yes?”

“It was to help you plant stuff?”

I patted down the soil around a sweet-smelling Hyacinth. We sat in a huge garden positioned behind my palace. I had never fully understood why it was here. What was its purpose? Why would you look at some boring old trees when my palace was right at the end of the long, wide strip of grass, glowing golden and easily mistaken for a beautiful sunset in the evening? Once, I had even petitioned for the land to be flattened and used for a theatre (Dionysus and the muses backed me up, but Demeter, Poseidon and Artemis were strongly against it). But now, I smiled to myself as I began to see its importance.

“I don’t know what you find so complicated about this, Meg. I thought you liked gardening.”

My former master scrunched up her nose, pushing her cat-eye glasses further up her face. Her hands were caked with mud and the knees of her new leggings were already ruined. She had not wanted to change her dress, but when Percy mentioned to Mrs Jackson that she was still wearing the same borrowed garment from several months before, Sally had sent a package and insisted she change clothes every once in a while. Meg had donned the teal tunic and green leggings ever since. Such was the fashion sense of The Meg.

“Well, yeah. But I don’t think you’re allowed to call it a quest.”

“You were summoned to assist a god, were you not?”

“Duh.”

“So you are on a quest.”

“To plant flowers.”

“Mm-hmm.”

Meg shrugged. “Okay. But how do you plan to explain it to Zeu-” I cleared my throat loudly, glaring obviously at my reckless young friend. How many times did I have to tell her that names hold power? I definitely did not have a bullet-proof backup plan incase my father did find out, so I did not want to draw his attention and let him in on my little secret. That would not go well for anyone, trust me.

“How do you plan to explain it to your father?” Meg corrected. Satisfied with that adjustment, I turned my attention back to my Hyacinth.

“I’m not going to.”

“That’s a stupid plan.”

“I would have thought you’d know me better than to assume I have a real one.”

“That’s fair, you’re pretty dumb.”

“Hey!” I threw a clod of dirt at her, which hit her right in the centre of her forehead. We shared a look of mild amazement. I actually hit my target. It had been a while. I grinned with triumph, but it was soon smacked off my face as I got hit full whack with a dirt ball to the cheek. Then our eyes met in silent challenge. We both accepted.

It only took fifteen minutes for the massive garden to become an all-out war zone. There was no safe place. Dirt flew every direction, and we both took advantage of our own abilities - Meg using plants to trip me up or willing the dirt to fly with excruciating accuracy, and me, using beams of sunlight to reflect off Meg’s glasses and blind her, and when I found her charging at me, I flew over her head, just to be annoying.

When Meg shoved half a dozen handfuls of mud down my shirt, I decided to play dirty (well...dirtier). I conjured a hose, and watched with enormous enjoyment as Meg’s cocky grin melted into morphed into one of realisation and fear. I blasted her.

We chased each other around the grass, continuously soaking each other (Meg had used a plant pot as a bucket and filled it in a nearby pond) until the sky started to dim. It was early January, so it wasn’t too late, maybe six o’clock. Cold and exhausted, we made our way back towards my palace. My mother was waiting in the kitchen when we arrived, a new apple pie steaming on the dining table. She tutted at our wet cloths and sopping hair. With a wave of her dainty hand, Meg and I immediately dried.

“You let the other one go cold, dear,” Leto smiled, gesturing at the pie. Two golden-rimmed plates, complete with solid gold knives and forks which shimmered into existence beside it.

“Thank you Mother!” I said excitedly, kissing her on the cheek and sitting down at the table. Meg looked more wary. She eyed my mother suspiciously, while Leto smiled softly at her. Stepping closer to the table, perhaps under pressure, Meg inquired, “Is there ambrosia in it? I can’t eat much of that stuff.”

Leto laughed. “Yes, dear. But only traces. Only eat a slice or two, and you’ll be absolutely okay.”

I turned around in my chair and grinned over the backrest at them.

“Meg, it’s fine. She wouldn’t hurt a fly, would you, Mother?”

Leto looked horrified. “Of course not! Why would I damage such a harmless creature that’s so vital to the nutrition of other creatures?”

I gave Meg a look. “See?”

Meg seemed satisfied with that answer, but was still cautious in her approach to the table. But after no more than fifteen seconds, she was shovelling in mouthful after mouthful with incredible velocity, rapidly cleansing her plate of any crumbs. My Mother watched her with intrigue, and I could almost see the cogs turning in her head. While Meg helped herself to seconds, Leto quietly pulled me aside.

“When was the last time the child ate?” She whispered urgently, casting solicitous glances over at my young companion.

“It can’t have been long ago. Meg eats a lot,” I reassured. Her shoulders relaxed, her gaze softened. Leto looked thoughtfully back over at Meg.

“Does she have somewhere to stay?”

“I believe she intends to become a year-rounder at Camp Half-Blood. She’ll be with her siblings and cousins there. Her family.”

“Mmm…”

“Mother?” Leto peered deep into my metallic gold irises. Then back looked at Meg. Then back at me. “What are you thinking?”

“If she is to remain at Camp Half-Blood, you will not be able to meet with her. I implore you, son. Look into the future. What possibilities do you see for her there?”

