All submissions have now been posted; I'm delighted to see them being enjoyed so thoroughly!
A huge thank you to everyone who took part - I know tumblr tried to stop it but we managed to get everything all sorted in the end, and the amount of content that's been created for this is staggering! You guys are all amazing, and it's been a privilege organising something for such a lovely fandom.
If you want to post your submissions elsewhere and haven't yet - feel free to! Everything's out in the wild so post your work wherever you'd like :D
Will this come back next year? We'll have to wait and see what my commitments look like, but if there's any feedback on this year's that you'd like to give, feel free!
My match is @im-here-maybe, and here’s the art piece of theirs I chose for the collab: https://im-here-maybe.tumblr.com/post/687703760647110656/post-toa-stuff-is-so-fascinating-to-me-because-in
The more I look at this piece the more I love it: it’s deceptively simple, yet it captures something really profound about the ending of the series.
Apollo – and it’s important too that it is Apollo, rather than Lester, that we see him appear as – is alone, not surrounded by his friends and family like he was in the final pages of TON, making explicit what’s only barely hinted at in his narration: eventually, all of those people will grow old and die and only he will be left; his memory of them, of their time together, the only proof that their bond existed, that once upon a time, for a while, he truly was one of them.
He’s curled up in a fetal position, evoking the rebirth of body and heart and mind that his journey culminated in. It was a terrible victory: you need to be unmade first, to be able to remake yourself anew. And Apollo was, first at the hands of his father and then at his own. Zeus started it, and Apollo finished it, because tearing himself apart was the only way to survive.
His face is half hidden: he threw aside his masks but he never completely stopped lying, to both us and himself, both outright and by omission. He will never admit in so many words to the crucial truth: that he’s walked this path before, that a huge part of this journey was a rediscovery of things he already felt and knew and believed. That that is why he’s afraid.
“I have to see if I’m strong enough,” Meg tells him, explaining why she wants to confront her abuser again. But Apollo already knows that the previous times he wasn’t strong enough. He knows that he’d surrendered. That he’d let himself become complicit. He’d finished his father’s work for him, finished tearing apart everything that made him him, that made him Apollo, with his own hands, until the resulting wreckage was enough to his father’s liking, because it was either living in pieces or not at all. He’d done it with his eyes wide open, not out of ignorance but simply out of sheer impotence.
Because that is the source of his problems. His impotence before his father, his entire family. And reclaiming his godhood brings him right back in the middle of them. Right back where he started.
But still that’s what he chooses. That’s been his goal from the start and he’s never doubted it, not even for a second. It’s only after he’s achieved it that he allows himself to mourn what he gave up in pursuit of it: the sense of belonging that only people who experience life at the same time, at the same pace, who grow old together, and then die and in death reunite for one final time, can share. The comfort of knowing that the good things he’s built will survive him.
Apollo started out this story terrified of death, thinking of immortality as a refuge from the responsibility of having to make the right choice, clinging to the certainty it gave him that he would always have another chance, that he’d always have tomorrow to make things right… and in the end, he’s conquered that fear. He’s finally stopped waiting for tomorrow. He’s started making things right today. That’s what allowed him to make peace with the very real possibility that he might die. It’s why he now openly allows himself to long for what Lu has, what all mortals have. You don’t need to fear the end in sight if you know that, in the limited time you had, you’ve done your best. And Apollo has.
But he has not changed his mind.
“Think of yourself as dead,” recites the maxim by Marcus Aurelius that Apollo remembers by heart. “Now take the rest of your life and live it properly.”
That is what Apollo really wants. To live properly. So he mourns the things that he lost when he chose to reclaim his own immortality, his own power for himself one final, perhaps definitive time, pulled himself up from that ledge, remade his divinity from scratch out of sheer willpower. He mourns, but he does not regret his choice. Because no matter how tempting it may be, to renounce the immortality that sets him apart from humanity, to renounce the power that makes his father feel threatened, the power to make things right… that would not be to live properly.
Gods can do anything, even choose to die. It’s the choice that, in different ways, both Hemithea and Harpocrates made. It’s also, in a sense, the choice that Pan, and Helios, and a lot of deities big and small who lost faith, who lost sight of themselves, ended up embracing in the end. It’s a choice that Apollo could also have made, that he also could have embraced. But to Apollo the freedom that mortality would grant him – from his father, from his family, from accountability for his own mistakes, from the responsibility to do more and better – will never be worth the price.
“Call on me. I will be there for you”. Apollo wants the power to make that promise.
But even as a god, especially as a god, back in his home that isn’t a home, once again subject to the rules of non interference that in the millennia have been tightened to the point of stifling the gods’ very reason of being: not just the people’s belief in them, but their belief in themselves… does he really have that kind of power? Does he, when even just to go back to visit his children, his friends that he’s made in the brief time he was allowed to walk the earth among them, he already has to lie?
There’s no answer to that question, no certainty at the end of the story. There’s hope, yes, that this time will be different. That this time Apollo will remember that he is not alone, and allow himself to draw strength from the people who believe in him. That he will be strong enough to reach out again to those who did not have the strength to reach out to him. But there is no certainty. There can’t be. And the truth is, there would not be even if the series ended with the revolution we are all rooting for. As Apollo’s family history demonstrates, it’s far, far too easy for the killing of an old tyrant to give way to the crowning of a new one.
“Power,” Apollo says, “should make good people uneasy.” And right after he’s reclaimed the power of a god, he is full of uneasiness. He finds that reassuring. But how long before he stops feeling like that, after he’s rid himself of the one person who had the power to oppress him? How long before he forgets what it was like to be under his father’s talon? Eternity is a really long time. Millennia after the fact, Apollo looks at the laurels that his sister’s put on his head, at the hyacinths that adorn the balcony before him, and he wonders whether he really meant for them to commemorate the people they represent, or if he just wanted to wallow in self pity. He’s not sure anymore. Perhaps he’s being unkind to himself, as he tends to do. But with the power of a god at his fingertips, he really can’t afford to be very indulgent with his own flaws, his own weaknesses.
To live properly is a choice that must be made every day, every time anew, over and over again. For an immortal god, such as Apollo, the work is quite literally never ending. But that was his choice. That was always his choice. “We only fail when we stop trying,” he says, and he believes it.
