Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Apollo’s bare feet made a soft sound as they moved rapidly, endlessly graceful and unable of seeming harried, but unusually swift all the same. 

He held the front of his pure white peplos gathered together enough to keep him from tripping, but the back end of it trailed elegantly on the ground, abnormally long for such clothing but it had looked so lovely on him that he wore it. After all, fashion tended to follow him , not the other way around. 

His hair cascaded down his back like a waterfall of gold, curly as a sheep’s but smooth and silken and glittering . His face, soft and round and young and pale, sorrowful and desperate in a way that was unnatural to his features. 

Yet, as jarring as his expression was, or his speed, the most shocking thing was how filthy he was. His pristine white peplos, his creamy skin, even his hair , was horribly coated in ash . 

Apollo pushed open the doors and fled inside, like he was being chased by something. (And he was- but it had no fangs nor claws in the traditional sense, as it was from grief he fled)

And there he flung himself to the floor with a sob, right there at the feat of his father, who had stood up in alarm at his sudden entry. 

“ Papa ,” he choked. 

“Apollon?” Zeus hesitantly traced a large hand over Apollo’s quivering back, tense as he was bent over in supplication. “What is the matter, my son?”

“ Papa ,” Apollo repeated for an answer, weeping. 

Two hands, stronger than iron, clamped around his arms. They dwarfed his delicate arms, making him appear fragile in comparison, as they pulled him up. 

“ Apollo, answer me,” Zeus commanded, and Apollo looked up at him through strands of his loose hair. 

His chin trembled, and tears traced his cheeks, as he said brokenly, “Papa, he is dead .”

It took a moment for Zeus to understand, but when he did, he scooped Apollo up like he was but a godling once more, tenderly cradling him and resting his small face on Zeus’ shoulder as he let out a muffled cry of pain and grief. 

“I am sorry, my son,” he rumbled, and at this proximity Apollo could feel the vibrations, and he trembled in response. 

And until Apollo could gather breath, that was how they stayed- Apollo cradled in Zeus’ grasp like a child, while Zeus held him gently and murmured assurances. 

When Apollo finally managed to speak, the sound was weak. “Papa, why?”

Zeus sighed. “Oh, my son,” he said, sitting down with his child in his lap, running a hand through his soft hair, allowing his large fingers to get tangled in the curls and gently brush through them. “I did not do this to cause you pain, surely you know this?”

He waited until Apollo, with large eyes brimming with tears and biting his lip, nodded wordlessly, and then he continued. 

“If there was another way, I would have chosen it,” he promised, his voice low. “As your father, I would never harm you in such a way. But my little songbird, you must understand, that as a king, I must do what it takes to keep the peace.”

“B-but- my son would never hurt anyone,” Apollo sobbed, and Zeus trailed the hand not stroking Apollo’s hair past the shoulder it had rested on so that it cradled one side of Apollo’s face, which the young god leaned into weakly, looking up at Zeus with such pain, but also such trust . 

“I know,” he soothed. “But that is not the only way to disrupt the peace, my son. Your child made an enemy of my brother, Hades, when he broke the laws of mortality. Hades does not take kindly to being made a fool of in such a way, a price had to be paid, and such a thing could never be allowed to repeat. With your son dead, there is left no one who would subvert fate in such a way, and his life repays that of the one lost, sating Hades. Were it not I that killed your son, Hades would have done it himself, and it would have been far less merciful,” he explained softly, leaning forward to gently press his lips to Apollo’s forehead in a kiss. 

In his hold, Apollo shook, and his eyes overflowed once over. “It hurts , Papa,” he gasped, before leaning forward and resting his forehead on Zeus’ chest childishly, like hiding his face would hide him from the truth. 

Zeus hummed, the sound filling up the small room no matter how soft the sound, and rocked his son as he mourned. 

It truly broke his heart, seeing his son like this. Apollo was normally so full of light and life, so bright , so unfailingly happy all the time. He was as graceful as a swan and seemed to have endless pools of kindness within his bleeding heart, which normally was sweet enough that even Zeus found himself unwilling to crush it. 

