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Apollo shifts, ever so subtly, on his throne, shooting a reassuring grin to Ares when his gaze catches on the other’s.
He needn’t have bothered – he’s pretty certain Ares wouldn’t care if he was screaming and crying on the floor, let alone uncomfortable on his throne.
He’s… still not used to this.
He’ll never admit that to any of the others, of course – Styx forbid he mentions it to any of the others – but there’s been a slight… wrongness ever since he came back from being a mortal for the third time. A subtle difference that he can’t place a finger on.
(Artemis suspects, he thinks. She keeps on frowning when she’s with him, shooting him vaguely concerned glances whenever she thinks he’s not looking. She can’t confirm anything, though.)
(Apollo will make sure of it.)
It’s not that Apollo doesn’t want to be a god again. For the last six or so months, that’s all he’s thought of, after all. No, he’s delighted thrilled happy to be reinstated to his previous position, with all the godly-bonuses to go with it. But…
No. No buts.
He’s happy.
(He’s happy.)
‘Hey, dad, can we get some more ambrosia down here? The infirmary’s starting to run out.’
Apollo starts at the sudden noise, music sheets slipping through his hands and onto the golden palace floor below.
It’s not the first time one of his children have prayed to him in the month since he’s risen to godhood, but it’s always a surprise all the same.
(Which is, frankly, ridiculous. He isn’t even out of practice with other people’s voices in his head! The Arrow of Dodona—
Don’t think about the Arrow of Dodona.)
“Right, right,” Apollo mutters to himself, crouching down and scooping up the papers from the floor. He would just teleport himself straight to Camp immediately, but these papers really do need to be delivered to the Muses in time.
Getting the ambrosia won’t be a problem – there’s plenty of it just lying around Olympus, waiting for someone to eat. Getting it to Camp… he’ll figure something out.
“What are you doing?” The voice comes from behind, startling him again, and causing him to drop the papers for the second time.
He stares at the floor for a second, debating his life choices.
“Hermes,” Apollo greets, not turning to face the other god. “I was trying to pick up these papers – they seem to have, uh…” He hesitates, “Someone else seems to have dropped them here, and I thought I would be the good Samaritan and pick them up.”
“… Right,” The sun god winces at Hermes’ (rightfully) doubtful tone. Trying to lie to the god of lies as the god of truth… not a great idea. “You know you could just teleport them, right?”
Apollo blinks.
… He had definitely forgotten that.
“Ah,” He says, “Yes. I was just testing you. Well done! You passed with flying colors!”
Hermes drifts around Apollo, ending up in his line of sight.
“Are you…” Hermes pauses, and if Apollo didn’t know better, didn’t know Olympus better, he would say that Hermes is concerned.
“Whatever.” Hermes sighs, pulling a sealed envelope out of his pocket, “You have a letter.”
“I do?”
“Yup. Now if you’ll excuse me – I have… things to do.” The messenger god finishes, a bit lamely, and points behind him with a thumb. “Ciao.”
“… Thanks.” Apollo says to the retreating figure.
Huh. Was that weird? That was weird, right?
He looks down at the letter now clutched in his left hand, and then down at the papers still scattered on the floor.
He hesitates slightly, raising his right hand.
Click.
The papers are gone – sent off to their respective Muses, if he’s right (which he hopes he is).
He… had forgotten he could do that. That was also weird.
Apollo shakes his head, letting out a breath, and pinches the bridge of his nose. He’s fine.
The prayer from Will still in the back of his head, he opens the letter that Hermes gifted him. Will can wait just a little bit longer.
(He’s fine.)
“I don’t know. I’m just… concerned? Maybe? It’s not like him – I mean, it was like him, but not anymore—” His son’s voice cuts off as Apollo pushes open the doors to the Infirmary.
“Delivery for one Will Solace?” He grins, miming checking the non-existent tag on the parcel.
“Dad!” Will smiles, running up to greet him. Behind him, Nico di Angelo watches, a bemused expression on his face.