Submitted by @literallyjusttoa based on the end of the fic Cooler Than Me by @falconfrost: A list of piano songs I think Apollo would teach Meg and weird facts about their creators he would use to get her to practice. All written by someone with a questionable understanding of the piano.
Chopsticks (the classic): Euphemia Allen made Chopsticks when she was 16! For years it was unknown that she wrote the piece, as her brother published it under an alias. This was meant to protect Euphemia from harassment and make sure the composition was successful, as people were not interested in listening to music composed by a woman.
When the Saints go Marching In (My first piano piece :P ): It is unknown who originally wrote this piece, but it was popularized by Louis Armstrong. The man used to sign his personal letters with the phrase “Red Beans and Ricely Yours,” to show his love for the dish.
Tarantella (A nice intermediate piece): There are multiple pieces named Tarantella, but the one in question was written by Anton Diabellii, and was made specifically for educational purposes. While Diabelli always held an interest in music, he was actually a publisher, not a full time composer. He published many of Beethoven’s works.
To a Wild Rose: Edward MacDowell is considered one of the first great American composers, moving throughout the east coast of the U.S. most of his life. He enjoyed a simple life, saying a rural setting was exactly what he needed for inspiration.
Clair de Lune: Claude Debussy had an alter-ego named “Monsieur Croche” which he used to write essays about art, music, nature, and a whole host of spiritual and artistic topics.
La Boite a Bijoux (Also Claude Debussy): Debussy was well-known as a womanizer, but he had much love for his only daughter, Claude-Emma (nicknamed Chouchou). This piece, along with “Children’s Corner” was written for her
Luma/Sad Story (This is from Super Mario Galaxy, Meg had just beaten the game and wanted to play something more modern): The Super Mario Galaxy score was written by Mahito Yokota and Koji Kondo. Koji Kondo was in a cover band before working with Nintendo, and had no classical training for music before getting the job. However, he went on to be the creator of the iconic Super Mario Bros. Theme.
Fandom: Trials of Apollo
Rating: Gen
Genre: Hurt/Comfort/Family
Characters: Chiron, Apollo, Will, Hyacinthus
It’s the first time in mortal memory that Apollo’s attended a shroud burning ceremony at Camp Half-Blood.
My (@tsarinatorment‘s) contribution for TOA Collab Event 2022! My match was @nyaningthroughlife and I chose the second piece of art in this post as my inspiration! It’s definitely not my usual topic, and this is my first time writing Chiron pov (or much of Chiron at all, honestly), so I hope it all worked okay.
It’s a small surprise when Apollo arrives at camp that evening. Not because Apollo doesn’t like dropping by camp, because Chiron is well aware that the god in question adores camp and everyone in it (even Dionysus, as much as the two gods present a stilted, separated front to the world). The surprise is that he chose to come tonight, of all nights.
As much as Apollo flits around on the edges of camp, peering down from his chariot if he can’t be there in person, he always, always, keeps his distance when it’s time to burn shrouds. The closest he’s come in mortal memory was in the aftermath of the Battle of Manhattan, but even then he remained near the Big House and his new oracle rather than near the pyres.
Apollo respects death and the mortal inevitability but there are some wounds that are a little too open, a little too raw, and burning shrouds – regardless of whether or not they’re empty – are a wound Chiron has noticed Apollo does his best not to poke at. Funerals, eulogies and acts of mourning are all a familiarity to the god, but the shroud in particular, he evades.
Not that he’d ever admit as such out loud. Apollo keeps certain things close to his chest; closer, often, than even Chiron with his millennia-long relationship with him, can catch even a glimpse of, but this is one that’s spilled over just enough, over the thousands of years, for Chiron to put two and two together and be reasonably sure he’s getting four, or something near enough to count.
It doesn’t help that most shroud-burnings happen at the same time of year. Not the same, exact date, but then the calendar has changed a few times in Camp Half-Blood’s lifetime and only the immortals recall the passage of time prior to the Gregorian within this Western dominated sphere of influence. Even Chiron doesn’t know, precisely, the date within this span of time that particularly stings at Apollo, but he knows it’s there somewhere, and really, that’s all he needs to know.
Hyacinthus was not Apollo’s first, last or only love – far from any of them – but he was an intense one, whose passing left unusually deep marks of grief on the god. Apollo has a reasonable handle on grief – he feels it, but he endures it and keeps going, keeps living for all those whose time came to an end – but there are a few mortals who get around his guard.
That might, Chiron suspects as he watches Apollo slip quietly into the throng of demigods around the fire, have some relevance to his unusual appearance now. The shrouds they’re burning tonight are empty – marks of a successful quest, where the number of questers that came back alive was no less than the number that left – but one of them was sewn for one of Apollo’s own children.
This is the first time in years that a golden shroud has been burned at camp without a dead child to go with it. It could so, so easily have gone differently. By all rights, it should have done. The Pit is not a place for mortals to venture, let alone survive and escape again, and the Primordial in question is no doubt furious beyond belief at yet another duo of demigods escaping his clutches, narrow though that escape had been.
Will is still a bundle of bandages and barely strong enough to get anywhere under his own power. Nico is not quite as terribly off, physically, and he’s been scaring off anyone except the most stubborn of Apollo’s children whenever anyone else tries to assist Will even though he’s hardly in the state to act as a living walking stick either, but Chiron knows the mental wounds run deep.
Apollo has been floating around camp more often than not during their recovery, and they still have a long way to go but the shrouds need to be burned as soon as possible and they’re finally fit enough for the ceremony. It doesn’t escape Chiron’s notice that Apollo has wormed his way into the heart of the throng of Cabin Seven Plus Nico and is sitting with his arm wrapped tightly around Will’s shoulders. It’s a human need, Chiron thinks, to face the what-if of losing someone and cling to them all the tighter in reassurance that they’re still there.
Most gods would be incredibly offended at the word “human” being used to describe anything that they do, but Apollo’s not one of them. Chiron still refrains from vocalising the thought, because other listening ears might have objections to it.
Other gods having issues with who and how Apollo loves has created tragedies. Chiron is not eager to invite another.