And yet, here he was, in Zeus’ arms because Zeus had broken his heart. 

It hurt Zeus, in a way he didn’t anticipate. 

“Perhaps… Perhaps, there is a way, my son,” he said, gently pushing Apollo so he was sitting upright once more. He wanted to see his son’s face, while his mind worked to fix this , to be the benevolent father that Apollo had always trusted him to be, to preserve this . 

“Please, Papa,” Apollo begged, tears of the most shimmery gold streaming from his eyes, clumping his unfairly long eyelashes together with glittery gold. “I- I would do anything ,” he whispered, the sound strangled, utterly agonized, tortured . 

And Zeus looked down at his son, and found himself not unmoved. “ Anything , you say?”

Apollo clenched his fists on the hems of Zeus’ robes, desperate and clinging like a needy godling. “A-anything,” he hiccuped, swallowing, and Zeus knew that it was the truth. 

“Very well, then.”

And it was like the sun dawned, no help from Helios needed, the way Apollo’s face lit up with hope. 

“Truly?” he breathed. 

“With conditions,” Zeus cautioned, but Apollo just nodded eagerly. 

“ Anything ,” he promised. 

“Hades must still be satisfied, there must be a punishment, or there will be war. You will not be allowed to see Asclepius, ever again, and he must swear every binding oath possible for a mortal that he will never betray the laws again.” Hot possessiveness flared in his chest as he saw the way that Apollo’s face broke in sorrow once more, but remained ever trusting in him , ever obedient , ever Apollo . 

The world would try and take that from him- everyone would. Apollo was such a fragile creature, he was too soft to survive in such a cruel world. 

Zeus had to protect him, had to preserve this, in any way possible. (And, to prevent Apollo from getting any nasty ideas . He was adorable and sweet, but as he aged, he would become a threat , as he grew. Unless Zeus put an end to it, right then and there . He would never have to kill his son to protect his throne, if he did this right. 

He would not fail. 

He could not bear to)

“And,” he said slowly, “To make sure of this, you will be imprisoned on a solitary island, and you will have contact with none save it be me .” He drew inspiration from that Calypso titaness that he had crafted the punishment for, but he molded it to best serve his plans. “In fact, you will not be able to talk at all.”

This was to protect Apollo from having his heart broken- he would not be punished as Calypso. Only Zeus would never break his heart, so only Zeus would see him. 

(Apollo would never look at anyone with the trust that he gave so freely to Zeus)

Apollo trembled, but he met Zeus’ gaze with surprising steadiness, considering how flighty Zeus’ sensitive son tended to be. 

“Can you abide by these rules, my little songbird? I would never force such a thing on you, I truly do not want such a thing at all,” he lied. “But I could not deny you this if it was what you truly wish… And I cannot bear to see you so sad.”

Apollo nodded. “Of course, Papa. I said anything and I meant it- I won’t disappoint you. I promise.”

“I know you won't, my perfect little songbird,” Zeus breathed, and tugged Apollo back into the embrace, for just a little bit longer. He would rescue that mortal brat after he got Apollo situated- perhaps on an island with sands as golden as Apollo’s hair, and lusher than Calypso’s certainly, Calypso was an enemy and Apollo was his prince . 

It would be the finest island anyone could imagine, but no one else would ever see it. It would be only for his son. 

He would make it perfect for his perfect little prince. 

But only after he held him just a moment longer. 

Chapter Text

Apollo got used to not being able to talk quicker than he’d thought. 

(Though was that truly so supririsng, considering he spent his days alone, without anyone to talk to ?)

His days were simple. He woke up in his bed, taken from his room in the palace of Olympus, and he’d slide out of bed, sliding a delicate, gossamar thin chiton over his body and then wrapping himself in a heavy himation, because he really ddin’t need to worry about clothes when he was always alone but it was cold in the mornings with the mist that crept in and coated his island and the himation was scratchy without something guarding his skin first. 

Thus clothed, he would wander the fine golden sands of the beach and watch as the sun rose, skipping rocks. 

