Chapter Text
“I’ve collected quite a lot over the years,” said Apollo, leading Percy into a semi-darkened room. With a snap of bronzed fingers, lights sprung to life flooding the crowded space. The large room was surrounded by shelves burdened with all manner of objects. The center of the room contained a literal maze with piles of objects taller than himself in some places. He’d collected so many trinkets over the millennia, and unlike certain other gods or goddesses he could mention (cough - Aphrodite - cough) he liked to keep most of it where it could be easily found again.
Percy, barely brushing against the edge of one pile, caused an avalanche of objects that Apollo had to drag him away from lest his wonderful boyfriend end up buried. Percy raised an unimpressed eyebrow, “I can see that.”
Apollo rubbed the back of his neck. Okay, maybe it couldn’t be found so easily. His sorting system had kinda fallen by the wayside over the centuries, but at least his stuff wasn’t spread all over the planet waiting for unsuspecting mortals - or demigods - to stumble across it and get hurt or cursed.
“Sorry,” he apologized, “It’s a bit of a mess in here. But I swear, I know where this particular lyre is, and once I have it we can be on our way.” He offered his boyfriend a hand and internally squealed when Percy took it with a fond sigh. Little bits of affection like that caused Apollo to fall ever further for this perfect man.
“Why can’t you just summon it?” Percy asked.
“Wards. Some of the stuff in here is cursed, or really dangerous. Some of it is… sentimental. I didn’t want anyone getting ideas about taking things from me, cough - Hermes - cough,” Apollo grumbled under his breath, causing Percy to laugh. An addicting sound if Apollo's ever heard one, he does his best to make Percy laugh as much as possible. “So I just have the whole place warded as a matter of course. Nothing goes in or out without me personally moving it.”
“Pretty smart.”
Apollo beamed. “Thanks.” They maneuvered around a large pile of 14th-century furniture, including a half-decapitated statue. “It worked even better when it wasn’t such a mess. Thankfully, I haven’t used this particular lyre in a while - I had it made in preparation for the whole Athens naming competition. Well, I had two made,” he confessed.
“One for if Athena won, and one for if my dad won?” Percy guessed with an amused smile.
“Exactly! This one’s the latter which is all ocean-y themed and I thought would match well considering we’re going to a beach party.”
“So why are we dressed like we stepped out of the Ancient Lands some 2,500 years ago?” Percy tugged on the edge of his blue chiton, beautifully weaved with golden waves and sun motifs along the edges. The clasps holding it in place were shaped like seashells. Anaklusmos - because Percy refused to go weaponless anywhere these days - in sword form, hanging at his side in a sheath. Windswept hair and ever-changing eyes added to his air of power and beauty. Divinity bound in mortal form, Apollo could stare at Percy for eternity.
He loved the modern day and its inventions and conveniences, but the ancient way of dress just fit Percy to a tee, and Apollo, never one to deny himself, would take his fill of a properly dressed son of Poseidon whenever he could finagle an excuse.
Like attending a beach party some nymphs were throwing off the coast of Mykonos.
“Because we’re going to the Ancient Lands, and I love the excuse to dress up,” replied Apollo, keeping his thoughts about Percy to himself. His boyfriend didn’t always realize how utterly delectable he was, and when Apollo started complimenting he very rarely wished to stop. It tended to lead them to activities that were far more pleasurable perhaps, but they really didn’t have the opportunity for them if they wanted to arrive on time. Or, at all really.
“Plus, Syma is a stickler for tradition, and everyone will be dressed similarly.” Syma was perhaps a bit stuck behind the times, but the parties she threw usually weren’t. No need to mention how he’d politely suggested she make this particular dress code mandatory. “Well, we’ll obviously be dressed the best. It wouldn’t do for an Olympian and the Savior of Olympus to be stuck looking common, hmm?”
Percy rolled his eyes and shot him a look of disbelief. “You’re such a pretentious rich kid.”
“I’m not a rich kid. I’m a god. Money is meaningless.”
“That’s what a fucking rich kid would say.”