He does not know all the details of the loss of Hyacinthus. Likely, he never will. Whether Apollo attended his funeral, if he was burned in a shroud and if so how it was decorated… those are details Chiron has not been made privy to.
He suspects, of course. That Apollo was there, that the shroud was as beautiful as the man it embraced, that it stole a part of the god forever when it burned away to ashes. It’s harder to believe that those suspicions might not be true, knowing Apollo as he does.
But Chiron doesn’t ask.
He celebrates with the campers as the golden and black shrouds go up in flames, devoid of any accompanying tragedy, and watches as Apollo tries to hand the floor to his children for the traditional songs only for Will to look at his father until he caves and sings for them.
Properly sings, which clearly surprises the campers who have heard tales of Apollo’s modern interest in less traditionally beautiful pieces and were preparing to grin and bear whatever he chose to come out with.
Another night, he might have done, but tonight, with the echoes of lost love and the reminder that more loss will come in time, as it always does, Apollo’s mind is clearly in one place, and one place only. The song is not a sad one; on the surface, it sounds triumphant and jubilant. There’s melancholy in the words, however, and a underlying reminder of what it means to be mortal.
It’s grief and celebration and life and death all mixed in together, and Chiron suspects he’s not the only one to hear that and more, but no-one acknowledges it out loud, not even when Apollo finishes his impromptu set and insists that it’s his children’s turn to shine, now.
Austin and Alice in particular need no more prompting, and soon Jerry is the only Apollo child left at Will’s side while the others pile onto the stage to continue leading the celebrations.
No longer the centre of attention, save for Chiron’s own musings, Apollo falls silent and unobtrusive. More than once, his eyes drift to where the embers still cling to the ashes of the shroud, and the weight of four thousand and some years don’t quite stay hidden.
There is nothing Chiron can or should do for the god and his millennia-old scars, so he turns his attention elsewhere and lets Apollo have his privacy.
Main inspiration: https://fearlessinger.tumblr.com/post/685990497282621440/who-wants-to-hear-a-conspiracy-theory-you-guys
Secondary inspiration (if you can spot which part, you get a gold star ⭐️): https://archiveofourown.org/works/27778300
——————
Zoe Nightshade did not get demigod dreams.
She knew, of course, about the recent (for her) development in the powers of those good-for-nothing half-bloods, that granted them the ability to glean bits and pieces of useful information for wars or quests every time they slipped into Morpheus’ realm. Scenes from the past and present and prophetic hints of the future alike, even in her Lady’s hunt, though more uncommon, there were cases of young Hunters knowing information they could not have possibly found out in regular ways, and tossing out a casual “I saw it in a dream” when asked how.
Still, Zoe was not a demigod, thank you very much.
And therefore, Zoe Nightshade did not get demigod dreams… until she did.
For two whole weeks now, every time she closed her eyes, allowed her mind and body to relax after an adrenaline filled hunt, Zoe found herself standing at the base of Mount Othyrs, looking up to where the mountain’s peak should have been, if only there wasn’t a storm of black clouds swirling around the whole place, thick plumes of… clouds? smoke? …billowing up towards the sky, blocking the sun’s rays.
That was the extent of it. Nothing more, and nothing less. She would have been almost inclined to dismiss the dreams all together, ignore them and write the whole thing off as her brain suddenly becoming fixated on the mountain for reasons that eluded her, if it hadn’t been for two things:
One: the persistent frequency of the dreams.
Two: the sort of… heaviness that would settle over her every time she stood there, staring up at the mountain with an annoyance that grew as the days passed.
Why am I seeing this? she would think.
And that presence, that heavy blanket of something, would settle over her like a warning.
Pay attention, it seemed to say, if an oddly-familiar presence could speak that was. Pay attention. Pay attention. Pay attention.
——
The night after Lady Artemis left her Hunters at Camp Half-Blood, the dream changed.
It started off the same way it did every night — base of the mountain, black clouds, pay attention — but then something shifted: Zoe became unfixed from where she stood, rooted to the ground, and something began to pull her up the mountain, closer and closer towards the smoke-storm.
And there, between the clouds, a silvery glow. A shape. A… figure? Zoe squinted. Yes, a figure shining silver with an almost divine glow.
No, not almost.
It was kneeling. Lady Artemis was kneeling.
And with a growing suspicion that was slowly sinking in her stomach, Zoe realised. Her lady must be in trouble, and that was why Zoe had been getting all these dreams.
Lady Artemis was in trouble, and it was up to Zoe and the other hunters to save her, even if it cost them their lives.
Above where she stood, the black clouds parted slightly to let a single beam of sunlight shine down upon her like a spotlight. Almost as if the sun itself was confirming her guess.
Almost as if Lord Apollo himself was confirming her guess.
——
(Zoe did not like Lord Apollo. He was too arrogant, too vain, and flirted with her and her fellow hunters incessantly. He always appeared in their camp at the most inconvenient times, offering archery tips that no one wanted and being a persistent source of annoyance to Lady Artemis near constantly.
Zoe did not like Lord Apollo, but she did not hate him either. He was too arrogant, but any time a Hunter was injured beyond Lady Artemis’ own powers of healing, it was Lord Apollo who she would call for, and who’d always come no matter what. He was too vain, but Dorothy had confided in her once, while they tracked a monster through the woods, how her father visited the dreams of her and her siblings at least a couple times per month, something practically unheard of for a godly parent, according to Lady Artemis’ many rants on the subject.
Zoe did not like Lord Apollo, but she never forgot that it was Dorothy who’d been the first Hunter to develop the ability to glean useful information from her dreams, saving a group of Hunters from a surprise monster attack, even if they had written it off as latent prophecy powers inherited from Lord Apollo at the time.
…Sometimes, when Zoe asked a Hunter how they knew something they couldn’t have possibly found out by themselves, and they told her about their dream, she would look up at the sun, and she would wonder…)
——
‘Sun West Line’ was a bit on the nose, but Zoe wasn’t going to start complaining about the free transportation any time soon.
Boarding the freight train, she headed up to the top deck of cars, as far away from Thalia Grace, the satyr, and the boy as possible. Bianca followed behind, and they found a leather-seat Lexus to settle down in for the night; the younger Hunter fell asleep almost immediately, the earlier fight against the skeletons clearly having taken a lot out of her, and Zoe followed suit not long after.
