Chapter Text
One of the most prominent and unavoidable periods of vulnerability for the human body is during sleep. During this period, the mind is mostly in stasis, the body is relaxed and commonly unreactive, and the person is blissfully unaware of their surroundings.
This made sleep the most opportune time for attack.
It was for this reason that Hyacinthus, along with the vast majority of his people, had been trained to sleep lightly. From the moment he could wield a spear, Hyacinthus had ensured that he was always prepared for ambush. He had to be. He was the youngest and objectively least confrontational prince, and he was the sole party involved in foreign affairs. The chance of him being harmed for a wrong decision or being taken for ransom was significantly high.
Hyacinthus had not faltered in this until he’d been courted by Apollo.
Apollo slept with Hyacinthus most nights, curling around him and keeping him warm and safe. At first, Hyacinthus had struggled to be fully comfortable with being physically restricted during such a jeopardizing period, but when he’d had no issue and had come to terms with the idea that Apollo could protect him, he’d grown complacent in his rest.
He realized his mistake when one night, while Apollo had gone to council with the other gods, Hyacinthus awoke to the creak of floorboards beside his bed. He tried to react quickly, but deep sleep had made his muscles stiff and heavy, and his vision was blurred with the edges of unconsciousness.
His assailant was alert enough to gain the upper hand, even as Hyacinthus managed to get ahold of his spear and slash him across the shoulder, and he pinned Hyacinthus beneath his weight, holding a cloth over his mouth and nose as the prince dragged in a rushed breath to try and call for his lover.
The effect was immediate. Hyacinthus slumped against his bed, his body suddenly nigh impossible to move. He knew he should still be panicked, that he should still be trying to fight off the intruder that was now smugly binding his wrists and saying something incoherent to a second man in the corner of the room, but he no longer felt the adrenaline or strength necessary to defend himself.
He recognized the scent from his days of training, when he’d been learning of medicines and healing treatments. This was a heavy sedative, one with no sure, safe remedy, and one that was impossible for the body to resist. Papaver somniferum; mekon.
Hyacinthus knew he wouldn’t die from it; his captors hadn’t given him a large enough dose for that, and even if they had, Apollo surely would have sensed his peril and put a stop to it. Despite this and the heavily calming effect of the solution, Hyacinthus was still well aware of the danger he was in now. If he focused, he could just barely make out the conversation between the two invaders as they bound him tighter and threw him over one’s shoulder to take him.
“Well, that was far easier than expected. You’d think a Spartan would put up more of a fight,” the one carrying Hyacinthus started conversationally.
“Quiet! For all we know, Apollo could still be around here somewhere. If we get caught like this, we’re as good as dead. Let’s just get the kid to the boss, and then we can start congratulating ourselves.”
In his daze, Hyacinthus briefly wondered why Apollo hadn’t already felt his addlement and came to save him, but it was quickly dismissed within the fog he was experiencing in his mind.
The two interlopers walked for a long while, the injured one grumbling occasionally as he tried to stifle the bleeding that Hyacinthus had inflicted upon him. Hyacinthus, to his vague, distant concern, grew no more lucid over the course of the night. He had no indication of where he was, nor the path the villains had taken to get there.
Unfortunately, they got to the hall they’d been traveling towards before sunrise came, so Apollo got no opportunity to see where his love had been taken before he was hidden away inside the hall.
Hyacinthus was set down roughly against a stone wall, and though he couldn’t feel the pain of the impact, the room still spun when he hit his head on the wall.
“Easy with the merchandise, men,” a gruff voice spoke from the doorway, “we wouldn’t want our bargaining chip losing value before we’ve even confronted the other party.”
Hyacinthus peered up at the figure, his eyes struggling to adjust to the light from the torch he held. The man was tall and had a strong build, but Hyacinthus could tell even in his sorry state that he was the type to hit first and ask questions never; the type to spit in the face of philosophers only to prove them right immediately afterwards with his foolishness. His dark, curled hair was tied up haphazardly, strands falling around sinister, piercing green eyes.
He approached Hyacinthus, kneeling only to reach out and grasp the prince’s chin firmly. Hyacinthus shuddered, the first disturbance to his drug-induced relaxation, and he tried and failed to pull away from the grasp.
“S..stop..”
The man sneered and tightened his hold as his lackeys bound Hyacinthus’ wrists to the floor and clasped a chain around his neck to attach to the bars of the window behind him.
“Let’s allow our guest to finish his slumber, shall we? He will be of no use to us until morning anyway.”
One of the sycophants moved back around and approached Hyacinthus with the same cloth he’d used to incapacitate him. Hyacinthus tried to move away, but he found that his body, and to some extent his mind, still refused to obey his whims. The same could be said for when Hyacinthus desperately willed himself to not breathe in the poppy-scented soporific.
A weight descended upon his body once more, and his vision blurred further. He felt a strong pull on his throat and wrists as he slumped forwards, forced back into the slumber he’d been ripped from.