I concentrated, absorbing in every part of Meg’s being and taking into account every decision I’d ever seen her make. (Being a god, this was easy. Oh, how I enjoyed the wonders of a working memory!) I started off simple to ease myself back into prophecy, by predicting where her fork would land next. [She will miss the pie and stab the plate] Clank! My power proved to be working. I stretched myself a bit further, into next week. I saw her hold up a red flag in triumph. [She will win Capture The Flag for the Demeter, Hades, Dionysus and Apollo cabins] Yes, that seemed plausible.

Then I looked years ahead, in fast-forward. I laid every likely option and decision for Meg out on a metaphorical table in front of me and examined them all. Useless nonsense rushed past me as I sifted through the possibilities. [On May 23rd, she will eat meatloaf for dinner] [Exactly two weeks from now, she will push a son of Dionysus into the lake] [In three years, she will set Peaches loose on a rabid Manticore] None of these helped me. I searched for the correct timeline, the one where she stayed at Camp. I found it.

[She will miss Apollo] Fair, I would miss her too. [She will feel lonely] I will too, friend. [She will distance herself from anything to do with Apollo, including his children] Wait, no- [She no longer considers Apollo to be a friend] STOP!

My eyes flew open. My mother held onto my arm, steadying me. Meg had turned around in her chair, seeming concerned.

“You okay?”

I stumbled for an answer. Would she really dismiss me? Would I dismiss her? “Uh, yes. Yes, everything is fine.” Meg’s eyebrows scrunched behind her cat-eye glasses. The rhinestones caught the light, and shone brightly.

“You look sick,” she announced, with her usual Meggy bluntness.

“Thanks,” I grumbled. “Meg, it’s getting late. Perhaps I should send you back to Camp.”

Meg pouted. “Why can’t I stay?”

“You know why. Father can’t find out you’re here.”

Meg groaned. “Ugh. Okay. Just don’t forget about me or I’ll march right back to kick you in the kneecaps.”

I smiled. “I would not dream of it. See you soon.” I waved my hand and Meg evaporated in a shower of gold, and I felt her reappear safely at Half-Blood Hill.

My mother turned to me.

“Well?”

…

We sat on the cold stone steps of the amphitheatre, where I’d dazzled the demigods into minor depression with my Lydian and one-four-five Progressions so many moons ago.

It was late afternoon and the sun shone softly through the trees, scattering beams of light around the secluded area. I appeared similar to what I had a few days ago, only this time I had donned a more ‘modern’ look from my usual toga. I wore an ACDC t-shirt under an unzipped orange and white jacket. My jeans were worn pale at the knees and hems, which contrasted the bright red of my nike trainers. Only my hair was much the same - long, blond and flowing down to my shoulders.

Little sparks of light bounced cheerfully off of Meg’s rhinestones. She kicked a pebble down the steps, and watched in fascination as it skipped, making tic tic tic sounds all the way to the bottom. She was still wearing the same teal tunic and green leggings, her gardener’s belt hanging loosely around her waist. After a few minutes of comfortable silence, she spoke.

“You said you wanted to ask me something?”

I nodded. “Yes, but I want to inform you that how you answer will not affect my view of you in the slightest. I will always admire you, whether you turn down my offer or not.”

“Offer?”

I laced my fingers, trying to think of the best way to word it.

“Following your recent quest,” (Meg snorted. I continued.) “I realised that I will not be able to see you as often as I would like. I will not be able to intervene on future quests, or protect you much beyond what my father allows. It will most likely be a long time before all the gods begin to treat the mortals as beings. I will also have to endure the endless mocking from my fellow gods, simply for changing my morals, and someone with mortal experience would be good to keep me straight. So, my offer to you, should you choose to accept it, is the offer of immortality. I would like you to live on Olympus, with me.” Meg’s eyes widened. Her jaw dropped. Seeing this, I rushed to hastily add to my unexpected statement. “Now, please know that this is not a one-time offer. You can say ‘No’ now, and come back later! Or not. Whatever you choose, I’ll always be looking out for you, okay?” Meg furrowed her eyebrows and blew out her cheeks in concentration. I watched her, not quite knowing if I should say more.

“Will I have to leave Camp forever? Will I be able to visit?”

“That’s the thing. You would only be allowed to visit if you have a specific purpose for coming, and you would have to make sure it’s iron-clad just in case Zeus confronts you about it. But I am working on finally getting those laws abolished. Hopefully, one day, you will be able to come simply because you want to. The catch is; I am not sure how long it will be until that happens.”

“So all my siblings might be dead.” I smiled sympathetically, feeling the chance of her accepting my offer sinking dramatically.

“Most likely.”

Meg gained her closed-off expression, her guards shooting up to prevent any and all emotional damage. I held my breath, waiting patiently for her to respond. It took a few minutes. Finally, Meg uttered at an almost indecipherable volume, “Can I think about it?”

I breathed a sigh of relief. That was not a no. There was still time to convince her.

“Of course, dear Meg.”

Abruptly, Meg stood and sprinted back towards Cabin Four without another word. I had expected this, but it still threw me through a loop. I ran my fingers through my luscious blond hair, and inhaled deeply through my nose. While I was lost in my thoughts, a voice suddenly piped up and made me jump a foot in the air in surprise.

“Hey Dad!”

Gasping sharply and clutching my hand to my thumping heart, I turned to meet the speaker. My son, Austin Lake, stood before me holding a battered, grey-silver saxophone and smiling nervously. I gestured for him to come and sit with me. He complied.

“You here to see Meg?”

