Before Hyacinth could quite give his thanks for her well-wishes, Hera was gone. He turned towards the ship instead, adjusting the rope around his shoulder.
Perhaps... Perhaps he should have gone to see Apollo, before this final task. He wanted to know that he wasn't doing all this for nothing. Apollo not caring about anything, especially this task, hurt.
He tensed his jaw and started towards the half-sunken ship, wincing a bit at the glare of the sun from the ice. This would all pass. He would retrieve the pendant, and the virus set on Apollo would disappear. Though... that seemed a bit too simple. Three tasks for immortality? It was far too easy as far as Hyacinth was concerned. True, they were gruelling, but it wasn't anything near impossible. Any normal human could have done it too. So what was the catch here?
Shaking his head, Hyacinth refused to think further, his thoughts and gaze on the ship far ahead of him instead.
Apollo, meanwhile, was a world away and could not care less about the Arctic, Hyacinthus, or really anything, for that matter. Sprawled across his enormous, pillow-strewn bed in the bedroom of his Olympus home, he was pouring over a world map, flicking his wrist every so often, causing a red mark to appear on the parchment, marking the countries he would decimate next. Not for any reason, of course. He merely had nothing better to do. Chrysilla sulked across the room, dejected after having been swatted away for wanting to see the map earlier.
When Hera stormed in, he deigned not to take any notice nor garner even a half-hearted greeting for the mother goddess, a slight she was not nearly patient enough to overlook.
"Απόλλωνας!" She bellowed, snatching the map from his hands -- that got his attention and he looked up, startled but not particularly upset. "What?" It was a bored tone, one he would use with Ares or Dionysus, but never, ever Hera.
"What?" she echoed, paper turning to ash in her grip, "You carelessly lie about,
( ... )
The ship was nearer now, maybe two miles or so away. Hyacinth pulled the sweater closer around him, clenching his teeth to keep them from chattering. He had never been so cold before, not even in his childhood when he was tossed out into the wilds during winter, with nothing more than a thin chiton to keep him warm. But that was then, and this was now. No point in thinking about anything but the ship before him.
He scanned the area as he walked, still suspicious of the seemingly straightforward task. There had to be a creature of some sort to obstruct his way. Or perhaps while he was crossing the chasms that yawned just ahead in his path, some beast would rise to drag him down.
Or maybe he was thinking too much.
Still, this was Hera, who had set the tasks, and it had been Hera who had tormented Heracles and Psyche after all.
However cold it seemed to Hyacinthus, the chill was tenfold for the normally heated Sun God -- the moment he appeared there, he nearly swooned. The shock of cold was so overwhelming to his body - even after he summoned a thick coat a moment too late - that all the enchantments he held over his appearance faltered and faded away, leaving him golden, trembling, and intensely worried - not for himself, but for his beloved.
Apollo stumbled and called for the boy, his normally powerful voice lost to the icy, powerful winds. Oblivious to everything but finding Hyacinth, Apollo yelled again and again, not noticing the numbness in his fingers and toes, nor the dangerous terrain he was traversing.
His frostbitten feet betrayed him, tripping over some unseen chunk of ice (or, perhaps, the sandal of a goddess) and sent him plummeting down a chasm.
Someone was calling his name. Hyacinth turned, frowning. No, that wasn't possible. No one but Apollo and Hera knew where he was; the faint cry of his name certainly wasn't from Hera, and Apollo was under some sort of virus.
But there it was again. He glanced at the ship, then back at the source of the voice. It was clearer this time, clear enough for him to know he wasn't imagining things. Hesitantly, he backtracked, towards the faint calls, part of him suspicious that it was some trick of Hera's. It sounded too much like Apollo though, and a small foolish part of Hyacinth still hoped to see him before he completed the task.
