Chapter Text
Atop a miserable, damp tower, a boy and his father lie languishing, wasting away, a pitiful pair. His father, back against the cold stone, contemplates how to escape this lonely existence he and his boy have been forced into but is unable to concentrate because his son, Icarus, sits across from him on the floor, staring at him with hopeful, wide eyes. “Boy, find something else to gaze at, I need to think.” He isn’t saddened, instead, he goes to the barred window and looks out into the skies, dreaming away. This is no life, for him or his son, he must find a way… “It’s a shame we can’t fly,” his son blurts out, watching the birds go past. “That way we could get past all of the boats and guards and chariots, and we could fly so far away that nobody would even know our names.” Suddenly, his father is struck with an idea and begins to gather the feathers scattered around the floor. He’s an inventor, and a great one at that, surely he can pull something together. He figured out that damned labyrinth, he can figure out anything.
“That’s not fair!” Helios shouts, his booming voice filling the shrine, “You gave him that idea!”
“I had nothing to do with it,” Nyx replies calmly, “it was all Icarus.”
“Sure…”
“He’s a young lad trapped in a tower, of course, he dreams of flight, the skies, and the sun. Who knows, if he escapes, perhaps he will dedicate his life to you.”
“Hmm, go on then.”
The pair now stand atop their prison, having scaled the walls unseen. Daedalus straps the contraption to his son’s back, giving him instructions. “You must not fly too close to the sun, or the wax will melt, and not too close to the sea, or the feathers will dampen.” His son appears to be listening, but his bright eyes are still fixed on the sky around him. He has not seen sunlight for many years. “Son? Do you understand?”
“Y- yes of course. Sea dampens the feathers, sun… melts the wax…” he pauses a moment, before turning to his father, saying, “I forgot how beautiful it was…”
“What?”
“The world. The sun, the sky, the birds, the grasslands below, it’s… magnificent.” His father smiles fondly, before patting him on the back and taking flight. Icarus watches intently as his father expertly operates the machine, wings flapping around him like a bird. Eventually, he lands in the nearby forest, and Icarus prepares to follow but catches sight of the sun as he begins his ascent.
“Helios…”
“We cannot interfere, you know this as well as I do.”
“He’s only a boy. What harm could it do, to save one boy?”
“Nyx, you know very well-”
The sun glares relentlessly at him, but he stares back in awe, squinting as he continues to fly up towards its warm embrace. The joy he feels he cannot express, all he knows is that he is alive, for the first time in years. He breathes clear air, whilst soaring through it too, this miracle contraption his father has constructed taking him further and further up, as he stares at the sun in all of its bright beauty, and he knows. He understands what will happen, but he throws his head back, against the warm breeze, laughing for the first time in… he cannot remember the last time. His cheeks hurt from smiling, his voice hurts from his cries of joy as he continues upward. He can fly.
“Helios please, you must do something.”
“I cannot! Sister, do not ask me to do the impossible!”
“You are cruel to this boy, you are supposed to be a symbol of warmth and light, you gave him hope when nothing else did, but now you are so immature, so selfish, that you will not save him?”
“Why do you care so much for this insignificant life of this- this boy! You have too much empathy for them.”
“That is our job, to protect them, is that not what he said? To maintain the balance of day and night, and to protect humanity by doing so?”
“Fine! I will send Apollo to save him if you stop complaining about this insignificant little child, but I cannot stop the fall, you know that as well as I.”
“Thank you, brother. He deserves our kindness after everything he has been through.”
And so, he continues upward, unaware at first of the wax starting to sizzle and melt, until it trickles down his spine and he cries out, but still he laughs, because he can fly, and what better feeling could he have ever found? He keeps his gaze on the sun, looking up as he embraces the fall, taking in that beautiful, bright embrace for the final time as he feels himself speeding up as he descends towards the sea below. The wax burns down his back and shoulders, singing his clothes and skin, and he cries out in unbelievable awe at everything life has offered him on this magnificent, stunning day. He embraces the fall as he finally hits the water, still staring up at the sun as his head hits the waves, finally meeting the sea beneath the sun's burning light as it descends beneath the horizon.
His father watches from far away, a spec in the sky falling and burning to the sea below, and he knows. Perhaps he knew all along, as he collected the feathers and wax, made the death trap that took his son away, perhaps, he knew it would be his end, but it made him happy. That is some comfort, it is the only comfort he finds as he lies back against a tree and begins to sob for the loss of his son, the thing that gave him hope through those miserable years in the dark. What use is his freedom now, without his Icarus, his light?
Icarus braces himself for his string to be cut, and swears he can hear the children of the river Styx cackling for a moment, but is drawn back into life by an indescribable pain radiating through his back and down his arms and legs, burning like a fire within his blood and bones. He can hear himself screaming, eyes scrunched in pain, yet somehow he is sitting up. A hand travels down his back, sticky with some kind of strong-smelling gel, and his back begins to sting with striking pain as he cries out, tears streaming down his cheeks, eyes still closed tight. Suddenly he can feel his wounds cool, the pain ceasing, dissipating slowly. He opens his eyes to see himself surrounded by golden light, and as he adjusts to the brightness he can make out the heads of horses at the front of a chariot, and a golden bow propped against the edge of the chariot bed. His breath is uneven and slow, but this presence he feels comforts him, whispering softly in his ear, “Be still, Icarus. The pain will stop soon.” Dazed, his head tilts back, landing on what he assumes is the shoulder of this golden stranger. The pain comes and goes, as does Icarus from consciousness, but the presence, this stranger, never leaves his side, before he finally feels himself lulled into sleep in the arms of the golden stranger.
Apollo does what he can. When he fishes Icarus from the sea he is still breathing, but the wax has burnt deeply into his back, as well as his arms and legs. Once he has painstakingly removed the wings using a burning hot knife, careful to avoid his skin, he washes away the rest of the wax and begins to treat the wounds, beginning to feel nauseous as he does so due to their severity. Still, he continues on as Icarus fades in and out of consciousness, assuring him he will be alright. Finally, after hours of his best efforts the mortal lies in his arms, asleep with treated wounds. Apollo’s job is done, but something stops him as he clothes the mortal and props him against the tree, preparing to leave. He looks back, gazing at the boy with the curly blonde hair, and knows he cannot simply leave him in the wilderness with nothing.