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 thought he heard the scrape of cleats on ice, as though far away, his ears deadened from the cold and the wind. The Sun God shifted, the effort of lifting his head almost too much against the cradle of unconsciousness. He let it drop with a shudder that wracked his entire body, feeling the cold set into his very bones.
Numbness had begun to set in; he was almost feeling warm again -- but it was a false warmth, one that led only to Charon's boat. Apollo chuckled joylessly against his arm, he had nothing to pay the old man with, for once. Perhaps he would turn him away, send him back to the world of the living...
The call of his name was almost like a beacon in the darkness, drawing him back, back again and that mop of golden hair lifted, hanging matted with blood and crystalline to Apollo's cheeks, paled by the extreme temperature.
"Beloved," he whispered, a sad smile on his lips, "What are you doing?"
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.
Slowly, he inched his way up the ice wall again, struggling to pull both himself and the god up. Thank the gods for the pickaxe Hera had dumped in his hands, among others, before disappearing.
But he reached the top at last, and he hauled them onto the cold ice, where the sun glinted off far too brightly. Gulping in lungfuls of cold air, he turned back to Apollo, wanting to make sure he was still conscious, and okay.
"You should conjure yourself some more coats," he said, brows drawn firmly together. "I- I have to run to the ship. Keep yourself warm here. I'll be fine." But as he said that, he turned to look at the ship- and he froze.
All that was left of the ship was the tip of the deck, and even that was sinking rapidly into the treacherous waters.
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."
He'd succeeded? What? Hyacinth gaped at Hera for a moment. "I- I don't understand you, my lady," he said, indicating the spot where the ship had sunk. "The ship sank. I didn't even reach it."
"You weren't supposed to," Hera didn't bother to look, knowing full well the ship had sunk -- it was of her doing, after all. "Had you reached the ship, you would have failed, dear one; to forsake the very reason for your doing these challenges would have proven that you did not deserve immortality. Do you understand?"
"Wha-- Hera!" Apollo chided, finally putting the pieces together and realizing that it all must have been in Hera's plan all along - well, excluding Dionysus' virus, of course - his coming here to help, only to get hurt, making Hyacinth choose between him and immortality, of course. "I should have seen it coming..."
Hyacinth was struck speechless. He'd been expecting a monster, but there had been none. Only a choice that he'd already made. A silent choked laugh escaped him, but he didn't allow himself to do anything more than that, except bow to Hera.
"I understand now, lady," he said, still a little incredulous. Perhaps when he wasn't quite so stunned later, he would be dancing in joy or doing something equally ridiculous, but for now, all he could really feel was the shaky relief that came in the aftermath of fear. "... Thank you."
"No need to thank me," She beamed, uncrossing her arms with a smile. "Now, to Olympus, to claim your prize." Hera clapped her hands once, instantly transporting all three of them back to Greece.
Apollo dispelled his coats gratefully, the power of the cosmic mountain restoring his warmth and he stood, running a hand through his shimmering hair to heal the wound there. Hera, meanwhile, pointed out a small temple beyond the mostly-empty crystal mansion, no larger than a temple in antis. "That, boy, is where the ambrosia is kept. Apollo will escort you there."
Barely able to retain some sense of decorum, Apollo strode to stand beside Hyacinthus, taking his hand with a proud, loving smile.
Hyacinth gave a last, small bow to Hera, before curling his fingers around Apollo's, a wide smile on his features.
"Alright."
He followed Apollo, eyes occasionally glancing up at him, instead of at his surroundings, at beautiful Olympus. This was the second time he'd been here, and yet if anyone had asked him, all he could say was that it was beautiful, and majestic.
It didn't matter anyhow. Olympus was no longer locked against him. He would have time to wander it, to slowly marvel at it. For now, all Hyacinth cared about was that he would be immortal, and that he would be at Apollo's side always. Nothing else quite mattered at the moment.
Apollo bowed with him, giving Hera a small, grateful smile as well. She waved them away dismissively, but a proud smile betrayed her aloof demeanor.
With her blessing, Apollo led his beloved towards the temple, softly describing their surroundings, pointing out who lived where, gesturing to the elaborate gardens and labyrinths hidden beyond the mansions, the seemingly endless paradise open only to those blessed with immortality.
