Chapter Text
Surely you haven't heard that the Twelfth Olympian is back.
His ascension, they said centuries later, was like himself - demonstratively loud and radiant, blinding the council gathered for the summer solstice and causing the destruction of several palaces. He burst into the throne room in a whirlwind of music and sunshine, still in rags that barely concealed the gold of his hair and the glow of his blue eyes. He appeared before his own father, bowed his knee in reverence, ready to accept his fate. The golden throne, once lost, returned, shuddering heaven, and the fate of the god was a foregone conclusion. Zeus the Thunderer exclaimed, severely breaking the silence that had descended on the council.
“Welcome back, my son,” and in the blue eyes the restrained moisture has accumulated - how long has god not heard this treatment. He bowed to his father again, walked to the throne with long-forgotten grace and regained his former brilliance with a snap of his fingers.
“I can't believe it,” the sitting near to him Hermes whispered to the wine god. “So many years have passed.”
“We knew it would happen one day,” Dionysus disagreed. Hermes shook his curly head.
“But not in a thousand years.”
The Sun God mowed down a suspicious look towards his younger brothers, but did not dare to squeeze into the conversation - for that there will still be time, the advice of the summer solstice was a priority. Zeus the Thunderer did not take a wary look from his firstborn, half-hearted listening to Athena's report on mortal affairs. The ascension of the Sun god to Zeus seemed a harbinger of imminent trouble, but he did not want to overshadow the joy of family reunification. There will still be time.
In the shadow of the golden throne, hidden from divine eyes, a sprout of a poisonous flower sprouted from a crack, and far below, in the kingdom near the ancient gates of Tartarus, among the voids of the underworld, the Blood River raised a toast.
“For the sun god,” a wry smile illuminated the face hidden behind the veil. “And for Olympus.”
“Let it stand forever,” the Winged Shadow echoed. “Miraculously surviving.”
The hubbub of celebration that followed drowned out conversation between the calamities for the rest of the night..
*
The celebration of the Summer Solstice deafeningly walked all over Olympus, the muses surpassed themselves in chanting the exploits of their master, Dionysus was generous with exquisite wines, gods and goddesses circled in dance until sunset, even Hades smiled sparingly, watching the sparkling happiness of the heavenly capital. The very culprit of the stormy celebration watched everything from behind the shadow of an old cedar, sipping wine and squinting from flashes of gold around. Hermes stood next to him, rustling his wings on his sandals, surprisingly perceptively remaining silent until Apollo turned to him with a question in his eyes.
“You are quiet today,” Hermes replied. Apollo almost sighed. A thousand years had taught him quiet happiness, and returning to the glittering palaces continued to give him a headache, which is why Apollo preferred to stay away from the crowd, remaining in the field of vision of everyone who needed him.
He knew they were celebrating his miraculous return when, in a thousand years, hope had almost run out, but celebrating seemed blasphemous. Apollo knew the reason for his exile, unlike the rest of the inhabitants of Olympus, but talking about it with his father, who stubbornly avoided him, hiding behind the thin camp of his wife, seemed akin to defeating Gaia. So Apollo remained among the Olympians, smiling and shining in divine glory, secretly hoping to intercept his father before he locked himself in his own palace.
“Was Olympus seriously damaged?” Apollo asked worried, instead of answering. Hermes looked at him incredulously, but obediently noticed.
“If you pay attention to the right side, you'll see a lovely golden tile,” but as soon as Apollo turned his head to the right, no tile was found.
"It's not there.”
“It was there this morning,” Hermes disagreed. “As there was no fountain in the morning at the palace of Aphrodite, and the statue of our father had hands.”
Apollo wrinkled.
“Was the father angry?”
“Surprisingly, no,” the views of the two gods slanted towards Thunderer, smiling invitingly to Ganymede. “Rather, he's glad.”
“My return?”
“The fact that the council hall remained intact,” at a blank look, Hermes pointed towards the building. “It was destroyed a thousand years ago.”