He took in a sharp breath of icy air when he saw the familiar golden hair, almost glittery, even against the blinding light reflecting off the ice. It was Apollo, but how, and why, and-
Then the figure disappeared suddenly, right about where he had had to cross a chasm earlier, and Hyacinth's heart stopped a beat. No. No, no, no-He broke into a panicked run. "Apollo!" he shouted, the chills down his spine now
( ... )
A smear of bright, red-gold blood marked Apollo's descent, a steaming brand on the deep blue ice leading directly to the crumpled body balanced precariously on an outcropping several yards below the surface. Apollo rolled over, groaning, lifting his lone hand to treat the wound and came away with a bloody palm and no less of a nasty gash.
The darkness and the cold were a deadly combination for the hotblooded Sun God, depleting his powers at an alarming rate. He knew this all too well and slowly got to his feet, leaning an aching shoulder against the wall of the abyss with a shuddering, desperate gasp of freezing air. Had Hyacinthus seen him? Or would he die here, depriving their world of all that he had blessed them with, until he found his way out of Tartarus?
Running on ice was a bad idea. He tripped, skidding a good distance and almost sending himself down the chasm where he thought he'd seen Apollo fall into. Cautiously, he got up and peered over the edge; he hadn't been hallucinating after all. Apollo was there, and his blood was on the ice walls that encased him.
Gods, please, let Apollo be alright, Hyacinth prayed desperately, not realizing the irony of what he was doing as he began to scale the wall, the spiked soles of his shoes preventing his own fall as much as the rope around him was.
"Apollo?" he called, terrified that he wouldn't hear an answer.
Apollo's attempt at standing was met with another episode of his vision going black -- his knees gave way and he fell, prostrate on the one thing that could bring him so low
( ... )
He dropped down to the outcrop at last, sinking to his knees beside the unconscious Apollo.
"Apollo," he repeated, hardly daring to reach out to touch his cheek with his ungloved, cold hand. But the god was even colder. It frightened Hyacinth; he called his name again, eyes darting between the god and the top of the chasm as he debated on a way to bring Apollo back up to the surface. It was already far too cold here, and the darkness wasn't doing anything to help.
Then Apollo whispered, and he turned, slightly relieved, leaning closer to hear the words.
"... I should be the one asking you that," he murmured, placing a hand on Apollo's shoulder. "You--" But the questions could wait. For now, Apollo was entirely too pale and too cold to the touch, and the fear that Apollo could die of this grew. Gods were not as omnipotent as they had once seemed, especially not after so many recent events had come to prove.
Hyacinth bit down hard on his lip. "We should- we should try to reach the top. Can you hold on to me?"
Apollo didn't have the energy to protest, to tell him to go on, finish your task, don't worry about me, come back to me later -- and just nodded. Leaning heavily on the boy, Apollo slowly, shakily got to his feet and pressed close to Hyacinth, squeezing him weakly.
"Did you drink the Felix Felicis?" He muttered, his words marred by the chattering of teeth, "It may help..."
"I did, before Hera arrived this morning," he said, as he crossed Apollo's arms around his own neck. Damn, but the god was heavy. Hyacinth didn't know if he could make it to the top this way, but he had to try at least. Perhaps the Felix Felicis would work- the ice wouldn't crack and the rope would hope. Perhaps. "Hold on tight, Apollo," he murmured, throwing a glance back over his shoulder, seeing nothing but a lock of gold hair
( ... )
The frantic pounding of Hyacinth's heart was the only thing keeping Apollo from fading out of consciousness, its frightened cadence a steady, real sensation that demanded his attention. If he hadn't have been so weak, he could have lightened himself, sped the ascent to the ice above, but then again -- if he hadn't have shown up at all, Hyacinth wouldn't have to be wasting precious time doing this.
Finally, finally they reached the surface, and Apollo couldn't be happier. It was brighter, though barely warmer -- but anything was better than being down, deep in the icy canyon. He shivered, about to magic his coat into something thicker, something with goose down, perhaps -- then, saw the ship go under.
"...oh, gods. What have I done?" Suddenly, the cold didn't matter anymore.
He stood up shakily, unable to believe that it was just... over. It was over. His three tasks were over and he'd failed the last one. Hysteria threatened to rise, but it was soon banished by a quiet calm. He took a hesitant step, then another.