For the first time in over two weeks, however, Zoe did not slip into Morpheus’ realm to be met with the sight of Mount Othyrs.
Instead, she found herself somewhere in the Yellowstone National Park, standing in the middle of an empty clearing. A million stars shone overhead. A cool breeze rustled through the branches of the pinus contora that surrounded her, and lifted a few dead leaves off the ground to swirl around Zoe herself.
“I thought you might be more comfortable here,” a voice said behind her. Zoe stiffened. She knew that melodic, honey-sweet voice. “As opposed to my palace on Olympus, or an urban coffee shop.”
Zoe did not turn.
“Lord Apollo.” It was not a question. “Why hast thou brought me here?”
“Artemis.”
From her peripherals, Zoe saw Lord Apollo step beside her, hands in pockets and staring straight ahead. She turned her head ever so slightly to get a better look at his face. His eyes flicked towards her, then up to the night sky.
“Lady Artemis is on Mount Othyrs, isn’t she?” asked Zoe. “Wherever that might now be located in America. My fath-” she stopped, then shook her head. “Atlas has taken my Lady, kidnapped her.”
Apollo’s jaw tightened. “Yes. Atlas has taken Artemis.” He turned to face Zoe entirely, and continued, “She has been one of the most outspoken against my father’s decision to ignore the obvious war looming on the horizon, so no doubt it is Atlas’ plan to keep Artemis until after the Solstice has passed. By that point, the vote will have gone in both Atlas and Zeus’ favour, and we gods will not be allowed to help against any attacks. You see, then, why Atlas would want to take her.”
“Thou could simply disobey Lord Zeus’ orders,” Zoe pointed out, but Apollo shook his head.
“No, we can’t. You know that Zoe. You know I can’t.”
A second passed in silence. Two. Three.
Zoe turned to face Apollo. “I swear on the River Styx that I will rescue Lady Artemis,” she promised. “And if I must die to do so, then so be it.”
Above them, the sky rumbled. The solemn weight of her promise draped itself over Zoe like one of Hephaestus’ nets – unbreakable, inescapable, indestructible. She shivered, and wrapped her arms around herself.
“You shouldn’t have done that,” Apollo warned. “Oaths made on the Styx are bind-.”
Zoe interrupted him, saying: “Atlas is going to kill me.” Once more, it was not a question. “My father… I shall perish by his hand.”
“Zoe…”
Apollo made to reach his hands forward, perhaps to hug and comfort her, or maybe in an attempt to physically block the words she had spoken from ever reaching him. Then, he seemed to think better of it and withdrew his hands back to his pockets.
“Thou is the god of truth. Do not lie to me.”
“You would order a god around?”
“Please, I walked this Earth long before thou was born.”
Apollo closed his eyes.
“Zoe…” he said again, and there was a note in the harmony of his voice that sounded almost like pleading.
“Apollo…”
(Zoe did not like Lord Apollo. He was too arrogant, too vain, and flirted with her and her fellow hunters incessantly. He always appeared in their camp at the most inconvenient times, offering archery tips no one wanted and being a persistent source of annoyance to Lady Artemis near constantly.)
“What would you have me say?”
(Zoe did not like Lord Apollo, but she did not hate him either.)
“The truth.” Zoe said. “Thou is also the god of prophecy. Surely thou must know.”
(Zoe did not like Lord Apollo, but she never forgot that it was Dorothy who’d been the first Hunter to develop the ability to glean useful information from her dreams.)
“Yes,” Apollo said at last.
(Zoe did not like Lord Apollo, but when Dorothy died, and Lady Artemis had broken the news to her brother, Zoe had seen the devastation flood his face. )
“It is you that the prophecy speaks of.”
(Had heard him sob that he should have done more, should have warned his daughter earlier.)
For a moment, Apollo seemed at a loss for words. Zoe wondered how many others he had seen die before their death, known their fate long before they passed and been powerless to stop it. She wondered if Apollo ever regretted making prophecy one of his domains, the day he slew Python and claimed Delphi for his own.
(And that… that was when Zoe began to wonder.)
Apollo whispered, “I’m sorry.”
Zoe breathed in. Breathed out. Breathed in again, and nodded slowly.
“Okay.”
Apollo opened his eyes. “Okay? That’s it?”
“I swore on the Styx that I would do anything to rescue my Lady, even if anything means dying. If this is my fate, then so be it.”
Apollo did not seem to understand her calm acceptance, or maybe he did, but did not want to admit as such. He told her: “I would have wished to change your fate if it was in my power.”
Zoe frowned. “Why? We are not friends.”
“You are my sister’s closest companion. Her chosen Lieutenant of the Hunt.” Apollo’s eyes made contact with Zoe’s. “I could not have picked a better person to lead the search for Artemis, but that does not mean I am not sorry you will die for it.”
And with that, Zoe received the final confirmation of her suspicions from all those years ago.
(Zoe did not like Lord Apollo, but she could never hate someone who risked their father’s wrath to give Hunters and demigods alike a chance against the enemies they faced because of their parent or patronage.)
“Does my Lady know that it is you who has been sending prophetic dreams to help demigods and Hunters in their quests and battles?”
A flicker of surprise passed over Apollo’s face, but then, for the first time since their conversation began, he smiled. “I should have guessed that it would be you who would first discover my little secret,” he said. “And no, she doesn’t.”
“Why not?” Zoe said, offence on her Lady’s behalf flaring up inside her. “Do you not trust even your own twin sister?”
It was Apollo’s turn to look offended. “Of course I do. But what I do goes against the Ancient Laws. If word got out to the others…” he paused, then shook his head. “No, it’s better this way. Let them all remain oblivious.”
“Why?” Zoe was confused, not that she would admit it outloud. Gods did not go out of their way to help demigods. It was a fact, a truth, ingrained in the stone of millenia’s worth of dead children. Apollo may have claimed all his children the second they reached Camp Half-Blood or joined the Hunt, but this was bigger than that.
“Why what?” asked Apollo.
“Why hast thou send such dreams? Why risk the wrath of Ze-”
“Don’t, Zoe. Names have power, remember? Be careful whose you speak.”