I wrapped my strong arm around him, and pulled him close to my side. “I was going to visit you kids too, but you ruined the surprise.” I punctuated my statement with noogie on Austin’s cornrows. He giggled and shuffled closer to me, absolutely failing at being inconspicuous. I didn’t mind. My kids and I are born to be obvious. Why hide something good?

I gestured to his beaten saxophone. “What happened there? The Ares kids?”

“Nah. I never found the one I lost in the labyrinth, so I had to take this old one from the back of Cabin Seven. I don’t think it’s been used since before that orientation film was made.” He shrugged nonchalantly. “It sounds fine, but I wish it had I bit more…I don’t know…pizzazz? Flash?”

“A bit of shine is never amiss,” I agreed.

“It doesn’t matter anyways. I tested it out on Miranda Gardener and Sherman Yang, and they did kiss when I played ‘Careless Whisper’, but it just doesn’t help the whole YouTube thing, y’know?”

“Of course. Sometimes people simply refuse to take you seriously unless you look the part. A frustrating yet universal part of showmanship - one that none of my children should have to deal with.” I waved my hand, and the old saxophone glowed, and began to fix it’s dents. The tired looking grey colour ebbed away and darkened, a black sheen taking it’s place. The keys and rods however, brightened until they shone gold. Soon Austin was holding a very classy jazz saxophone that matched his black woollen peacoat. I am extremely conscious of the instrument matching the style of the musician, hence why all my instruments include some form of precious metal or stone.

Austin’s brown eyes glittered with pure excitement.

“Thanks Dad! You’re the best!” He launched himself into me hugged me like he would never let go. I drew him closer to me, savouring every moment. I heard him mumble something unintelligible into my chest.

“What was that you said?” I asked. My boy tilted his head up slightly, so I could only see his eyes and above past the folds of my ACDC tee. He repeated himself a bit louder.

“Do you read all our messages? Like, the ones Chiron gets us to write to our godly parents?”

I chuckled, raised one hand for dramatic effect and recited:

“Hey dad! I’m Austin

Chiron said you like haikus

Poetry is cool”

“Nooooo….” Austin groaned. “I can’t write poetry for my life…”

“I think it’s great! You were only, what,” I counted on my fingers. “Seven at the time?”

“And already better than your dad!” An unknown voice rang out loudly from behind us, making us snap back from each other and whip around to face the impish figure. Hermes held up his hands in mock surrender, his signature stupid grin plastered on his face as he sauntered towards us. His dirty blond hair bobbed in its curls with every step he took. He nodded to Austin.

“‘Sup kid? Did anyone ever tell you about the time Apollo was obsessed with Limericks? Maybe you could compose one of those about your old man’s ‘awesomeness’,” (emphasising the ‘awesomeness’ with air quotes. Humph!) “and send it to me later, yeah? For mocking purposes only, of course.” Austin shifted uncomfortably, clearly not thrilled to have been interrupted from rare cool father/cool son bonding time. I knew how tricky Hermes could be, and I definitely did not want to put my son through the embarrassment of somehow signing off his mother’s inheritance to cattle farmers in Indonesia, so I took initiative.

“Austin, why don’t you go show off your new saxophone to your siblings? I promise I will come back to visit again soon.”

Hermes snorted. “Yeah, maybe don’t swear on the Styx though, bro. Dad wants to see you about some flower planting quest.” His grin spread like he had just cracked an atrocious pun, and was awaiting the groans of his audience. “He’s soooo mad.” I gave a reassuring smile down to my apprehensive son.

“Do not worry about me, child. Hermes is a known fibber. I’m sure he’s not that furious. It will be fine.”

...

It was not fine.

As soon as I entered my father’s personal throne room, I could tell. The enchanted ceiling was dark with storm clouds. The atmosphere was thick and heavy with static and tension. I felt a trickle of sweat run down my back.

My father sat on a proud marble throne, its veins of grey curling like smoke throughout the white stone. The king himself wore a smart navy suit, complete with a matching tie and a mid-length salt and pepper beard that overshadowed his mouth. His long hair was styled not unlike my own, except a lot darker and less flamboyant. He took the form of a man in his late 40’s, but could only be shown by the unfashionable wrinkles around his eyes. He was well built, and, despite my love for my eight-pack, far more muscular than I thought was attractive or necessary. He glared down his nose at me as I walked down the aisle of blue carpet towards his feet.

He must have been forty foot tall, which was big even for a god. I stood at a more natural twenty. I did not dare make myself bigger. I did not want my father to be under the impression that I wanted to intimidate him. I did not.

I bowed at my father’s feet and lowered my head, waiting for the word to stand up. It did not come. Instead my father spoke in his low growl:

“Apollo.”

I swallowed my anxieties and forced myself to look up into his eyes. They were not their usual electric blue, as so many of his offspring had inherited, but they had been clouded over with a thick, angry grey mist. His dark brows were furrowed in concentration. A permanent scowl was fixed on his features. I willed my voice not to squeak or crack.

“Yes, father?” Zeus’s scowl deepened.

“Do you think I am witless, boy?” He rumbled.

“I - no, father,” I stammered. Zeus leaned forward in his throne, glaring holes through my head.

“Do you think I am beneath you?”

