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It’s not so bad, this time.
It’s the third occasion when Apollo’s been banished to grub about on the earth with the mortals. Punishment for opposing Zeus’ will, once again. It’s not as though Apollo is loving this latest mortal excursion; but this time has been… really, not so bad.
It helps, that he’s been assigned to Admetus, who’s possibly the most kind and gracious man ever to live. Although Admetus is obligated to carry out the terms of Zeus’ punishment, and order the errant god about as a servant; he nonetheless has shown respect and courtesy for Apollo, and Apollo fully intends to return this with blessings when he has his godhood restored to him.
It’s additionally better this time, on earth, since Artemis sent a nymph to discreetly tell him that Asclepius has been resurrected, along with the slain Cyclopes. The nymph wasn’t privy to the details, but apparently something had been worked out between Asclepius and Zeus. It still bothers Apollo that his son is beholden to Zeus in any way, but at this point, he’s just happy his beloved boy is returned.
Therefore, this jaunt on earth isn’t so bad. In fact, it’s almost relaxing! No godly duties; no Olympian melodramatics; no residual sorrow over the loss of his son. His master is kind; the duties easy. Nothing for Apollo to do but kick back and enjoy the fine weather as he watches some sheep and dozes now and then, and waits for Zeus to get over his anger.
It’s all very pastoral and peaceful. He could get used to this. He’s composed several songs about the experience, in fact –
“HERDSMAN!! HEY! IT’S ME! OVER HERE! OVER HERE, HERDSMAN!”
Apollo closes his eyes; wonders if he pretends to be asleep or maybe dead, the kid will just leave.
The little Spartan prince came upon Apollo a few days ago, while the former god was singing one of his newly-composed songs, and has been smitten with the former god ever since. It’s a cute little mortal, to be sure; and Apollo is familiar with being the object of a crush, but Ouranos’ balls – this kid hasn’t stopped pestering him since!
“Herdsman!” Hyacinthus has jogged over. “Were you about to sing again? You looked like you were in position to sing, right?”
Apollo doesn’t open his eyes. “No.”
—————————-
Hyacinthus cheers, puffing out his chest and strutting around, ridiculously proud of managing to hit one stupid apple from a hundred yards. Any fool could do as much – Apollo himself could have shot a dozen apples from a hundred times that distance, tossed at varying speeds in any direction, before they’d even reached the apex of their flight.
The little Spartan prince swaggers over to where Apollo is sitting on a rock. “Well, herdsman? What do you think of that? Pretty amazing, right?” The kid’s slow-drawled Spartan accent never fails to amuse, but Apollo hides his smile.
He pauses – counting to three before replying. The exact right amount of time: not too long, not too short. He won’t allow himself to appear too interested… but, something makes him want to not shut Hyacinthus down completely.
“Ahh, yes, Prince. It was an excellent shot.”
Hyacinthus frowns. “it was a fantastic shot! You think you could do any better, herdsman?!”
He doesn’t know Apollo’s name yet. Apollo had declined to share it, that first day, in hopes that he’d never see the annoying brat again. But persistence features strongly among Spartan virtues, apparently, and Hyacinthus has only carried on unfazed and referring to Apollo by his job: Herdsman.
Apollo leans back, hair blowing in the wind. “I wouldn’t dare to compete with the Prince of Sparta,” he replies after another pause.
—————————–
“Will you sing again, herdsman?”
Hyacinthus asks every so often, tone varying with each occasion. Bossily; expectantly; curiously; teasingly. He’s caught Apollo singing a couple of days, sneaking up upon the former god as he sings for an audience of sheep.
Apollo’s answer has been the same every time – “No.” His talents would be nearly as wasted on a Spartan as they are on the sheep. He’s sure Hyacinthus can’t sing anything himself; save, perhaps, for marching jodies.
Still, he finds himself relenting a little as the prince keeps asking. It’s hard to keep saying no to someone who’s clearly eager to hear his beautiful voice.
——————————
Rope gripped tight in his hands, Hyacinthus shrieks in delight as he swings out over the water. The hands release at the furthest point of the arc, and the youth drops into the river.
He pops up again a moment later, spitting water and laughing. Unseen by Hyacinthus – but clearly seen by Apollo – the god of this river, and several assorted nymphs (probably his daughters) are watching Hyacinthus with open interest. Overhead, Zephyrus the west wind gives pause as well.
Apollo fixes a heated glare upon the lustful immortals. I may be mortal now, but I won’t be forever, he says with his frown. It’s not a guaranteed intimidation tactic: sometimes, to an immortal, it might be worth any later punishment just to get a kick in to an Olympian while the kicking’s possible. Just to be able to say they did.
But this time, at least, they subside; and Apollo turns his attention back to the boy, who is returning to shore. Hyacinthus’ swimming strokes are efficient and powerful. He’s clearly trained for it, beyond the usual youthful horsing about in the water.
“Did you see, herdsman?” he asks excitedly. “The splash I made? Probably the biggest splash anyone’s made ever, right?”