“Of your father then. It is still the same question whatever name I say.”
Apollo took a moment to consider her question. Since, as far as she knew, Zoe was the only person, except perhaps his children, to know that it was Apollo behind the dreams, she doubted anyone had asked him this question before now. Finally, the god said slowly:
“I am the protector of youth. Once, I set up Camp Half-Blood to be a safe haven, but now it is out of my control. I cannot interfere with quests without risking the wrath and punishment that my father might bring down upon those I helped. But I am also the god of prophecy and knowledge. This, at least, I can do.”
Zoe digested this slowly. She wondered how it must feel to be a god, to have unimaginable power, and to be powerless to use it.
(Once, Zoe had not liked Apollo. Now, all she felt was pity.)
“Thou hast not made a single haiku since we have begun to converse,” Zoe noted.
“I thought you didn’t like them,” said Apollo. “I can compose one if you want.”
Hurriedly, Zoe reassured him, “There is no need. I was not complaining about their absence.”
Apollo chuckled. “Yeah, fair enough.”
There was a pause. In the distance, the first rays of sunlight began to peak over the horizon, signalling the dawn of a new day, even though it felt like Zoe had only been talking to Apollo for an hour or so. And even though it was only the two of them in the forest, Zoe could have sworn she could hear the sound of footsteps approaching, quiet, for the person was still far away, but harsh, as if they were walking not on mossy grass, but on a metal floor.
“You have to go now,” Apollo said. “Someone comes to speak to you. It is almost daytime.”
A shiver ran down Zoe’s spine. She turned her head away to face the sunrise. Somehow, inexplicably, she knew that it would be the last one she would see. The Winter Solstice was not until tomorrow, but one way or another, everything would end today.
“Apollo…” Zoe began. The god looked questioningly at her. She stopped, unsure if she wanted to know the answer, but Zoe Nightshade was not a Hunter of Artemis for nothing. She asked, “How will I die?”
A sigh. “Honestly? I don’t know. Even as the god of prophecy, there are some things clouded from me. The location of Mount Othrys, for starters. How you will die, too, is something the Fates have not allowed me to see.”
Zoe tried not to feel disappointed. Maybe it was better this way, not knowing how she would die in advance. It was a dangerous thing to know the future, after all.
“I can tell you one thing though,” Apollo said. Zoe turned to face him again. “My sister will put you in the stars after you die. She will not forget you. You gave up your immortality for Heracles, but Artemis will immortalise you in another way.” He looked at her with uncertainty. “Does that help? Maybe not. Music, art, and poems I can do, but comforting people is not my forte.”
“I think thou hast done a good job.” Above them, the sun’s rays hit the leaves of the trees they stood beneath, illuminating the leaves in all shades of red, orange, and brown. The footsteps grew louder. “But thou is right. I must go. I must keep my promise.”
“You are far braver than I could ever be,” Apollo admitted candidly. “I could never go to my death so easily.”
Zoe shrugged elegantly. “I would die if it meant saving my Lady. For me, it is an easy choice to make.”
Something like understanding shone in Apollo’s eyes.
“Goodbye Zoe,” he said.
“Farewell,” she replied.
He placed a hand on her forehead, and at the same time, the scenery around them began to fade away. Zoe caught her last glimpse of Yellowstone National Park, and her Lady’s twin, Apollo, standing there in the centre of it all, before she was in the Lexus once more, sat in the front seat with her head resting against the window.
——
As a constellation, Zoe could watch over those down below with ease.
She watched as her fellow questers accompanied Lady Artemis to Olympus, as the gods voted against killing Perseus, and Thalia became the new Lieutenant of the Hunt (a fine choice: Thalia would do well in her new role, and from the stars above, Zoe wished her good luck in it).
She watched the following years leading up to Kronos’ defeat, the Battle of the Labyrinth and a year later, the Battle of Manhattan.
She watched as Hera put Perseus and Jason (Thalia’s brother!) to sleep, and took their memories; she watched the rise of the giants, their defeat, and the fall of Gaea.
She watched as Lord Apollo was blamed for the war, drained of his immortality and powers, and sent down to Earth as punishment.
She watched as his children were kidnapped, as he rescued them, and as Meg betrayed him. She watched as Nero was revealed to be the force behind it all, and then Commodus, and then Caligula.
She watched Jason Grace die. She watched her Lady save Apollo from a fate worse than death. She watched as Reyna Ramirez-Arellano was sworn into the Hunt, and as Apollo and Meg left to travel back across the United States of America to confront Nero (and for Apollo, Python) in one last, final battle.
The night before the pair reached Washington, Apollo took first watch. He often did that, Zoe had noticed, and then conveniently ‘forgot’ to wake Meg up until long after the four hours they had agreed per shift had passed. Considering they had a digital clock on the truck’s display board, she highly doubted this was accidental.
The former god rested his head against the side window of the truck. From his pocket, he pulled out an art gallery postcard and began to trace the outline of the figures on it softly. Zoe remembered Apollo picking it up to look after he and Meg had been chased into an art gallery by a manticore; after defeating it with the power of a dozen arrows, a rose bush, and some 12th century pottery, they had decided to take a break from driving to look around for a few hours.
Zoe knew what picture was on that postcard.
She knew it was of a painting that depicted Apollo’s triumph over Python all those years ago.
“Oh us,” Apollo murmured. “How am I ever to do it? How could I? I am mortal. Curse you father, Python is bigger than your punishment. If I fail…”
His voice broke. Shaking fingers tucked the postcard away again. Apollo twisted in his seat to look at Meg as she slept, then raised his head upwards.
“Zoe.” A jolt went down Zoe’s non-existent spine. “I know you can’t hear me right now, but I just wanted to tell you that I understand now. Your acceptance of your death, I get it.”
Unable to reply, all Zoe could do was watch in silence; Apollo resumed his original position in his seat and stared out into the dark of the night.
Hours passed.
Eventually, Meg McCaffrey woke. Too used to Apollo’s forgetful tendencies, she did not bother to protest the extra four hours of sleep she had been given. Instead, she grabbed a granola bar out of the glove box and began to take bites out of it, in between the quiet conversation Apollo struck up with her.