Will stops, just a few feet in front of him, and coughs auspiciously. Apollo shuffles the box in his hands, tucking it under one arm, and reaches out with the other one.
His son accepts the hug.
“How much did you manage to bring?” Will asks, when they’ve finally finished hugging. Apollo shrugs, and gestures to the box.
Nico raises an eyebrow, taking it from Apollo.
“It’s light,” He remarks dubiously.
“It’s from Olympus,” Apollo combats, “I think Hermes would go on strike if the boxes weren’t light.”
He watches, an anxious feeling weighing in his gut, as Will and Nico crowd the box and open it. They pause.
“Holy shit,” Will blinks.
Apollo frowns. “What, is it not enough? I can go get some more—”
“No, no,” Will cuts him off, blinking again, “This is— this is more than enough—”
The doors to the Infirmary swing open.
A very bruised Sherman, a slightly apologetic Miranda, and a tired Chiron stand in the entrance. All three startle upon seeing the room’s inhabitants.
Chiron’s the first to wake from the stupor.
“Apollo,” He greets courteously. Apollo smiles (though it comes out more like a grimace) and raises an arm.
“Hey,” He replies.
“Ow,” Sherman replies.
Beside the god, Will raises an eyebrow. “What did you do?”
Miranda grins sheepishly. “It’s my fault. He was practicing fighting with Ellis and I startled him, and… uh…” She gestures to the stab wound in his arm.
Then she spots the box.
“Holy shit.”
“What?” Sherman frowns. His mouth falls open slightly, making him look like a fish. “Oh fuck.”
“Yeah,” Will agrees. “You came in time – we just got a delivery.”
Apollo grins. The two demigods look at him, eyes wide.
“How… gracious.” Chiron says from where he is standing slightly behind the other two. Despite Apollo’s best efforts, their eyes catch. “Well, we’ll leave you to it, Will. Nico.” The centaur nods at them both, and then tilts his head towards the exit, looking at Apollo meaningfully.
“Hey, wait,” Sherman frowns, “We have the god of healing here. Why can’t we make him do it?”
“Nah,” Apollo shakes his head, “Godly interference and all that. Besides, wouldn’t want to steal my son’s spotlight.” He winks at Will. Will rolls his eyes, looking slightly pleased.
“Indeed.” Chiron says.
There’s silence for a moment. It’s strangely tense.
“Well,” Apollo claps his hands together, “Better be going. Godly stuff to do,” And after one last goodbye to his son, he follows Chiron out of the doors.
“I hope you know what you’re doing.” Chiron sighs, once they’re out of earshot from the Infirmary.
Apollo frowns. “It’s fine.”
“You know Zeus forbids all godly interference among Camp.” Chiron continues, gazing at Apollo with that strange knowing look.
“This isn’t godly interference,” The god insists. “They were out of Ambrosia. I brought some more.”
The centaur raises an eyebrow.
“… Among some other things I thought the Infirmary could use.” He relents. “It’s not like I brought anything they shouldn’t have had already!”
“I know,” Chiron placates, his calm tone paralleling the undertone of worry in his eyes. “Just… be careful.”
Apollo grins again. It feels faker this time.
He wonders if Chiron can tell.
“When am I not?” He asks, and nods before the man can say anything else. “Well, I better be off.”
His last sight of Camp Half-Blood is of Chiron still standing there, not looking any more reassured than he did before.
“Apollo,” Diana greets, coming to sit next to him.
“Diana,” Apollo replies.
They’re both quiet for a long moment, taking in the view of Camp Jupiter from their chosen cliff.
“Mercury inquired after the contents of your letter,” Diana says at last. Apollo raises an eyebrow.
“And he sent you to ask?” His tone is doubtful – not doubtful that Mercury was curious, definitely not, but doubtful that this is the true reason for her visit.
“I suppose I am curious, too.” His sister replies.
Apollo does not respond for a long time.
“Tell Mercury to mind his own business,” He says at last, and in the blink of an eye he is back in his palace on Olympus.