“Save for Poseidon, I suppose.”
Hyacinthus makes a face. “You’re such a killjoy! I would have thought someone as pretty as you, with such a pretty voice, would have more to be happy about.”
Hyacinthus lifts himself from the water. He’s nude – of course, since he was swimming.
He’s attractive, and if he were a god, Apollo would probably be seducing him for fun. He hasn’t ruled it out yet. He finds he enjoys simply seeing the artful arrangement that is Hyacinthus’ body. A Spartan in the prime of his youth has a nearly flawless physique; and Hyacinthus has pleasing features besides.
But letting this cocky prince know it? Never.
“There isn’t too much to be excited about, watching sheep,” Apollo replies, glancing off with more disinterest than he actually feels; looking at the flock as they mill about drinking from the river.
“Well that’s the problem, dummy,” Hyacinthus says. Apollo glances over and suddenly finds himself facing Hyacinthus, exactly groin-height as the young man has stepped over to stand before Apollo where he sits upon the rock. Apollo’s eyes widen, and an unexpected blush of color touches his cheeks.
A hand cups his chin, tilting his face up. Hyacinthus is grinning at him.
“Yeah, exactly. Much more interesting to be watching me, right?”
Apollo jerks his head away, face flushing deeper. Damn this idiot Spartan! “Not interesting at all!”
——————————–
Another flip and twist, and a sensation of motion, and Apollo is on his back again, with the Spartan prince’s infuriatingly charming grin above him.
“Aaaaaaand that’s five times out of five! Hyacinthus wins again!” the arrogant little shit sings out.
Apollo tries, uselessly, to escape the pin; then slumps to the ground, disgusted with himself. His feeble mortal body, defeated with embarrassing ease by this – this –
“Aww, come on,” Hyacinthus coos, leaning down to kiss Apollo’s nose. “I’m a Spartan! You’d have to be a hell of a lucky guy to beat me at wrestling!”
“Lucky, or a god,” Apollo says, making plans.
“Or a god,” Hyacinthus concedes, letting Apollo up. “Maybe.”
“’Maybe?’” Apollo smiles sweetly, planning harder.
“All right, probably a god could beat me in wrestling,” the prince casually blasphemes, “I mean, god-strength, right? But I bet I’d still give him something to think about!”
“Oh, I’m sure you could,” Apollo says.
———————————
“It’s the krupteia,” Hyacinthus says, the body of the boar cooking nearby. He’d killed the furious beast himself; shoving Apollo out of the way of the charging creature and spearing it through with a practiced ease.
Apollo didn’t truly believe he was in danger. He knows that at least a half dozen deities are watching him at any given moment, and he doesn’t believe Artemis or Hermes would allow him to die. Especially not in such an ignoble manner. But Hyacinthus is truly mortal, without any deities guarding him; and watching the boy charge forward to spear such a fearsome boar was… a bit harrowing.
It leads to Apollo scolding Hyacinthus as he wraps a cut on his leg; which leads to Hyacinthus scoffing indulgently; which leads to an explanation, finally, of why a Spartan prince is way the hell up in Thessaly with apparently unlimited free time.
“The krupteia is where all the Spartan boys, starting at sixteen years, we all go off into the wilderness and fend for ourselves for two years. And when we come back, we’re considered men.”
This sounds familiar to Apollo, but he has admittedly paid less attention to Sparta than other cities.
“So… you just, leave? You’re cast out of your home and left to survive or die on your own?”
Hyacinthus makes a face. “You make it sound so grim! It’s just how it’s done. We go out and kill bears, lions… boars, whatever. Live off the land, fight highwaymen and terrorize the local farmers. You know. Typical stuff.”
“Ah. Terrorizing hard-working farmers and herders? I’m starting to see where I fit in,” Apollo says dryly.
Hyacinthus laughs, unabashed. “Well, yeah. But I came all the way up here because – well, I’m a prince. I thought I should have more to show for my krupteia than just wandering around ten miles from home.”
“So you took to the road… all the way to Thessaly…” In spite of himself, Apollo is impressed. That’s no easy trek, for a mortal.
“I was headed even further,” Hyacinthus says, “but I heard the voice of – it sounded as sweet as Apollo himself, over here among the sheep.”
He has no idea; doesn’t realize who Apollo is – as far as Hyacinthus is aware, he’s just talking to ‘the herdsman.’ But hearing his name spoken in that lazy Spartan drawl gives Apollo a small shiver.
If the prince notices, he doesn’t remark. Hyacinthus only lays back, and somewhat boldly places his head in Apollo’s lap. Hyacinthus waits, as though for an objection.
Apollo doesn’t object.
“Will you sing again?” Hyacinthus asks. His voice is hopeful, this time.
“Very well,” Apollo says.
——————————————
“It’s been great, honestly,” Hyacinthus says. They’re sprawled over each other, limbs tangled, under the shade of a tree. “A nice break from all the fighting and training.”
“You still go out to fight and train, though….” When Hyacinthus isn’t here with Apollo, he’s generally out picking fights with bandits, or hunting, or going through his training routine. Every day a new injury.