“Wha - no!” My hands subconsciously gripped my jacket and fiddled furiously with the zip. I could feel my godly sweat making the cool metal slippery. The air around Zeus condensed into a dark haze. Lighting cackled like an entourage of jeering bullies, laughing at my panicked face and hopeless predicament.

“YET YOU STILL DISOBEY ME?” I took several deep breaths. I was a god. I had faced python, while mortal, and defeated him. I was still undoubtedly terrified, but I thought of Meg, of my children, of Perseus Jackson. They needed me to take this first step into defending the demigods. My face hardened. My voice was calm, quiet and deliberate, but hid a tsunami of fear.

“Name the law.” My father’s raised bolt faltered, reflecting his confusion.

“What?”

“Name the law,” I repeated. “Name the law I have broken by ordering a demigod, whom I know well and am sure is capable of being assigned a task, to go on a quest.”

Zeus gritted his teeth, and growled in his gritty voice; “I watched you play, boy. Do you think you are humorous? Do you think you can scorn my gift in such ways? I gave you immortality. I made you a god! Yet you run around like a hooligan, associating with these lesser beings, for what? Your twisted idea of justice? I am the god of justice, you insolent child. I have decided our laws, and I can make more laws if I so wish. Do not test me.”

“As I remember brother,” a feminine voice cut the thick tension of the room, “You need council approval to decree a new law. Am I correct?” Zeus scowled, but his anger visibly dissipated. He sat back in his chair as the dark clouds surrounding the throne lightened into grey wisps, like one might see on a dull autumn’s day. I did not dare turn my back to my father to see the speaker, though I knew the voice well - a voice older than Zeus’. I kept my kneeling position, hearing the footsteps of the graceful Olympian stride down the single strip of carpet, stopping just behind me. I felt a soft hand on my shoulder. It pulled me up until I stood beside the tall, warm figure of Demeter, the goddess of agriculture.

She wore a simple, emerald-coloured dress that flowed down to her ankles, revealing a pair of bronze-coloured sandals. A thin, gossamer shawl of sage-like hue was wrapped around her shoulders and hung around her tanned arms. Her wavy blonde hair shared an alikeness to that of Sleeping Beauty’s. A ring of glittering corn stalks circled her brow. Her form was a few inches taller than my own. She kept her hand firm on my shoulder and glared defiantly up at Zeus with those striking green eyes.

“Margaret is my daughter. I invited her to Olympus to congratulate her on finishing her quest, as is customary. She and Apollo simply conversed over some flowers.” She looked down at me. “And I for one, am pleased that Apollo is finally making good use of that great space.” I smiled up at her, then glanced nervously at Zeus. His mighty hand stroked his beard in thought. At last, grumbled and said;

“Very well,” his deep voice echoed throughout the hall. “But be warned. Next time that mortal comes to this land with no believable reasoning, I will not be so merciful.”

“Of course, my lord.” Demeter and I both bowed in respect (well, more so ‘custom’ or ‘fear’ than respect, but whatever) and made our way out into the cheery sunlight, leaving the clammy throne room behind us.

We wandered down the streets in silence, watching all the minor deities, cloud nymphs and satyrs frolic and chat excitedly. I got a few gazes from a group of dryads, but thought nothing of it. Perhaps they had heard of what I did for the Palm Springs residents. Did dryads have some sort of mental link or Whatsapp text group? I imagined it would go like: “Hey gurrrll!!! ;D You see all this heatwave shiz??? Gone!!!! Apollo is #greatest” or something similar. After a few minutes, Demeter pulled me to a park bench that overlooked a large, shimmering lake. Ripples glided across the water. Every now and then, a tentacle rose above the surface and plunged back under, sending a spray of droplets to dampen anything in a metre radius. Some hippocampi splashed playfully around the shallows, some allowing a pod of Naiads to stroke their noses and fuss over how cute they were. We watched.

“You did well by my daughter, Apollo,” Demeter mused. She kept her eyes on the lake. No doubt, she was not comfortable congratulating her least favourite nephew, but I admired her determination to go through with it anyways. I may not have done the same. “I am surprised.”

I gave a short laugh. I was used to being mildly insulted. It did not phase nor offend me.

“Meg is truly an extraordinary demigod. You must be very proud.”

“I am.” A small smirk appeared on her otherwise neutral expression. “She is one of my best.”

“She could live here. You’d get to see her. I would too. I think a wild demigod energy such as hers is well needed around here.” The goddess of grain raised an eyebrow, and peered down at me from the corner of her eye. “I have offered her immortality,” I clarified. “She has not yet answered. I think if she accepts, you should be the one to grant her the immortality. Of course, I can do it myself, but I thought it may be more impactful for a mother.” She furrowed her brows, and her corn crown seemed to catch the light of the late afternoon sun, making her eyes hard to focus on.

“Zeus would not approve.”

“Zeus wouldn’t have a say,” I countered. Demeter only nodded her head ever so slightly, her face scrunched in concentration.

“Very well. I will accept if she accepts.”

…

Apollo was stupid. Stupid, stupid, stupid. Meg simply could not understand him. She lay belly down on one of the thick branches of the tree that supported the newly built Cabin Four like a panther reclining in the jungle, contemplating her idiot friend and his dumb offer. She sniffed, shifting her head on the uncomfortable bark. She liked Camp Half-Blood. The food was good, there was some people her age that she could beat in a fight - and older campers she could beat too - sword practice was fun. So was capture the flag. But Meg was alone, and maybe that was good. People crowded her on the first few days after the end of the quest, wanting details about the most dangerous parts. She had even been given a necklace with a single green bead on it that held a picture of a writhing serpent - Python, the monster she and Apollo had slain. Every now and again, an Apollo camper would ask questions about their dad, and she always made sure to give them less than flattering (but truthful) answers.