If he ran, would he make it still? How long would he be able to tolerate the cold waters before they took him into their depths?
Felix Felicis had been of utterly no use in this situation at all.
"Hyacinthus, don't!" Apollo yelled, terror gripping his heart. He tried to stand, but his legs were still too weak. He just yelled and yelled, trying to keep him from going. "You can't, you can't, you'll die -- please, Hyacinth, please, I can't let you kill yourself over this, please --"
He was sobbing now, but he couldn't stop, he ruined everything for Hyacinthus, Hera wouldn't give him another chance, it was all for nothing, why, Hera, why did you have me come here?
"Stop." There was a soft, feminine voice, cool and even slightly amused. Hera stood just paces ahead of Hyacinth, arms crossed over her chest, a smile on her lips. "There's no need, boy."
The sight of Hera stopped Hyacinth in his tracks, more than Apollo's words had. He stood there, confused by the sudden sight of the mother goddess.
"... Lady?" he ventured at last, entirely thrown off by her smile. Why was she smiling? It wasn't malicious, and he couldn't really understand that- he'd failed the last task, hadn't he? If Hera was on his side, as Apollo had repeatedly said that she was, she would be frowning. And if she wasn't, as Hyacinth feared, then her smile would be more of a pleased smirk than an actual smile.
Slowly, he glanced back towards Apollo, feeling as if he'd let down his god. I'm sorry, he mouthed, not quite daring to see his face.
Apollo, too, was rendered speechless by Hera's seemingly proud expression. His thoughts ran along the same lines as Hyacinth's -- why was she here, and so pleased? Her contempt for him could not have run so deep that she'd be happy that his lover's quest for immortality failed, could it?
"I certainly hope those are tears of joy, Apollon." She ignored Hyacinth a moment, giving Apollo a scrutinizing once-over, cocking an immaculate eyebrow. "I am shocked you haven't presented him with one of your laurel crowns yet, where are your manners?" Turning back to Hyacinth, she waved a dismissive hand towards his god. "Honestly, you would think he would be pleased that you succeeded."
Perhaps... Perhaps he should have gone to see Apollo, before this final task. He wanted to know that he wasn't doing all this for nothing. Apollo not caring about anything, especially this task, hurt.
He tensed his jaw and started towards the half-sunken ship, wincing a bit at the glare of the sun from the ice. This would all pass. He would retrieve the pendant, and the virus set on Apollo would disappear. Though... that seemed a bit too simple. Three tasks for immortality? It was far too easy as far as Hyacinth was concerned. True, they were gruelling, but it wasn't anything near impossible. Any normal human could have done it too. So what was the catch here?
Shaking his head, Hyacinth refused to think further, his thoughts and gaze on the ship far ahead of him instead.
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When Hera stormed in, he deigned not to take any notice nor garner even a half-hearted greeting for the mother goddess, a slight she was not nearly patient enough to overlook.
"Απόλλωνας!" She bellowed, snatching the map from his hands -- that got his attention and he looked up, startled but not particularly upset. "What?" It was a bored tone, one he would use with Ares or Dionysus, but never, ever Hera.
"What?" she echoed, paper turning to ash in her grip, "You carelessly lie about, ( ... )
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He scanned the area as he walked, still suspicious of the seemingly straightforward task. There had to be a creature of some sort to obstruct his way. Or perhaps while he was crossing the chasms that yawned just ahead in his path, some beast would rise to drag him down.
Or maybe he was thinking too much.
Still, this was Hera, who had set the tasks, and it had been Hera who had tormented Heracles and Psyche after all.
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Apollo stumbled and called for the boy, his normally powerful voice lost to the icy, powerful winds. Oblivious to everything but finding Hyacinth, Apollo yelled again and again, not noticing the numbness in his fingers and toes, nor the dangerous terrain he was traversing.
His frostbitten feet betrayed him, tripping over some unseen chunk of ice (or, perhaps, the sandal of a goddess) and sent him plummeting down a chasm.