“Right, but I mean when I’m not doing that. When I’m here. Normally… normally, I don’t get to just sit around, swimming and singing and wrestling. It’s always about training for war.” He sighs. “So coming here has been great. I kinda – look, don’t tell anyone? I kinda wish I could stay. This is nice. Just fooling around, singing songs.”
Apollo traces a finger over broad Spartan shoulders, deeply tanned from the sun. “I know what you mean. I didn’t say this before, but… I’m actually here, serving Admetus, because my father is angry with me. I suppose I’m meant to be learning humility, but mainly I’m just enjoying the break from all the drama and arguing. It’s been a greatly enjoyable summer.”
Hyacinthus takes Apollo’s hand and they lie there companionably for a while. Hyacinthus breaks the silence after a few minutes:
“So…. Are you ever gonna tell me your name, herdsman?”
Apollo smirks. “When the time is right, sweet prince.”
Hyacinthus rolls his eyes. “As obstinate as you are pretty,” he says, leaning in for a kiss.
————————————————————–
Eventually – as he’d known would happen – Apollo is summoned to Olympus again, and his godhood restored. Apollo is joyously reunited with his sister; his mother; his dearest friend Hermes; the Muses; Helios. Zeus seems wary of Apollo’s good mood but truly, Apollo feels more free and happy than he has in many years.
There is a great feast in the halls of the palace, welcoming him back; and Apollo sings the songs he’s composed about his life as a herdsman.
He greets his son Asclepius with tears in his eyes. Whatever deal was made with Zeus, it was worth it to have such a brilliant and kind-hearted soul back in the world – and upgraded to a god, no less! Apollo couldn’t be prouder of his second-most-talented son (after Chiron, of course).
Apollo returns to Thessaly and begins to repay Admetus for his kindnesses – beginning with a fairly simple task of yoking a boar and a lion together to a chariot, which the king can then drive to Iolcus in order to impress the princess there – Alcestis.
All this is accomplished in the span of about two weeks, by which time a broken-hearted and lonely Hyacinthus has already begun the journey back to Sparta, to finish his krupteia there. It’s unfortunate that Apollo was recalled too quickly to be able to tell him where he was going; but Apollo intends to make it up to the boy.
He appears in the middle of the road, directly in front of Hyacinthus, whose eyes boggle.
“H-herdsman?! W-what the hell! You just – you shithead! You completely vanished – I thought – you- ” Hyacinthus splutters.
“Yes, I apologize for that. When my father summons, I don’t really have the option of telling him to wait,” Apollo says. There are at least a million and twelve sexy and/or snarky things he wants to say, but they can wait a few minutes. He holds out his arms, smiling at Hyacinthus. “I missed you.”
Hyacinthus stands there dumbly for only a moment longer before charging into Apollo’s embrace, grinning bright as the sun. “You rotten little bastard – I’m so glad to see – woh,” he interrupts himself, prodding at Apollo in surprise. “You got – really strong somehow…?”
Apollo’s smile widens. “Ahh, yes. About that.”
He swirls into motion, just a little too quickly for Hyacinthus to see what’s happening, and lands them on the soft grass next to the road, Hyacinthus pinned on his back.
The prince’s eyes are huge. “What. The. Hell,” he manages, looking bewildered.
“I think that the time is right, now, to tell you my name,” Apollo says. He’s been dying for this moment to arrive for months. He smiles beatifically down at the boy.
“My name… is Apollo,” he says.
Hyacinthus blinks, working this out. “You… were named after the god…?” He finally ventures.
Apollo laughs in spite of himself. “No, you slow-witted Spartan, I amthe god!” he scolds through his chuckles.
Hyacinthus’ eyes go bigger still, if such a thing is possible, and for a brief moment he looks nervous.
Only a brief moment, though. Apollo might have enjoyed making him squirm a few months ago, when he only saw a cocky, noisy, dull Spartan boy.
Now, though, he lays his head down on Hyacinthus’ chest, feeling the heart beat beneath him.
“You were right, as it turns out,” he says. “You gave a god quite a lot to think about.”
“Uh…..” Hyacinthus offers uncertainly.
“I enjoyed this summer more than any of the hundreds of others that came before it,” Apollo tells him, looking up to see the nervousness give way to a growing delight. “Come with me. Let’s play. I’m going to kick your ass at everything.”
Hyacinthus laughs. “Pfft, I dunno! I saw you try all summer!”
“You saw a human try. The tables are turnt, dear prince. I will demand three kisses for every one of your records I smash.”
“And if I beat you?” Hyacinthus challenges.
It’s blasphemy. Apollo of last year wouldn’t have tolerated it. Apollo of this year only grins, pleased, and winks.
“I’ll give you something to think about,” he promises.
“Then let’s get to it…. Apollo,” Hyacinthus says, and the sound of his name from the slow drawl drives Apollo to kiss him, again and again, happy as he’s ever been, perhaps as happy as he’ll ever be.