But that had worn off after a while. People left her alone, apart from Billie Ng and Miranda Gardener, who she was trying to teach how to summon a karpos (they were pretty bad at it). She hated that she missed her partner in crime. But if she left, she would miss her home, where she belonged.

‘Ughghhh” Meg groaned, sliding ungracefully off her branch and landing on the floor with a whump. She rolled onto her back and scowled at the unfairness of having to deal with feelings. Time passed. Eventually, she decided to make a call.

…

I didn’t scream. Nope, definitely not me, the cool and chill god of a-heck-load-of-things. No, I’m quite sure I stayed calm and collected at the sight of Meg McCaffrey appearing in a shimmering vapour form - in my shower.

Fine. I may have screamed. But you cannot blame me! It is one thing to take a shower with a ‘date’, and quite another to be peeked on by a twelve-year-old. I frantically made my best efforts to cover my perfect physique for the sake of the child, who immediately threw her hands over her eyes and made a ‘gross’ face. She wore a baggy Camp Half-Blood T-shirt over her usual dress, and a single bead hung by a thread on her neck.

“Meg, what the actual-” I hissed, cutting myself off. I took a deep breath and held my tongue to refrain myself from swearing in front of a kid (my mother would never let me hear the end of it if I didn’t). “Why are you Iris Messaging me? Now, of all times?”

“I didn’t know you were in the shower, dummy.” Meg blew a raspberry, her vapour form producing a few bubbles in the process. “I didn’t think you had to wash since y’know,” she gestured at my tanned body. I covered myself a little more, even if she did still have her eyes shielded.

“I don’t. It’s just relaxing,” I grumbled, grabbing a towel, wrapping it around my waist and stepping out into the steamy bathroom. I kept the shower running so the Iris Message could continue, which involved getting the towel wet. I prayed the extra weight would not lead to any unexpected revealings.

“I’m not supposed to be taking to you, Meg.”

Meg uncovered her eyes and snorted. “Says who?”

“Says my father.” I felt my face darken. “He heard about your little quest. He told me you could not come here again with out ‘believable reason’.” I punctuated the last part with air quotes.

“I told you that you should’ve had a plan.”

I rolled my eyes and scoffed. “I did have a plan! My plan was for him not to find out.”

“How’d that work out for you?”

“Shut up.” I could not resist the smirk that played on my lips. I wanted to be around my friend more often. She was one of the few who still talked to me as an equal (kind of). The other Olympians…let’s just say they didn’t exactly show me the same level of respect has they had once done, with the limited exceptions of Poseidon (who had been mortal once before) and Artemis (who had never respected me - its a sibling thing). “Listen, I cannot guarantee that my father isn’t keeping a close eye, so let’s make this quick. What did you want to tell me?”

Meg’s face lost its humour. I was afraid she’d back out and end the message. Instead, she spoke. “I thought about your offer.”

I felt my chest swell with hope. Maybe she’d say yes. Maybe she’d come up and be my friend for eternity. Maybe I would have one more person to talk to. “And?”

“No.”

My smile faltered. I felt all sense of excitement in me shatter in that moment as I struggled to put together a sentence. “Wh…what?”

She looked down at her rough, calloused hands. “I don’t want to be a god. I don’t want to live directly under Zeus’s thumb. I killed Nero. I killed him because he was awful and forced me to do stuff I didn’t want to do. He made me feel stupid and useless. I got rid of that.” She stared me directly in the eye. “I never want to feel like that again.”

The argument I’d prepared died in my throat. Could I really blame her? After all, she was right. My father didn’t even allow me to talk to my friend. Meg didn’t want to be oppressed like I was. She was free. That was a feeling I could never truly have. I’d given up on it long ago.

“Yeah,” I croaked. “Okay.”

“Okay,” she mumbled back. “Bye.” Her figure disappeared, and I was left alone, standing in the all-too-quiet bathroom.

“Farewell.”

***

It had been several months since Meg had declined my offer. I still thought about her and my children every day. I searched for and aided a few of my less remembered offspring, guiding them to their respective camps. Thirteen-year-old Seamus, ten-year-old Anthony and two-year-old James made their way to Camp Jupiter. Nine-year-old Aiden, twelve-year-old Dwayne and six-year-old Marigold travelled to Camp Half-Blood. I had just ensured the safe arrival of Marigold, the curly blonde-haired excitable young demigod who seemed to have inherited my ability of Photokinesis, a rare and promising talent for my children to have. In other words, I was exhausted. So I teleported to the most calming place I could think of.

I collapsed down underneath the aged mountain laurel tree. It was located high up in a rocky, unforgiving mountain range, but overlooked the beautiful view of the other mountains, the lower halves shrouded in white mist. We often met here.

Beside me sat a young girl in a grey puffer coat and black leggings, her long dark hair tied back in a high ponytail. She was busy whittling on a long piece of wood, and so, did not look up at my arrival.

“Brother,” she greeted plainly.