Zoe had no desire to eavesdrop on them, so she took the moment to check up on Apollo’s kids back at Camp Half-Blood, as she had been doing for the past few months. She did not know why she felt such a desire to do so – after all, even if Zoe did see something bad happening to one of them, she would not have been able to do anything – but she did as such anyway. By the time she had assured herself they were all safe, tucked away safely in Cabin Seven and fast asleep, and looked back at where Reyna’s old pickup truck was parked, Apollo too was in Hypnos’ realm.
And as she looked down at him, Zoe came to a decision she had been mulling over for weeks now. She was going to speak to Apollo, just as he had, three and a half years ago.
Zoe was no goddess of dreams, but Apollo was not the god of them either, and he was behind the ‘standard demigod ability’ that saved so many lives. Dreams were a power all immortals shared, and once, Zoe had been a Hesperide, the daughter of the Titan Atlas. Even now, Artemis had placed her soul in the stars, immortalising her forever, albeit in a different way.
Trees and rocks began to form around Zoe as she concentrated hard. Mossy grass grew from nothing beneath her feet, and once more, she found herself standing in the Yellowstone National Park, this time with Apollo standing opposite her, not behind her, and with a confused expression adorning his face.
“Wha- what?” he muttered. “This is Yellowstone, but-”
He noticed Zoe. All the tension seemed to drain out of his body, only to be replaced by a new apprehension.
“Zoe Nightshade.” It was not a question. “What am I doing here? Did… did you bring me here?”
A strong sense of deja-vu washed over Zoe, and it was a couple of seconds before she had recovered enough to say: “Yes. It was I.”
“Why? How? You’re dead.”
Really, Zoe thought sardonically, I had no idea.
“Thou art not the only person in this world who can speak to people in dreams,” was what she said instead. “As for why… I am not sure. I suppose I just wanted to be able to reply to thee when thou talks to me.”
Apollo’s face took on a pinkish tinge. “You heard me.”
“I have been watching thee throughout thy quest. Of course I did.”
This did not seem to help. “Oh,” said Apollo.
“Thou has not been the only one I have observed though,” Zoe said, by way of reassurance. “I watch over the Hunt too, and thy children.”
Apollo blinked in shock. “My children?” He took several steps forwards, pressing Zoe for answers urgently. “How are they? Will? Austin? Kayla? Are they okay? What-”
“They are all fine. Three more of thy children have made it to Camp Half-Blood too – Yan, Gracie, and Jerry, I believe are their names.”
Relieved by Zoe’s words, but now evidently worried for a different reason, Apollo asked, “Have they been claimed yet? I enchanted the borders of Camp Half-Blood to do so as soon as a child of mine crossed over but…”
“Yes, they have all been claimed. It did cause a debate as to how exactly they were, since thou art currently a mortal, but they all reside in Cabin Seven and are sleeping there peacefully as we speak.”
“Good,” Apollo murmured. “Good. I wouldn’t want them to have to sleep on the floor of the Hermes cabin, or think I didn’t care.”
“I’m sure they know thou cares,” Zoe said; she asked: “How art thou?”
Apollo laughed brittlely. “Good, awful, scared, and restless with anticipation all at once. Nero draws closer every day, and P- him too, and I have no idea how I’m supposed to defeat them. And even after that, after everything, my father might not deign to give me back my immortality, and everything will have been for nothing.”
“Not nothing,” Zoe said quietly. “Thou hast not only fought this war to regain thy godhood, not for a long time. Perhaps never.”
“You give me far too much credit, Zoe.”
“No, I do not.”
They stood in silence for a while. Apollo seemed to have realised something, and was trying to bring himself to voice it with some difficulty, so Zoe searched for her own constellation in the night sky above him to give some privacy while she waited.
“Am I going to die?”
The question was quiet, barely a whisper. Rushed, as if Apollo wanted to get the words out as quickly as possible. For all his earlier declaration that he understood Zoe’s calm acceptance of her upcoming death, the possibility of his own seemed to scare him still, which Zoe understood completely.
She may have accepted her death if it meant her Lady’s rescue, but she had not gone to it without fear.
Zoe asked, “What do you mean?”
“Am I going to die?” repeated Apollo. “Is that why you’ve called me here? When I spoke to you last time, it was to warn you of your own upcoming death.”
“I don’t know.”
“Zoe please…” Before, Zoe had only heard Apollo beg once, to ask her to stop questioning him if she would be the one to perish as the prophecy foretold. She had heard him twice now. “If I am going to die, I want…” Apollo’s voice broke. He closed his eyes. Breathed in, breathed out. Opened them again. “I want to know.”
“Truly, Lord Apollo, I do not know. That was not why I called thee here.”
Apollo tried for a smile, though it came out more like a grimace. “Please, call me Apollo. We are long beyond titles like ‘Lord’.”
“Apollo then. But truly, I do not know. I am sorry,” she said apologetically. “Prophecy is not within my power.”
“Currently, it’s not within anyone except Python’s,” Apollo pointed out dryly.
Zoe bit her lip, the question that had been at the back of her mind, ever since Apollo had declared to his son Trophonius that he would die to save Meg McCaffrey, burning more fiercely than ever. She debated with herself whether or not to ask for a few seconds, before deciding that she had nothing to lose from doing so.
She asked: “Would thee mind?”
“What?”
“If thou was fated to die, never to reascend to Olympus, would thee mind?”
“Of course I would mind,” said Apollo, a vaguely offended look adorning his face.
“But if it meant the downfall of Nero,” Zoe pressed. She wasn’t quite sure why the answer meant so much to her, but still she pressed on. “Or if it meant the downfall of Python, would thou accept thy death and make thy peace with it?”
(The day Jason Grace died, to give his friends a chance at escape, Apollo stabbed himself in the chest with the intention of death.)
“Yes.” Apollo said, without a shred of uncertainty. “Yes, I would die if my death brought down Nero or Python with me.” He paused, then chuckled grimly. “Oh us, I’ve really changed a lot, haven’t I?”
(And maybe he had known that Medea would heal him, for that was what the desperate plan hinged on in the first place, but that was never really the point, was it?)
“No. I don’t think thou hast changed at all.”