Into your exile, left unspoken. The shadow of gloom ran over Apollo's face - he did not like to remember those early years when despair almost swallowed him, and love grew inside with poisonous ivy, burning through the insides. Love remained there inside, fenced off by centuries of humility and acceptance, and the pain from it no longer tormented the tormented insides, but sometimes burst to the surface to remind of itself.
Apollo was much more worried about the destruction caused by him, and there was no more convenient pretext for talking with his father than now. Therefore, having said goodbye to Hermes, the god of the Sun went straight to his father, blocking his view of their cupbearer. Zeus pressed his lips displeased, but, looking up, put a friendly mask on his face. Apollo almost shuddered.
“My son,” said Zeus. “Aren't you supposed to dance with the muses?”
“How can I? When the good part of Olympus collapsed through my fault.”
“Who attributed it to you?” Zeus frowned. “Point and I'll punish them.”
“Father,” Apollo looked at him wearily. “You know why I'm here.”
“No, son,” Zeus almost turned away, ready to leave, but eventually changed his mind. “That was a thousand years ago. The Moirs themselves said there was no longer a threat.”
“After the throne room was destroyed? Because when I left, he was still standing.”
“Throne room,” Zeus grimaced. “It was destroyed not by the Moirs, but by Nyx's son, the Blood River. Or have you not heard the story of the calamity of Zeus living far underground?”
“It seemed to me that these are fairy tales.”
“Not all of them,” Zeus's gaze dimmed, millennial memories coming alive right in front of him. “He arrived at Olympus almost like you, only carrying blood and pain behind him. He destroyed the throne room, laid down the remaining Olympians and cursed us. When I went to the Moiras to find out who he was, they called him their punishment, a disaster sent by Chaos for our sins. Then it spread like wildfire, demigods, younger gods, monsters - everyone suddenly started talking about disasters.”
“That's why you're so tense,” Apollo remarked quietly. “You're waiting for him to come.”
“The Blood River never missed a chance to get on my nerves,” grumbled Zeus. “The collision of Poseidon and the Winged Shadow, and the Blood River enters Olympus as his home, the appearance of your first blessed child - rumors differ about the Blood River, which brought his own child to the threshold of the Camp. It's always here somewhere. It cannot be that he makes an exception today.”
“Can't he rejoice at my ascension?” Apollo corrected himself under his father's cautious gaze. “Your kid's back.”
Zeus only shook his head.
“Go rest, son, we'll talk tomorrow.”
Questions continued to swirl in his head even as Apollo wisely backed away, leaving his father alone with the cupbearer, even as the muses ushered him to the stage, served up a harp and persuaded him to perform old songs. The paranoia of his father gradually passed on to Apollo, when he, circling in a nymph dance, looked around, expecting to meet the Blood River, but the festival ended peacefully. Apollo, barely standing on his feet, was dragged into his own palace by smiling Artemis, and her hunters, already in their own chambers, warmly said goodbye to both of them. Only Thalia followed behind, remaining in the palace to spend the night next to her mistress.
“Rest,” asked Artemis, putting Apollo to a guest bed. “We'll talk in the morning.”
Apollo fell asleep immeasurably happy.
*
Zeus, who came to his own palace with the thought of a good night, should have remembered that his own paranoia rarely let him down. Not all of paranoia, but most of it — the part that concerned the Blood River, now lounging in Zeus himself favorite chair.
“What are you doing here?”
“Can't I congratulate you on the return of your son?” a laughing smile began to play on his thin lips. “It's convenient, isn't it, that your son broke the curse on the day of the solstice? Still a day, and your reign has come to an end.”
“So that's all?” asked Zeus incredulously. “Is the curse broken?”
“My curse is broken,” the Blood River corrected as he rose. “What will decide the Moiras or especially Chaos, I am not given to know. But my advice to you, Zeus the Thunderer, watch the Gates of Death as I watch mine.”
“Aren't the unrest in the ancient lands your fault?”