“‘Sup?” I replied weakly, exhaustion filling my voice. I watched Artemis whittle for a while, my eyes half closed, the bow slowly taking its shape and the sound of the knife scraping evenly across the smooth surface calming me. “You making this for one of your hunters?”

“Yes. Being their leader has responsibilities, you know.”

I blew out my cheeks in exasperation. “At least you never have to go chasing down kids all over the world to drag to two camps in North America.” Artemis paused her whittling, and looked at me quizzically. “My son, Diego,” I clarified. “His mother is Spanish. He did not want to leave Madrid. But I finally convinced him after, what,” I tried to recall. “Three days? Ugh. Sometimes I just wish there were a few more camps around, ya know?”

The huntress had gone back to her work, her face contorted in concentration. “Mmm.”

“Are you even listening?”

“Uh huh.” I elbowed my beloved sister in the ribs, an effective attention-attracting tip I had learned over the course of my punishment; courtesy of Meg McCaffrey. Artemis glared daggers at me. “What?”

I beamed my most innocent smile. “You weren’t giving me enough attention, Artie.”

“Sod off.” She grunted. She will always deny it, but I saw a slight hint of a smirk seep through her annoyed facade. I grinned to myself as I decided to be as provocative as possible. I wrapped my arm around her shoulders and snickered at her crabby expression and ancient greek curses as she tried to push me off.

There are many perks to being a sibling, dear reader, and annoying the younger sibling (or the one that appeared to be younger anyways) is most definitely in the top three. Along with the whole ‘If You Anger One Of Us You Deal With Both Of Us’ Ride-Or-Die attitude we can have (of course, this does not apply to every situation. See: the time Hermes pushed me into a very deep swamp, and all my dear sister did was laugh until she could no longer breathe).

Eventually, Artemis melted into the hug, leaning her young head against my chest. She took a deep breath and quietly said; “I am going to tell you something.”

I drew her a little closer, my embrace no longer meaning to provoke, but to comfort. I leant my cheek on her head.

“What’s up?”

“I am only telling if you do not get big-headed about it.”

“When have I ever done that?” I teased. “Honestly, I’m rather offended that you would even insinuate-” A small hand flew up past my face and grasped a lock of my beautiful, long hair - and yanked it downwards. “OW!” I rubbed my scalp and huffed down at my smug sister.

“You deserved that.”

“Uh huh,” I grumbled, unimpressed.

“What I was going to say was that I really did miss you, Ollie.”

“I missed you too. And I never got to say thanks. Y’know… for that time in Indianapolis. I couldn’t because the others were always around so… thanks.”

Artemis fiddled with a loose string on my sleeve. “Yeah, well. I had to pay you back for that time with Atlas and Luke…” she waved her hand, gesturing vaguely to the air. “So yeah. I guess I owed you one.”

Several years ago, my dear sister had taken the weight of the sky off a young maiden in an attempt to save her from being crushed. She succeeded, but at the cost of holding up the burdensome pillar of clouds for days without rest. By the time she made it back to Olympus, she was faint and required several days of rest (as ordered by her doctor; me). The topic was not often talked about. I wished everyone would have the same attitude over my embarrassing adventures. Still, I remembered mother and I being worried sick, and Zeus coming thundering through the door when he heard about her. We thought he was there to console or mourn, or maybe hatch plans on how to save her from the titan’s clutches. If you thought ‘What? That doesn’t sound like Zeus!’ then congratulations! You are learning. He told us that a demigod quest had been despatched, and if he were to find either of us interfering, he would rip out the ‘Number Ten’ lighting bolt. But not to worry, oh readers! He didn’t catch me.

Artemis shifted under my hold. We fell into a comfortable silence, and I found myself thinking about Meg again. Her tyrannical attitude, her odd fashion sense, her scent of baked apple. I could see every rhinestone in her cat-eye glasses. Every stitch in her well-worn dress. I got to thinking about how we would meet up again. A brilliant thought crossed my mind.

…

“Are we sure this is a good idea?”

“Relax, you big baby. It’ll be fine.”

*CRASH*

Meg blew a raspberry at the window she’d just obliterated.

“Well done,” I congratulated dryly. Meg kicked me in the shin, then readied another nerf bullet.

“I’m gonna miss if you keep distracting me!”

“Oh, was my mere presence distracting? I didn’t say anything!”

“Shut up,” she grumbled, sticking her tongue out in concentration as she aimed for the makeshift target we’d made and blu-tacked on the wooden wall. “I’ve got the gun and you’re being annoying.” I kept my mouth shut. The bullet was let loose with a twang. It went right through the hole where the window had once been. There were shouts from outside varying from “Get down, get down!” “Do not worry! I predict it to be no- six letters. Starts with ’T’” “Trench?” “Top-hat?” “That’s two words, Aloe.” “My bad.”

Of course, we were back at Aeithales. Palm Springs had welcomed us back with open arms. And I had my cover story set. I was here to personally check up on my Sibyl, as to not neglect my duties over prophecy, which was one of the reasons I’d been sent to Earth in the first place. I’d even gone to the extra trouble of making sure my dad was okay with it the day before. (“Because, you know, there may be some of my friends down there, cacti spirits and such, and I know you told me not to communicate with-” “APOLLO! IT’S TWO IN THE MORNING! GET OUT OF MY BEDROOM!”) So I figured I would be fine.