“What do you mean?” Apollo frowned.
Zoe thought of the way Apollo had taken in Chiron as a baby and raised him like a son. She thought of the story Lady Artemis had told her once of the day she and her brother had woken to discover they were the new celestial gods – in her Lady, the mortals saw protection, a guiding light through the darkness of the night; in Apollo, they saw brilliance, gold and warm and shining. She thought of Anius(1), and Asclepius, and Dorothy. She remembered the way Apollo had been so ready and willing to give his life to save his kids, only a mere couple of hours after death had become a much more real possibility for him.
“I think that Phoebus is a very fitting epithet for thee,” she said at last. “The shining one. The mortals began to associate thou with the sun for a reason. Thou art annoyingly shiny, overbearingly bright, but warm.” Zoe did not know what she was saying, or why she felt the need to reassure Apollo that he was not as bad as he thought he was, but she had known him for over three millennia now. She may have disliked her Lady’s twin, but it was never because he was cruel or heartless. Zoe did not want him to die. “Thou burns hot enough to scorch, but would never hurt thy friends with thy heat.”
By the end of Zoe’s small speech, Apollo looked utterly dumbstruck. “Why are you being so nice to me?” he asked. “You hate me, but now you’re saying I’m… what did you call me? Warm? Yes, that was it. What’s changed?”
Zoe said simply, “I never hated thee. I did not like thee, but I have never hated thee.”
“You could’ve fooled me.”
“I did not like thee because thou… hits on me and my fellow Hunters. I believe that is the modern phrase for it, no? Hits on, flirts with, even after we told thee it is unwanted. And,” Zoe added on, a little defensive now, “thine mere presence is of great annoyance to my Lady, with thine awful haikus and all. On her behalf, too, I do not like you.”
Apollo ignored the second part, with only a stiffening of his shoulders to even show that he’d heard, to guiltily focus on the first. He opened his mouth, at a loss for the right words, before settling with a simple: “I’m sorry.” He met Zoe’s steady gaze unflinchingly. “Truly, I am. I… it was wrong of me. I can see that now. And if I survive this, I promise you now, I will apologise to your fellow Hunters too, and do my utmost best to make it up to them as best as I can.”
Once, Zoe would not have accepted such an apology and been done with the matter. Now, she just nodded.
All of a sudden, she felt very old and very tired.
“I accept thine apology. And I rescind what I said earlier about thine mere presence being only an annoyance to my Lady. It was unfair and untrue. Most of the time thou is a great irritation, yes, but I have not just been watching over Meg and thee. I have seen the way my Lady has worried over thee these past few months. Thou is not just an annoyance to her.”
Apollo smiled gratefully. The stiffness in his shoulders relaxed. “Thank you Zoe. I appreciate your words.”
“Thou had better not die though.” Zoe threatened. “If thou does, I swear I will come down from Ouranos myself to resurrect thee and kill thee all over again. Thy death would break my Lady.”
“Would that not be a little counterproductive? Apollo laughed. “To kill me for the crime of dying in the first place.” After a few moments however, he sobered up. “You know I can’t promise you my survival,” he said, “but I promise that I will try. I will try my hardest to return to my sister. I swear it.”
Despite everything, despite what they were discussing, a smile tugged at the corners of Zoe’s mouth. “Thou do not want to swear thy promise on the River Styx? Have I, by mistake, summoned the wrong Apollo?”
“What?” Apollo frowned, then his expression cleared with a stunned laugh. “You’re… you’re joking. That was a joke.” He shook his head. “Zoe Nightshade teasing me? I really must be dreaming.”
“Thou is a massive hypocrite by the way. I distinctly remember thou telling me that to swear on the Styx is a dangerous thing, did thou not?”
Apollo rubbed the back of his neck. “Yes, well, I…” He trailed off sheepishly. “Oops?”
(Zoe did not like Apollo.)
She smiled at Apollo, which, for her, was the equivalent of a full belly laugh. He returned the smile with one of his own. In the distance, the first rays of sunlight began to peak over the horizon.
(But in another life, they could have been friends.)
Zoe could tell the moment Apollo noticed, because it was then that something heavy settled between them. Their smiles faded, the almost camaraderie between them was replaced once more with a cordial, but more distant, relationship, and Zoe knew what she had to do.
“I have to go now,” she said. “And thou must wake. It is almost daytime.”
For a moment, fear flickered across Apollo’s visage.
Then, it was replaced with the face of someone who knows his fate, accepts it, and goes to it with courage and resolution.
(It was replaced by the face of a real hero.)
Apollo tentatively reached out and placed a hand on Zoe’s upper arm. With her opposite hand, Zoe reached over to cover his with hers.
“Goodbye Zoe,” Apollo said. “I never got to say so before, properly, but it seems I have been given another chance. Farewell my friend.”
Slowly, Zoe removed Apollo’s hand from her arm. She let it go, and his hand fell to his side.
“Goodbye Apollo,” she said.
“If it had been in my power, I really would have changed your fate, you know. You didn’t deserve to die.”
“I know.” Zoe gave him one last half-smile, and this time there was a hint of melancholy in it. “I know you would have.”
Apollo closed his eyes. “I am ready now,” he said. “I am ready to wake up.”
Zoe placed a hand on his forehead. “Then I bid you farewell, my friend…”
The figure of Apollo began to shimmer, dissolving like dust into the night air, a mirror echo of Zoe all those years before.
“…and good luck.”
——
Far down below, in the driver’s seat of an old pickup truck two inches away from breaking to bits, Lester Papadopoulos began to stir.
The morning sun began to stream through the windows; illuminated by the light, his hair looked as if it were spun from shining gold.
———————
Author’s note:
So, what do you think? 5818 words including title and footnote, it’s one of the longest things I think I’ve ever written, both in length and in time spent between the start and finish, which is technically over three weeks (in my defence, I was on a no-phones summer camp and then my Silver DofE expedition for like, half of that time). I’ve truly loved being a part of this collab, and would like to that this moment to thank Tsari most sincerely for organising the whole thing. Can’t wait to see every else’s submissions! (Only 23 hours, as of right now, to go!)