“We, the children of the Night, do not favor the gods,” snorted the Blood River. “We love mortals.”
“Surprisingly.”
“Deal with your problems, the Thunderer, and maybe I'll put in a good word with Chaos.”
“You'll not,” Zeus fell on the sofa not far from the chair - the desire to go somewhere instantly evaporated, and he suspected the influence of the calamity - he, after all, remained a god. The Blood River just led with his shoulders, long hair swayed and neatly lay on his slender back. The Blood River was all like that - slender and thin, like a dagger, digging into a defenseless side, possessing almost worse destruction than the heaviest mace. He was the true son of his mother, the goddess of the Night, as deadly as he was beautiful, if they were not ready to bite each other's throats, Zeus would even invite him to his bed. The Blood River shriveled, the poisonous green eye behind the black veil sparkled with pure hatred, and the calamity disappeared, leaving behind a sugary scent of its own flower that made Zeus wince.
Ganymede was waiting for him. Apollo was waiting to talk to him in the morning. The Blood River was waiting for his trip to ancient lands. Poseidon and Hades expected assurances from him that the curse had disappeared, and Hera most likely expected his death. Zeus suppressed his irritated exhalation.
Damn the Blood River.
*
In the morning, Apollo was summoned to the throne room, and Artemis was almost ready to prevent him from leaving her palace. Hermes, arriving to deliver the message, was willing to let her do it. Apollo, if he were not so tense, if he did not expect a conversation with his father as much as if he didn't want him, he would laugh at the faces of his siblings. Thalia, who came out to the voices of the gods, shook her head.
“He won't expel you again.”
“At least know we're going to look for you,” Hermes asked, and immediately grimaced. “I'm sorry.”
Apollo, unable to hide the shudder, only waved off with a trembling hand.
“Never mind,” he added hastily, noticing the look on his twin sister's face. “That was a thousand years ago.”
And escaped before Artemis stopped him to reveal his secrets. A thousand years ago - too implausible an excuse for his sister, who saw his suffering from unhappy love, who saw the garden, which Apollo, surprisingly easily lying to himself, called the garden of reflection. Only the last flower of this garden should not have entered it. He did not hit, the thought swept through, because he died of old age, and not from your love, who chose the life of a mortal when he swore to you in eternity.
“Just don't cry in front of me,” Dionysus asked as Apollo burst into the throne room. “I'm not your vest.”
Father's heavy sigh, coupled with the surprisingly talkative god of wine, brought Apollo to his senses. He made a short bow.
“Father. Did you want to see me?”
“I wanted to see you and Dionysus,” Zeus agreed. “And Hermes, but, I'm afraid, he'll have to turn on on the way. Your calm has come to an end, son.”
“Is this connected with the Ancient Lands?” Dionysus entered into a conversation, until Apollo had time to think of a new exile. Zeus grumbled about something vaguely similar to "how does he know everything," but according to him he blurted out.
“It would be too dangerous to send our children there.”
“Unlike the three gods,” Apollo said skeptically. Zeus gave him a warning look, but Dionysus answered.
“Something strange is happening in the Ancient Lands, and given their close location to the gates of death, father is naturally worried.”
“And sending demigods is like sending to certain death,” finished Apollo, suppressing the sarcastic "when you all began to care." “I agree.”
Zeus nodded contentedly.
“Leave tomorrow with the first sunrise. Warn Hermes, he's on way too.”
Zeus escorted them away, barely finished talking, so Apollo and Dionysus were turn up not far from the armless father's statue, watching life on Olympus in full swing.
“I'm glad you're back,” Dionysus said after a brief silence. “You've been missed.”
“I'm glad too,” Apollo smiled lightly as he glanced down at his little brother. “It's strange to hear that from you.”
“Don't get used to it,” Dionysus immediately shaved off. “I'm in a good mood today.”
“Does it have anything to do with Hermes's suffering?”