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But there it was again. He glanced at the ship, then back at the source of the voice. It was clearer this time, clear enough for him to know he wasn't imagining things. Hesitantly, he backtracked, towards the faint calls, part of him suspicious that it was some trick of Hera's. It sounded too much like Apollo though, and a small foolish part of Hyacinth still hoped to see him before he completed the task.
He took in a sharp breath of icy air when he saw the familiar golden hair, almost glittery, even against the blinding light reflecting off the ice. It was Apollo, but how, and why, and-
Then the figure disappeared suddenly, right about where he had had to cross a chasm earlier, and Hyacinth's heart stopped a beat. No. No, no, no-He broke into a panicked run. "Apollo!" he shouted, the chills down his spine now ( ... )
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The darkness and the cold were a deadly combination for the hotblooded Sun God, depleting his powers at an alarming rate. He knew this all too well and slowly got to his feet, leaning an aching shoulder against the wall of the abyss with a shuddering, desperate gasp of freezing air. Had Hyacinthus seen him? Or would he die here, depriving their world of all that he had blessed them with, until he found his way out of Tartarus?
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Gods, please, let Apollo be alright, Hyacinth prayed desperately, not realizing the irony of what he was doing as he began to scale the wall, the spiked soles of his shoes preventing his own fall as much as the rope around him was.
"Apollo?" he called, terrified that he wouldn't hear an answer.
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"Apollo," he repeated, hardly daring to reach out to touch his cheek with his ungloved, cold hand. But the god was even colder. It frightened Hyacinth; he called his name again, eyes darting between the god and the top of the chasm as he debated on a way to bring Apollo back up to the surface. It was already far too cold here, and the darkness wasn't doing anything to help.
Then Apollo whispered, and he turned, slightly relieved, leaning closer to hear the words.
"... I should be the one asking you that," he murmured, placing a hand on Apollo's shoulder. "You--" But the questions could wait. For now, Apollo was entirely too pale and too cold to the touch, and the fear that Apollo could die of this grew. Gods were not as omnipotent as they had once seemed, especially not after so many recent events had come to prove.
Hyacinth bit down hard on his lip. "We should- we should try to reach the top. Can you hold on to me?"
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"Did you drink the Felix Felicis?" He muttered, his words marred by the chattering of teeth, "It may help..."
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Finally, finally they reached the surface, and Apollo couldn't be happier. It was brighter, though barely warmer -- but anything was better than being down, deep in the icy canyon. He shivered, about to magic his coat into something thicker, something with goose down, perhaps -- then, saw the ship go under.
"...oh, gods. What have I done?" Suddenly, the cold didn't matter anymore.
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If he ran, would he make it still? How long would he be able to tolerate the cold waters before they took him into their depths?
Felix Felicis had been of utterly no use in this situation at all.
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He was sobbing now, but he couldn't stop, he ruined everything for Hyacinthus, Hera wouldn't give him another chance, it was all for nothing, why, Hera, why did you have me come here?
"Stop." There was a soft, feminine voice, cool and even slightly amused. Hera stood just paces ahead of Hyacinth, arms crossed over her chest, a smile on her lips. "There's no need, boy."
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"... Lady?" he ventured at last, entirely thrown off by her smile. Why was she smiling? It wasn't malicious, and he couldn't really understand that- he'd failed the last task, hadn't he? If Hera was on his side, as Apollo had repeatedly said that she was, she would be frowning. And if she wasn't, as Hyacinth feared, then her smile would be more of a pleased smirk than an actual smile.
Slowly, he glanced back towards Apollo, feeling as if he'd let down his god. I'm sorry, he mouthed, not quite daring to see his face.
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"I certainly hope those are tears of joy, Apollon." She ignored Hyacinth a moment, giving Apollo a scrutinizing once-over, cocking an immaculate eyebrow. "I am shocked you haven't presented him with one of your laurel crowns yet, where are your manners?" Turning back to Hyacinth, she waved a dismissive hand towards his god. "Honestly, you would think he would be pleased that you succeeded."
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