Together, they alighted the marble stairs leading into the small temple -- with his damaged arm, he lifted the curtain separating the inner sanctum from the pronaos. In the center of the room stood an ornate, long-stemmed kylix, its shining, swirling contents providing the only light in the room.
He summoned a cup and dipped it into the ambrosia by the handle, taking care not to touch the liquid itself -- and took a sip of the elixir. Without swallowing, he leaned down and kissed Hyacinthus slowly, giving the boy his first taste of immortality.
Having expected Apollo to present him the cup, Hyacinth was surprised by the kiss. He smiled though, a moment later, as the taste of the ambrosia and Apollo mingled. Trust Apollo to be so flashy about this. He brought a hand up to the god's face, his thumb smoothing against the now-warm flesh.
He thought he heard the scrape of cleats on ice, as though far away, his ears deadened from the cold and the wind. The Sun God shifted, the effort of lifting his head almost too much against the cradle of unconsciousness. He let it drop with a shudder that wracked his entire body, feeling the cold set into his very bones.
Numbness had begun to set in; he was almost feeling warm again -- but it was a false warmth, one that led only to Charon's boat. Apollo chuckled joylessly against his arm, he had nothing to pay the old man with, for once. Perhaps he would turn him away, send him back to the world of the living...
The call of his name was almost like a beacon in the darkness, drawing him back, back again and that mop of golden hair lifted, hanging matted with blood and crystalline to Apollo's cheeks, paled by the extreme temperature.
"Beloved," he whispered, a sad smile on his lips, "What are you doing?"
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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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Slowly, he inched his way up the ice wall again, struggling to pull both himself and the god up. Thank the gods for the pickaxe Hera had dumped in his hands, among others, before disappearing.
But he reached the top at last, and he hauled them onto the cold ice, where the sun glinted off far too brightly. Gulping in lungfuls of cold air, he turned back to Apollo, wanting to make sure he was still conscious, and okay.
"You should conjure yourself some more coats," he said, brows drawn firmly together. "I- I have to run to the ship. Keep yourself warm here. I'll be fine." But as he said that, he turned to look at the ship- and he froze.
All that was left of the ship was the tip of the deck, and even that was sinking rapidly into the treacherous waters.
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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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"Wha-- Hera!" Apollo chided, finally putting the pieces together and realizing that it all must have been in Hera's plan all along - well, excluding Dionysus' virus, of course - his coming here to help, only to get hurt, making Hyacinth choose between him and immortality, of course. "I should have seen it coming..."
Hera smiled, then looked to Hyacinthus.
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"I understand now, lady," he said, still a little incredulous. Perhaps when he wasn't quite so stunned later, he would be dancing in joy or doing something equally ridiculous, but for now, all he could really feel was the shaky relief that came in the aftermath of fear. "... Thank you."
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Apollo dispelled his coats gratefully, the power of the cosmic mountain restoring his warmth and he stood, running a hand through his shimmering hair to heal the wound there. Hera, meanwhile, pointed out a small temple beyond the mostly-empty crystal mansion, no larger than a temple in antis. "That, boy, is where the ambrosia is kept. Apollo will escort you there."
Barely able to retain some sense of decorum, Apollo strode to stand beside Hyacinthus, taking his hand with a proud, loving smile.
"Come, love."
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"Alright."
He followed Apollo, eyes occasionally glancing up at him, instead of at his surroundings, at beautiful Olympus. This was the second time he'd been here, and yet if anyone had asked him, all he could say was that it was beautiful, and majestic.
It didn't matter anyhow. Olympus was no longer locked against him. He would have time to wander it, to slowly marvel at it. For now, all Hyacinth cared about was that he would be immortal, and that he would be at Apollo's side always. Nothing else quite mattered at the moment.
Reply
With her blessing, Apollo led his beloved towards the temple, softly describing their surroundings, pointing out who lived where, gesturing to the elaborate gardens and labyrinths hidden beyond the mansions, the seemingly endless paradise open only to those blessed with immortality.
Together, they alighted the marble stairs leading into the small temple -- with his damaged arm, he lifted the curtain separating the inner sanctum from the pronaos. In the center of the room stood an ornate, long-stemmed kylix, its shining, swirling contents providing the only light in the room.
He summoned a cup and dipped it into the ambrosia by the handle, taking care not to touch the liquid itself -- and took a sip of the elixir. Without swallowing, he leaned down and kissed Hyacinthus slowly, giving the boy his first taste of immortality.
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