Once the sun had risen and he had grown bored of throwing things into the ocean that trapped him, he would go milk his sheep and bring that into his house. With care, he’d boil and strain it and mix in starter left over from the previous day and leave it wrapped in sheep-skin to ferment, and then he’d pull out the one he’d made the day before and replace it. Apollo would drizzle it with honey and then add nuts and berries he’d have picked on the way to his sheep, and then he’d eat his breakfast on the roof of his quant little house. 

With that done, he’d prepare himself pita to to rise throughout the day and go scavenging or fishing, depending on what sounded good that day, in preparation for lunch. Then he would work on whatever project interested him- currently, a tapestry to hang around his bed, with a loom he made for himself. 

And that was just how his day rolled on. Food, projects, food, projects. He’d explore in his free time, dance, sing, carve poems on the nearest surface, anything . 

Because his real concern wasn’t his inability to speak- none of the numerous animals on the island he’d befriended needed his words to connect to him. It was boredom . 

Oh, his father did what he could. He made time out of his busy schedule as king for Apollo , gathering anything he thought his beloved son would appreciate- food, clothes, fabrics, pets, art pieces, anything , really. He never brought anything from any of Apollo’s loved ones, but that was to be expected. Apollo had willingly cut himself off entirely from them, for the sake of his boy, and he was glad that he chose to do so. 

It was always a little frustrating when Zeus visited, because the conversations always ended up a little one sided , but Apollo hungered for even the most menial of retellings, no matter how often he’d heard it before, just to break up the monotony of the day. He was glad to sit there however long his father would let him, listening to Zeus’ ranting about the annoyance of their family- how could they act like that? Didn’t they see how hard Zeus was working for them all?- or regaling him with another tryst, now that Apollo didn’t dare avoid the details of those lest he decide it wasn’t worth it to talk to Apollo now, or repeating the same tale of how he rescued his siblings he seemed determined to retell every visit, or even just how frustrating it was trying to comb his hair that morning. 

Anything he had to say, Apollo was glad to hear it, because for just those scant moments, he wasn’t alone . 

(Bless Baayoncé, her voice was rather nice for a sheep’s but it truly didn’t equal the voice of the real Beyoncé, whenever she would be born)

And sometimes, if he was lucky, Zeus would stop and ask him to sing. When Apollo sang for him, it was like words had been holding the world back all this time, because everything felt right . He felt closer to Zeus then ever before, and he knew Zeus understood everything he wanted to say, without a single word being spoken. Zeus would clap when Apollo was done, and maybe even ask for another one which Apollo would gleefully compose on the spot, or suggest they dance . Sometimes it was just Apollo who danced, sometimes he danced with his father, but however it happened, it always left him happier then he could have possibly been at any other time in his life when they finished. 

In the end, all he needed was Zeus . Zeus knew what he needed, would take care of him. It was when Zeus wasn’t there that his island felt lifeless, and hushed, and he would be walking on tip-toes to sit under the trees and listen to the birds, because the silence was stifling and he needed a reminder that he wasn’t entirely alone. Apollo could do anything when Zeus was there, he was happy when Zeus was there. 

Sometimes, if he had been particularly good, Zeus would tell him about his children. He would tell Apollo about what Asclepious had been getting up to, what Aristaeus was doing, how Orpheus had fallen madly in love with this one girl. Zeus never paid much attention to Apollo’s kids, so it filled Apollo with so much love when Zeus told him about them, because he knew that Zeus had asked around solely for Apollo, not because he cared otherwise. 

Zeus did everything he could to keep Apollo happy, and stress free, and comfortable, and everything . 

Apollo was- he was grateful. Above everything else. He was grateful. 

He was so glad his father loved him, so grateful he looked after him like this. 

It was just…

He got bored . 

He didn’t mean to make Zeus mad, didn’t mean to be ungrateful, didn’t mean to cause trouble, or break the rules he’d agreed to, he couldn’t go back on his word, he chose this he did he chose it . He was just… bored. 

It was his fault, he knew, but he didn’t mean to. It just… kind of happened, the first time he made his father angry, the first time he broke the rules. 

….but of course Zeus didn’t see it that way. 

And could he honestly blame his father for that?