Ignoring Percy’s comment, Apollo pulled them along through the maze. Swerving around a pile of some late Roman antiques, Apollo distinguished the sorting system's remaining dregs. The farther they wandered, the more the shape of the objects took up weight and power. Designs he used to know so well, echoed in his mind as they traversed farther and farther back through his collection.
“Should be somewhere around here,” he muttered, regrettably releasing Percy’s hand as he searched through the stacks of objects. Most of it was old offerings and tributes; vases and pottery, old armor and weapons, piles of coins and jewels - he wasn’t kidding when he said money was meaningless, he was no Zeus or Poseidon or Hades who had a kingdom to run, and an economy to manage - he knew the lyre had to be around here somewhere…
Apollo’s gaze strayed upwards, and he caught sight of a deep blue-colored lyre. “There it is,” he muttered, walking closer to the pile's edge.
“That’s pretty far up there ‘pollo,” commented Percy, uncertainty staining his voice. “You sure you don’t want me to grab a chair or something?”
Apollo waved him off. “No, no, I’ll be fine. Please don’t try touching anything here. You don't know what's cursed or not.” Shifting around a few pieces of ancient armor, he reached for the lyre, unfortunately at least another foot and a half or so out of his height. He huffed, cursing himself for designing the anti-summoning wards on this place. How did mortals do this all the time?
Pushing a few more pieces aside, he placed his foot securely on a trunk of some kind and climbed up. A few items clattered to the floor, but he didn’t hear anything break, so it should be fine. Straining on his toes he snagged the blue and gold lyre from atop the pile. Relaxing, he spun around and hopped off the trunk with a victorious grin.
“See! Nothing to it.”
Percy rolled his eyes, but couldn’t hold back a grin. “Of course never doubted you for a-”
Whatever he would say next was lost to the sound of grinding and creaking. Apollo, barely looked back at the pile of items slipping from their precarious locations, before Percy yelled, “Look out!”
Apollo felt rather than saw his boyfriend burst into action, One second he stood in the path of a potential avalanche of ancient detritus, and the next Percy barreled into him, pushing him out of harm’s way.
Landing on the ground with a wince, Apollo cradled the lyre in his arms, hoping to save it from the fall. After all, he was a god, it wasn’t like a crash to the ground would hurt him. Neither would an avalanche of items that matter, but it seemed like Percy’s split-second instincts - oh, so important around other mortals who could be killed by nearly anything - didn’t take a half-second more to register that Apollo was practically invincible.
Well, it was the thought that counted.
“Thanks, love,” he said, still flat against the ground, “but you really didn’t-” he cut himself off as he looked over to where his boyfriend should be, but wasn’t.
Apollo stared at the blank spot where Percy had just been. Panic and desperation rose in his chest, choking out all reason. Eyes flickering around the room, searching, straining, begging -
No. He couldn’t feel Percy. He couldn’t sense Percy’s half divine presence here, or anywhere in his palace. (Or extending to the city below, or anywhere his sun’s rays touched, or-)
Rocketing to his feet, Apollo abandoned the search for Percy, (because he wasn’t here - he wasn’t anywhere) and instead searched the room for any indication of where Percy had gone. He hadn’t heard anything, hadn’t seen anything, so what-
From the corner of his eye metal glinted. A disc, hardly larger than the size of his hand, sat a few feet away from the pile it tumbled off of. It’s familiar - the pattern of suns, snakes, and scythes. Old magic, powerful magic, poured off of it, and Apollo hesitated to pick it up. Where had he acquired it…
Oh.
Oh.
Half-buried memories, long forgotten, but now sparking to life were brought to the forefront of his mind. A celebration in his honor, prayers of thanks and devotion tasting sweeter than any wine. A temple, long since crumbled to ruins, standing in full unweathered glory, decorated in flowers and offerings. An offering from the people, a spoil of battle, powerful, granted to the temple in case of invoking divine appreciation and healing in the wake of tragedy.
The memory of a half moon-lit night, casting light and shadows on a man so tempting Apollo nearly abducted him the second he stepped foot in his temple. Hushed words, and teasing, and a tilt of a crooked smile, and a kiss-
Apollo sighed, as that night, so many millennia ago, settled in, easing the worry from his mind and heart.
Well, he knew where Percy was, but it looked like they wouldn't make it to that party after all.