It was currently quite late, maybe eleven o’clock, and I had hung around all day. Just as Meg finally hit the target, I said;

“Perhaps I should get going. Do you want to spend the night here or go back to camp?” Meg sniffed.

“You don’t seem too bothered.”

“By what?” I asked. “Did I do something? Forgotten something? Today isn’t your birthday, is it?”

“No,” she stated bluntly, going back to aiming at the target.

“Care to elaborate?” I enquired cautiously. I did not want that nerf gun aimed the wrong way.

“You offered me immortality. I turned it down. You don’t seem upset.”

“My dear Meg. I simply respect your wishes, like I said I would.” I laced my hands together, trying to convey my feelings in an accurate way without bursting into a song that has all the feeling pre-written. “Your reasoning was sound, and while I do not fully understand your final decision, I trust your judgement. Besides, Percy Jackson turned it down too. So maybe it is not as valuable as I first thought.”

To my delight, Meg smiled. Albeit a small one. “Thanks. Do you think we’ll ever get to meet up? Without all the secrets and planning and stuff?”

I sighed. I really hoped so. “I do not know. One day, perhaps, my father will change his mind. I do not know when, or how. But I have hope that he will. As long as we keep working on him, yeah?”

“Yeah.”

“Right!” I clapped my hands together like I had seen dads do in movies to symbolise the end of a touchy conversation. “Now off to bed or I’ll turn you into a traffic light.”

I closed the door as quietly as I could, careful not to waken the sleeping demigod. Her snores were muffled as I strolled through night, evaporating and reappearing in my palace. I wandered the golden hallways for a while, taking in every piece of decoration and furniture in a different light. The palace wasn’t cold and useless as I had first thought. It was dazzling and elegant and me. I had been under the impression that because I wanted to heighten my morals and personally intervene more often, it would require changing everything. But it didn’t. So what if I liked shiny stuff? I can have good taste and still be an awesome god! It simply wasn’t the problem. It was only what I had lacked that had bothered me. And, looking down to Palm Springs one last time, I knew I had found it.

This was kind of a one off! The next chapter will be back with mortal Apollo during the trials. i just wanted to try something different.

#writing #fanfic #fanfiction #oneshot #toa oneshot #lester papadopoulos #apollo #meg mccaffrey #trials of apollo #toa #zeus #hermes #Austin lake #demeter #leto #artemis #olympus #olympians

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olympiansrpg1-blog · 7 years

Photo

BASICS

Name: Avi Aditya Desai Age: 27 Affiliation: Neutral Occupation: Ex-drug dealer Faceclaim: Dev Patel Status: TAKEN by Megan

THE STORY

They call you Apollo, the golden child. Perhaps the name was more befitting when you were much younger - you were the blessed one, beautiful and charming in every way. You welcomed Artemis into your life, taking their little hands in yours and promising them that you would never leave them. Somewhere along the line, you lost your light, preferring the pills and needles as your company, Artemis barely managing to keep you afloat. But even then, you never thought you would find yourself with cold metal around your wrists and your name tarnished forever. It wasn’t my fault, you pleaded. It wasn’t the shame that finally broke you, but the fear and disappointment you saw in Artemis’ eyes. Two years later, you’ve finally stumbled back into freedom and into the light, but you’ve never been so afraid to face the world again.

CONNECTIONS

ARTEMIS - You remember Artemis hiding behind your step-father as you were first introduced; you’d loved them immediately. You wonder if it might have been better if you went away for good, if you’re the reason they’re stuck. The days you can’t seem to get rid of that guilt, the only thing you want is to keep them safe, even if they no longer trust you.

DIONYSUS - You broke your promise to Artemis, to always be by their side - but Dionysus had been there, and you owe them your life now. But now that you’re back, you’re starting to see that Dionysus is going down the same path that you once did. You’re not quite sure if you should intervene, but you’d never let anything bad happen to them.

HERMES - Not once did you ever think that Hermes would be the reason that you would end up behind bars - you realize now that you were the fool for trusting the cunning bastard, someone who’d only used you as their drug mule. You don’t know how, and you don’t know when, but you do know that you’ll make them pay somehow.

SUGGESTED FACECLAIMS

Dev Patel, Yoo Yeon Seok, Godfrey Gao, Bob Morley, Shay Mitchell, Kiersey Clemons

BIOGRAPHY

At first, you wonder if this a cruel joke.

You blink, waiting for a punchline, hands folded neatly in your lap. The room they brought you to is warm, which is a nice change up considering that it’s November and the rest of the prison is cold and drafty. You cradle your chin in your palm, waiting for whatever’s coming next, though you’re unsure of it. Then again, you’ve been through meetings like this enough times by now that it doesn’t phase you anymore, and that’s the worst part of it all. The stuffed shirt paralegal from the public defender’s office is looking at you, the silence stretching long and awkward, before they start looking confused, clearing their throat and sweating around the collar and looking around. Clearly their first time out of the office. You find it amusing, tugging at one of the orange threads that’s come loose on the jumpsuit. Anything to distract you from this tense moment here, at least until they get the picture and take their exit so you can go back to your cell.

“Did you hear me correctly, Mr. Desai? You’re being released early. Today.”