Dionysus only rolled his eyes in response, dissolving into a whirlwind of vines. Apollo shivered on the cloying aroma of wine before heading off in search of his twin sister. Yesterday they barely had time to talk to each other, but today he was going to spend the whole day with her. They could go hunting - mortals, taking up the mind, finally left more wildlife where Apollo could get lost with his sister - or stay here in the palace of Artemis, Apollo did not care, he needed a sister. With Olympus quietly changed, oddly behaving gods, and memories Apollo had no intention of stirring for another thousand years, his sister seemed the only safe place. There was still Delos, but the return to his native island, to his mother, was postponed until the remaining problems were resolved. After the ancient lands, after talking with his father, after visiting the Camp, after... After.
Artemis was found at the fountain of Aphrodite, talking to Thalia, until the hunter noticed Apollo awkwardly stopping two feet away and pulled her mistress to turn around. Artemis greeted Apollo with a light hug.
“It went well.”
“My father wouldn't kick me out,” Apollo assured her. Thalia stepped in.
“Then why call now?”
“Something about problems in ancient lands,” Thalia's face darkened.
“I thought it was calamities having fun.”
“Don't throw off all the blame on calamities, sister,” Artemis smiled at her. “They help.”
Thalia seemed barely hold back to utter curses on their heads. Apollo in his wanderings met calamities only once - the Green Witch passed through those edges, nourishing the dried earth with her energy. In those days, there were rumors about her confrontation with Demeter, when one of the parents of Demeter’s children fell ill with flower disease and died, coughing up flowers from his lungs. Apollo, who heard this, was deeply glad that he was born a god - he did not want to imagine how often he would have to die at the whim of the gods of love. But the Green Witch, having met him among mortals, only gifted him with fresh vegetables and healed the wound received in the battle with the monster of Tartarus, another who escaped through the Gate of Death and did not die in the second Gigantomachy.
Artemis took Apollo hunting, leaving Thalia to keep an eye on the rest of the female hunters for the rest of the day as they pursued the three-horned snow-white deer, just like in the good old days, when there were still no expulsions, repeated battles and broken hearts. Hours later, with the loot freshened and roasted on the fire, the two of them sat around the fire, and Apollo listened to his sister's stories, about the hunters, about Thalia, about Olympus, and told his own, about wanderings, met new friends and old acquaintances, about defeated monsters and the hope of returning. They did not talk about exile, or about the search, or about their father, and even more so about the green eyes that came to Apollo in a dream.
Until, of course, Apollo's luck ran out, and sister asked in a quiet, gentle voice.
“Are you still?”
“Yeah,” sighed Apollo, preventing his sister from continuing. “I know what it looks like, but sometimes... still hope father was wrong.”
“He lived life as a mortal,” Artemis reminded inexorably. “Married mortal and conceived several children. I can still hear echoes of their kind in New York, brother.”
Apollo grimaced. He didn't like to remember that time, that relationship that led to the pain that, subconsciously, Apollo always expected. Fate could not be generous with eternal love after all these years, after all his failures, when he promised himself to try one last time and no longer try, when, after Lester, he suddenly realized that the man in front of him was the one with whom Apollo was ready to spend eternity. Not when he went to Styx to change his own vow to never marry a pledge of allegiance to his future husband. He did not violate it, this oath, even when it no longer surrendered to anyone, even when a thousand years have passed, and the descendants of his lover live in the city that he defended.
“You haven't said his name since,” Artemis continued quietly. “What are you hoping for?”
“That he would be reborn,” Apollo confessed for the first time since his exile. “He'll be reborn, he'll remember me, and we'll be together.”
“Are you ready to forgive him? After all?”
“I forgave him a long time ago, Artie,” he smiled at his sister. “I forgave Percy Jackson a long time ago.”
Artemis said nothing more, devoting the remaining time to the shootout of the flying crows. Apollo joined his sister a moment later, recalling that they should not stay until late at night - tomorrow he should go to ancient lands at first light.
And deep in his soul he hoped that on this journey he would again meet the one for whom the soul yearned for all a thousand years.