(1) For those unfamiliar with the myth, Anius was the son Apollo had with Hemithea (Emmie)’s sister, Rhoeo. After his mother abandoned him soon after birth, Apollo raised Anius himself. He also later became King of Delos, a position he no doubt secured thanks to his dad! I figured that Zoe would be more likely to know this particular story, considering Anius’ familial link to Hemithea, compared to another one of Apollo’s children, which is why she thinks of him second as an example of Apollo caring for others (even when he was a god), after Chiron.
Based on @txny-dragon’s sunflower Meg fanart! https://txny-draws.tumblr.com/post/685532332419072000/sunflower-meg-aesthetic-more-likely-then-you
“Meg, you need some more clothes.”
Meg looked up from the daffodil she had been tending with a scowl.
“Why?” she pouted, shoving her sliding glasses up the bridge of her nose while glaring at Apollo.
“Because you have been wearing that unicorn shirt for the past three weeks and this is getting ridiculous!” He said, draping himself dramatically over the mossy garden wall he was perched upon.
“I think it’s nice,” she humphed, fiddling with the compost smeared sequins.
“Meg, it looks like you lost a fight with an industrial-sized cheese grater, and after all, most normal people have more than one outfit.” Her glare darkened. “Alright, alright!” Apollo raised his hands placatingly, “At least think about it. Besides, you can still wear that shirt sometimes even when you have multiple outfits.”
Meg humphed but started to waver when Apollo turned his masterful puppy dog eyes on her.
“Idiot,” she smirked, but rose to her feet and brushed off her knees, though only succeeding in smearing the dirt more thoroughly into her jeans. “We can go but only if we stop at the burrito place for lunch.”
“Sue thing! Apollo beamed, popping up from the wall, the keys to his sports car appearing in his hand. “Come on! Shopping trips are fun!”
“This is not fun,” Meg groaned, flopping her head against the passenger window.
“I think it’s been great!” Apollo chirped, bobbing his head in time to the music blaring from the speakers. Meg glanced back at the overflowing pile of shopping bags in the back seat and groaned again.
“I’m not going to wear any of those!” she huffed.
“Why not? I thought that magenta pantsuit looked lovely on you!”
The glare Meg sent his way would have wilted garlic, but Apollo didn’t notice.
“And I tried to pick some complementary colors so you can mix and match the different tops and leggings and things. I also got some hats to go with those, you spend so much time in your gardens that you’re going to get sunburned without them! Trust me, as god of the sun and medicine I know how much mortal skin needs protection. Tans might look nice but skin cancer is a real problem-”
“Apollo!” Meg had her face smashed up against the window, staring at a county fair set up in the adjoining field. “We need to go!”
“Well…” Apollo hesitated, finger drumming the steering wheel until Meg turned to him with a pleading expression.
“Pleeease?”
“Oh alright,” he conceded, flicking on the turn signal.
They spent the next half hour wandering between the stalls, Meg gazing in awe at the assorted fruits and vegetables and Apollo being dragged along, rolling his eyes but smiling at Meg’s excitement. Eventually they came to the end of a row that had been mostly made up of candle and soap peddlers when Meg stopped at the final stall. It was tended by a little silver-haired lady who looked up from her knitting to greet them.
“Hello there, would either of you like a sweater?”
“Why yes we would!” Apollo said, eyes gleaming at the opportunity to continue clothes shopping.
She gestured to the ones laid on the table in front of them.
“I have these designs here, and a few different sizes under here,” she motioned behind the draping tablecloth.
“These are beautiful!” Apollo exclaimed, running his fingers over one of the sweaters. “Would you like a checkered one, Meg?” She shook her head and started sifting through a pile on the corner, a look of over-shopped resignation on her face.
“Hmm,” the woman passed a scrutinizing eye over Meg. “With autumn about to begin and all, I’ve almost sold out of this sort, but I think I might have one left in just your size. Let me look,” she bent down behind the table and emerged with a yellow sweater in hand. “What do you think of that one?”
Meg took it, eyes brightening when she saw the sunflower pattern. She unfolded it, rubbing the fluffy weave between her fingers as she held it up to herself.
“It fits!” Apollo cheered. Meg rolled her eyes and the woman gave him an amused glance.
“Would you like one too? I have one more.”
“Oh yes please!” he gushed, and she ducked back down again.
“Copycat,” Meg smirked.
“We can be twins!” He grinned. “And these sweaters are so wonderful I might buy another… What do you think of this dog one?” He held up a fluffy pink sweater with the word “Pawsome!” knitted over a smiling puppy face in the center. Meg snorted. “I shall take that as a yes,” Apollo declared as the woman resurfaced with the second sunflower sweater. “All three of these please!” he said as he dug in his pocket for his wallet.
“See? I told you shopping trips were fun!” Apollo said as they pulled into the drive through of their favorite burrito place.
“Uh huh,” Meg said, side-eyeing him from the passenger seat.
“Even that fair was better than I thought it would be! I didn’t expect to find clothes there,” he glanced at Meg, who had already pulled her new sweater over her t-shirt. “I’m glad you like the sweater.”
“Yup. At least I got one new shirt.”
“What do you mean? What about all the others?” Apollo gestured to the massive pile of clothes.
“Nope.”
“What do you mean nope?” he cried, waving his hands around in exasperation.” I spent so much time picking the perfect color pallets and everything!”
“Are you going to order?” Meg asked. Apollo turned sheepishly to the concerned looking employee.
“Oh. Uh, two large burritos with extra hot sauce on one and guacamole on the other, and an orange fanta and an lemon ice tea for the drinks please.”
“Sure thing,” replied the teen and Apollo pulled forward in line.
“Well what are you going to do with all these extra unwanted clothes then?” he pouted.
“I dunno, maybe they’ll fit one of my siblings. Lucius is looking for a new style.”
“Well I hope that he’s at least grateful for them. Maybe one other person around here has a sense of fashion.” He grumbled as he took the paper bag full of burritos from the server at the window. “Do you want to eat these at the park?”
“Sure!”
And so the crazy day of shopping experiments ended. Matching sweaters were worn, the sunset was watched, burritos were munched, and hot sauce was spilled. All in all a good day and a satisfactory ending to such an adventure.
“Meg?!? All over my new sweater? Hot sauce stains never come out!”