As soon as they start talking, you’re rolling your eyes, because you can only imagine what’s going to come out of their mouth. But then you hear exactly what they’re saying, and you freeze. It’s not a joke. You look up at the paralegal again, waiting and watching. Did you hear that correctly, two times in a row now. The other man nods in affirmation, as if he seems to understand what exactly is crossing your mind at this exact moment, and suddenly, it feels as if your heart has jumped into your throat. You open and close your mouth, trying to find words to reply with, but nothing comes out. You’re not supposed to be released for another six months, and this is coming out of nowhere, your lawyer mentioned nothing of it to you last time you had spoken with them. The air feels like it’s left your lungs, because you’re not prepared.

Shaking your head to yourself as the thought crosses your mind, you can’t believe what’s going through your mind. Not prepared? What does that even mean? You’ve been waiting for this since the moment that you ended up behind bars, you should be celebrating it - not questioning it. But the more the reality continues to sink in, the more that you realize how long you’ve been away from the rest of the world, and how much your world has become prison. There’s no happiness yet - just nervousness at the thought of reacclimatizing yourself with the world.

“What? Why?” you ask, shaking your head again.

The paralegal is standing up by now, shuffling some papers and holding out one to you. “Good behavior. Overcrowding. Having already paid your debt to society. Does it really matter? You get to go home, why ask questions?” he replied, before pushing the piece of paper to you. “Come on. Sign here and quit wasting both of our time. The guards will be coming by with your personal belongings, and then we’ll get you on the phone with anyone you might need to contact to let them know you’re being released.”

You stare at the pen that’s outstretched to you, before taking it in your hand. The funny thing is that you’ve thought about this moment plenty of times before. Two years on your own has given you a lot of time with your thoughts, and this has been a frequent one, but strangely enough, this was never one of the scenarios that you had managed to concoct when you imagined it. There was always excitement, happiness, cheers of joy. This just feels strangely hollow. It doesn’t change what’s happened. It doesn’t give you the past two years back. It doesn’t take away what you’ve done. The pen shakes in your hand, trembling before you put it to the paper, but you go through the motions after hesitating for a moment, signing your name on the line before pushing it back towards him.

A guard has come to the door with a cardboard box full of affects, things that you immediately recognize - your clothes that you had been wearing the day you came in, your wallet, your phone, your sneakers. The guard hands it to the paralegal who places it in front of you. You’re slow to react, pulling out the NASA t-shirt you haven’t seen in two years - it’s always been your favorite, threadbare and just worn through enough that you can barely start to see the making of holes by the collar. You run your hand over the material, as it looks almost foreign to you, and you wonder why you were stupid enough to tarnish the great memory of that t-shirt with prison.

You’ve barely pulled the rest of the items out of the box, putting the clothes in an awkward heap on the table when you realize that the paralegal has already plugged your phone into a charger, the old familiar sound of a buzz and vibration startling you in a way that you never expected it to.

“Get changed,” he says without looking up, and in any other life, you would’ve expected to find a spot of privacy - a closed door, a bathroom, anything - but this is a different world. Privacy doesn’t exist anymore. You’ve been strip searched, you’ve showered and gotten changed and taken a piss in front of strangers and it doesn’t even phase you anymore. The orange jumpsuit lays on the floor as you pull the t-shit and jeans on, followed by the sweatshirt over it - a gift from your mother, you remember. It was forever ago, so long that it feels like another lifetime. You wonder if she knows you’re here. You wonder if she would even care. You haven’t heard from her in years, after all - the arrest would’ve just made it worse.

The paralegal hands you the phone as you pocket your wallet and keys, and it feels a bit like you’re wearing a costume. Unnatural in a way. You glance at the time on the phone, before putting it in your pocket as well, before turning to the paralegal, who is eyeing you curiously. There’s a few beats of silence, before he eventually speaks up again. “Isn’t there anyone you want to call? Share with them the good news? I can imagine there must be someone who’d be happy to know you’re going to be back on the outside…”

Your stomach flips nervously, because you’re not even sure anymore. Your first thought since realizing that you were getting out was to call Artemis and tell them that you were a free man. How good it would be to hear their voice, to wrap them in a hug once again, to pull them close and not let go with words of promises. How ideal it could be to fall back into the happiness the two of you had found when things were good, when you revolved around one another like the sun and moon, when there was not one without the other. There had never been a point in your life after Artemis came into it that you could envision it without them. But as you run your thumb over the screen of the phone in your pocket, you realize that things are not the way that they once were. You two are no longer children, after all. Your words that you promised to Artemis are meaningless now, as you’d broken them the moment you found yourself behind bars. And though the temptation to reach out to Artemis is almost too great to ignore, you can’t bring yourself to do it.

Shame is heavy and ugly, and it’s difficult to shake. Facing Artemis after these years in prison is harder than you thought it would be - not because you don’t want to see them, but because you’re scared that they don’t want to see you. You’ve failed them, after all. You let them down, and you forced them to survive on their own when you should’ve been there with them. The guilt crawls into mouth bitterly, a hard lump in the back of your throat.

“No, there’s no one I need to call,” you answer instead, shaking your head and clearing your throat, hoping the emotions will clear quickly. With a sniffle, you take a deep breath, and put your hands in your pockets. “Is there anything else that needs to be done, or are we good to go?”

Artemis will find out eventually, you tell yourself. So will Dionysus. The least you can give them after all this time is one more day of not having to worry about you.

#apollo #lsrp #lsrpg #skeleton rp #gang rp #all #neutral #tw drug abuse #tw drug addiction #tw needles #taken

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