(Can he really call it his palace? The structure is too empty for all the space available, the material too golden. No, this palace does not feel like it is his anymore, just as his cabin at Camp doesn’t feel like his. This palace belonged to a different Apollo – a younger Apollo, one from before his trials (one from before Jason and Crest); his cabin belonged to a Lester who was not quite Apollo.
(Apollo’s not quite Apollo, but he’s not quite Lester either.)
(He’s not quite sure he likes this.))
When he looks up, the letter is lying in front of him.
Apollo rips it up, throwing the pieces in a trash can again. He hopes this time it will stay that way.
After the meeting with Diana, the whispers follow him everywhere. He’s encountered no less than eight minor gods suddenly stopping conversation when he comes near, and three Olympians.
Apollo knows he should love this, being the centre of attention.
Apollo doesn’t know quite what he likes anymore, but he knows it is not this.
“Okay,” Meg frowns, standing up from where she was kneeling in her garden. It’s come along quite nicely from the abandoned land it had been when they first arrived at the place all those months ago. “What’s up.”
Apollo pretends to ponder the question for a second. “The sky?”
Meg raises an unimpressed eyebrow, “Well, duh. I was asking what’s up with you, dummy.”
“Nothing.”
Meg doesn’t look like she believes him. It’s scarily accurate to the look Chiron gave him a week ago, just outside Camp’s Infirmary. Not for the first time, Apollo wishes he were better at lying.
“Seriously, Meg,” He finds himself saying, tone oddly serious, “It’s nothing.”
The drop it is left in the subtext.
Miraculously, Meg drops it.
Apollo’s fine.
(Apollo’s not fine, and they all know it. The Olympian’s gazes linger on him during meetings, the whispers follow him through the halls and the gardens. Only Camp is a saviour from the glances, and even that does not feel truly like home, not when he can look around and know that everyone will die, and he will be unable to stop it.)
(Nothing is quite Apollo’s anymore. It’s all wrong.)
(Apollo’s wrong.)
The letter is in his palace again, no sign of the damage he had inflicted upon it.
Apollo supposes they could have always written another letter. It won’t change his answer.
He has no desire to speak to Koios.
Artemis finds him in Delos. Her face is displeased, a sense of franticness on her, presumably from her search for him.
“Apollo, this needs to stop.” There is no greeting this time, no matter how demonstrative.
“What do you mean?” Apollo asks, faux innocence resting on his tongue. Artemis scowls.
Not in the mood for games, then.
“You missed the last council meeting.” She speaks.
Ah.
Apollo Lester had been faintly aware of that, hadn’t he? Meeting a council meeting has a high change of incurring Zeus’ wrath upon oneself – but he can’t find it in himself to care.
That’s… concerning.
Artemis stops, and studies him. He cannot image that she’s pleased by what she sees.
“What’s wrong?” Her tone is strangely soft. He’s not sure he likes it that much.
He opens his mouth to respond –
“Don’t say ‘nothing’.” Artemis glares.
… Interesting.
“You’ve spoken to Meg?” Lester asks, genuinely taken aback.
His sister rolls her eyes. “McCaffrey spoke to me, actually.”
That does make more sense.
Apollo(?) considers, for a second, just being honest.
“Is Hermes still asking for me?” He asks instead. Artemis raises an eyebrow at the change of subject.
“Yes,” She frowns. “Apollo… that letter, he said it was from—”
“Yeah.”
Silence descends upon the pair (He’s not quite sure that he enjoys the silence, but it’s better than the mutterings).
“’s fine. I’m not going.”
“He asked to meet up?” Artemis gapes, head turning sharply to look at him.
“I’m not going.” Apollo repeats.
“No, you’re not.” Artemis replies. Her tone is frosty. “I’ll inform father.”
He frowns. “There’s no reason for that.”
“A titan cannot be contacting an Olympian, brother. Not after… certainly not him.”
That’s the thing.
He’s not quite sure he’s an Olympian, not anymore.
“Right,” He agrees.
A gust of wind blows across Delos.
Apollo’s not quite sure who he is anymore.