Work Text:
Apollo’s eyes had always been a little too big for him.
Not necessarily in the physical sense; his face was about as perfect as it was possible for a face to be. But metaphorically speaking…
He had always seen much more than he should have.
From the very first time Phoebe had lain eyes on her grandson, she had known there was something different about him. Brilliant blue eyes had seemed to look through her, taking in much more than any child should have been able to, godling or not.
Perhaps it should have been unsettling. But Phoebe couldn’t help but adore the boy, as everyone else did. She had felt a little afraid, though, not of him but for him. She’d known that a boy with eyes like those would surely see too much.
She’d been proven right soon enough, when Apollo went to fight Python mere days after he was born, prompted by visions he’d had before the domain of prophecy was even his.
She would always remember when he returned. The look in his eyes, the ichor soaking his skin, the unyielding hold on his bow…
She had been afraid for him. She had also been impressed.
Phoebe loved all of her grandchildren, more than anything, but she couldn’t deny that Apollo had always been her favorite. From the very first time she’d seen him, she’d felt a spark. She’d known, even with Python infecting Delphi and keeping her foresight from her, that this child would take the world by storm and become someone exceptional.
He’d proven her right time and time again.
He had been a natural at prophecy, in all of its forms. It was extraordinary. He threw himself at Asteria’s lessons on divination like a wolf would chase a bone, unrelentless in his pursuit of learning. He clearly loved it, too, interpreting the patterns in the stars and the meanings of his dreams, even observing the behaviors of the birds and beetles he saw. He hung onto every word Phoebe spoke of the future with those stars in his eyes. He’d told her of visions he’d seen, things that would not come to pass for centuries, far farther than she or even Koios had ever been able to see.
And speaking of seeing…
Phoebe’s connection to the earthly oracle of Delphi allowed her to see the sleeping form of her mother, like Koios’ connection to the oracle of the heavens allowed him to see their father when he looked to the sky.
Apollo had been able to see both, before he had any encounter with either oracle.
There had been one night, on Delos, where she and Leto had taken the twins out under the stars to tell them the stories of the constellations, like her sister Asteria had done for her when she was small. While Artemis was captivated by her mother’s words, Apollo had tugged at Phoebe’s peplos and whispered to her.
She remembered the way his tiny fingers had pointed to something in the night sky that she couldn’t see, the way his eyes had glittered like stars when he asked about the man he saw sleeping above them. She remembered how he couldn’t even wait for her answer before asking about the woman asleep beneath their feet, and the woman in the gleaming silver chariot pulled by dappled gray horses, and the man who’d been there in the daytime driving the bright golden chariot with the sooty horses whose manes were made of fire, and the man and woman he’d seen dancing at the horizon that turned the sky a hundred thousand colors when day turned to night and night turned to day.
She’d told him about Ouranos and Gaia, about Helios and Selene and Eos and Astraeus. About the deities who kept the world turning.
As Apollo peppered her with questions, Phoebe had felt the same fear for him she’d felt when she first saw his eyes.
No other immortal that Phoebe knew of could see the celestials so clearly, let alone the primordials. Apollo’s sight was like nothing she had seen before or since. It scared her, the thought of how he would be used if anyone knew about it. She and Koios had only ever spoken about seeing their parents to each other.
She took his hands in hers. “Apollon… I hate to have to ask this of you, but please, tell no one of this. Of what you can see.”
Those eyes of his darted to his mother and sister, sitting a little ways away. “Not even Arktos and Mama? And Papa?”
“Not even them,” she told him. “There are… there are some who may seek to hurt you, if they know of what you can see.”
“So telling them could get them hurt,” he murmured. She felt a sunburst of affection in the midst of her sadness. He was such a clever boy.
Afterwards, Apollo almost always came to her when he was curious about something that he wasn’t supposed to be curious about. He had a good sense for knowing what he shouldn’t be asking questions about, but that didn’t mean he would ever accept not getting his answers. Phoebe was more than happy to give them to him, though, so it was quite alright.
She had always loved that spark of his. The way he was always eager to learn anything and everything that he could. The way that he always needed to know more, always needed to ask more questions and figure things out. The way his eyes were always alight with that desire to understand.
His eyes, vibrant, brilliant blue, seeing so much more than she could ever dream of. His practically blinding smile, his radiant voice, the way the world seemed so much brighter when he was around. He was light, in every sense of the word.
As the centuries passed, however…
His eyes hadn’t dulled, exactly, but they had… clouded over. His light wasn’t dimmer, it had simply been covered up. It had still devastated her.
She hadn’t known the exact reason for it all, but Phoebe wasn’t a fool. She knew that Olympus had something to do with it. She knew that that place was the thing forcing him to hide himself.
She’d hated them for that.
Phoebe had known his eyes would clear eventually. There was nothing and no one who could truly suffocate her little spark. Not forever. Still, it had been hard to see.
Though not nearly as hard to see as seeing him made entirely mortal, forced to risk his life over and over again and face countless nightmares and confront that traitor of a serpent Python once more, only this time with no godhood to help him.
She’d been terrified out of her mind for the entire six months he was on his quests. With Python infecting Delphi again, she hadn’t even had her foresight to hold on to. She’d wanted to storm Olympus and tear the place apart for daring to put her grandson in that position, but she knew that would help no one. All she could do was wait, and try to comfort her daughter and granddaughter as much as she could.
Of course, in the end, he had been triumphant and restored to godhood. Phoebe had nearly fainted for her relief when Leto told her he was back, safe and sound at last. She would see him again.
It was a week after his trials when they finally had their reunion. She all but ran to the door when she heard him knock, and he practically threw himself into her arms when she opened the door.
“Missed you, Yiayia,” he mumbled into her sweater.
She kissed the top of his head. “And I you, dearest.”
Phoebe pulled back to take in the sight of him. His outfit was casual, comfortable, all warm neutrals and simple pieces. His hair was tied up in a messy bun, its usual golden blond with a mousy brown peekaboo. His face was crossed with faint scars and dotted with freckles like a starry night sky. And his eyes…
His eyes were as bright as his namesake, seeing more than she could begin to imagine. They glittered like they had when he was a child, curious and clever and brilliant blue. The clouds that had covered his light for so many centuries were gone.
“I like this look,” she decided. “It suits you.”
He beamed at her. “I thought so, too.”
She pulled him inside and set about making them both tea while he settled himself in the breakfast nook. Easy conversation flowed, like honey in the golden sunlight. She added a healthy amount of actual honey to her blackberry tea, then passed Apollo his cup of black tea with vanilla and orange. Still his favorite, from the pleased sigh he let out when he smelled it. She’d regained her foresight when he finally reclaimed Delphi, so she’d known to make the orange cake he liked, too.
He spoke about his trials. About the horrors he’d been through. His voice shook at times, but his hands stayed steady and his eyes still shone.
“I promised I would remember what it was like to be human,” he told her. “I intend to keep that promise, grandmother. I may not be one of them anymore, but I was for a moment.”
“And that will always stay with you,” she agreed. “They will always stay with you. You have never been one to forget a lesson once you’ve learned it.”
He gave her a small smile, and she reached over to squeeze his hand.
Those trials of his had lit a fire in him, far stronger than even when he’d first fought Python.
Whatever it was he decided to do with that fire, she would be there every step of the way. She’d been on his side since the very beginning.