Synopsis: "Zeus decides to speak to Apollo. (Or, a conversation about fear and tiranny.)" (not canon-compliant)

A common misconception about gods is that, having been alive for thousands of years, they visited every corner of the planet, learned every language, every skill - a misconception that could easily be disproved, if one were to meet an immortal. Having more time at their disposal only meant that they were able to put off obligations and chores for far longer than regular mortals.

Being an exemplary proof of this, Zeus set out to visit the Delphic Oracle's original location for the first time in six thousand years.

It was the middle of July. Hundreds of tourists walked around the archeological sites in all sorts of colorful hats that were meant to protect them from the still-scorching sun; middle-aged, huffing women with fans, crying children, bored guides repeating the same monologue they probably recited at least twenty more times that same day all merged in a crowd of indistinguishable, identical faces. The dry grass creaked under their footsteps, and the dust rising from the ground as they walked surrounded their lower bodies in a thick, dirty cloud.

The path he walked on only carried the memory of the mortals' steps. Not even Nature dared to acknowledge his presence.

As he descended further inside the cave, guided by the Mist, the cacophony of voices sounded fainter and fainter, up to the point of disappearing altogether, once he reached the heart of the Oracle. As dark as it was, he didn't expect it to be much of a wonder; for as long as he had been alive, he had found caves to be rather dull places, albeit excellent prisons. The two nights he had spent in the Corycian cave, helplessly sprawled on the ground with nothing to look at but a single blade of grass and the dark reflections on the walls, had been enough to convince him of that.

Delphi, however, was something else entirely.

He stopped near a spring running from a secluded spot in the rock wall; in its low light flowers grew from the cracks in the stone, crystals shyly emerged in every corner. He ran a hand on the uneven surface of the walls, feeling their magic at his fingertips. That was one of the last places in the world that kept alive the ancient wonders, the last place where the Greek magic was still pure, and alive, clear as a bird's song, strong like an oak. Was it a coincidence that mortals hadn't found it yet?

Most mortals, that is.

The god turned around, focusing on the only solid spot in the darkness.

The faint, metallic smell of human blood, of sweat, and of something rotten that he couldn't quite identify overcame any of the wonders he saw. The green fumes danced slowly around what seemed to be a small pile of clothing, but revealed itself to be the figure of a boy, instead, no older than seventeen, slumped against the rocks. His hair was gray with monster dust; his face was dirty, like a child's skin after playing outside all day. There seemed to be no life-threatening wound, only a trickle of blood smeared over his lips, cuts on his arms and face, a bruise on his abdomen - the standard, for a demigod. With his eyes closed, and his right arm laying beside his head, he almost looked like he was asleep.

However, Zeus knew that there were wounds that the eye couldn't see, invisible and hidden under the skin. He felt the boy's life force wither. For a moment, he thought it had already escaped him.

Then, he twitched, grunting and frowning, and, after a moment, Zeus found blue, electrical eyes - somewhat similar to his, but duller, and sadder, and clouded by pain - staring back at him.

The boy breathed in a couple of times, with an odd, ragged attempt at incredulous laughter.

"Father," Apollo breathed out, trying his best to turn his head towards him. "You came."

Without a word, Zeus crouched down, shrinking to the size of a regular man, and, for a moment, Apollo's eyes looked up at him, hesitant. This time he forced himself to turn his body, ending up with his back against the cold rocks and with his face looking up at the ceiling. The light danced on his skin, hiding some of the bruises in the shadows and revealing others. In his eyes, it revealed something unspoken - memories of clear nights and earthly dew, the hope of dancing around a bonfire again.

However, when he saw that Zeus wasn't moving, and instead stared at him as he would stare at a dead sparrow, he turned his eyes away, shutting them close. His fingers curled weakly into a fist, clutching the dirt.

"I came, yes, but not for the reasons you think. Don't expect me to be your saving grace, son," he said. His voice was lonely in the silence of the cave, echoing a thousand times. "You were aware of the consequences going on your own would bring you."

"Of course," Apollo replied, his lips pursed. He breathed in through his nose, trembling. "Of course. Why did you come, then?"

"I wanted you to know that this was the Fates' design, not mine. I regret that things turned out this way." He paused. "This wasn't what I had in mind."

"Is it not?"

"It isn't. I only wanted you to learn from your mistakes. To be better." Zeus shook his head. From a small hole in the wall, dark clouds peeked at him. "One can only tolerate misbehavior so many times."

Apollo showed his teeth, blood-stained from the hits he took earlier. It didn't look like a smile. "This sounds like the best ending for you, though, doesn't it? Python is defeated, and I'm left to die among the- among the abandoned ruins of my own Oracle."

Zeus frowned. "What do you mean?"

The boy breathed in, shuddering like a drowning man. Then, he pointed his finger at the god, his eyes glazed, and said, "For years-" He grunted, letting his arm fall beside him. "You did your best to keep me as much away from Olympus as possible. You sent me to do your errands. You punished me. Wouldn't my death mean you'd finally be at peace? Whatever it is you're fearing-" He paused, closing his eyes for a second longer. "It will be no more."

Zeus remembered many things. He remembered being alone in the throne room, right after taking down Kronos, with a crown bathed in golden ichor in his bleeding hands and the numb realization that, after that war, there would be no more victory, no greater purpose. He remembered the sting of betrayal as he saw Poseidon's emotionless expression loom over him, cut in squares by the golden net they used to trap him, and the unending stream of thoughts running through his head as, for the first time, he understood that he could end up like his father. He remembered the rush of satisfaction running through his veins every time he made sure that anything that could threaten Olympus was taken down.

But fear? He didn't remember feeling fear, and he wasn't suited for it. It was the cowards' sentiment: the sentiment of someone helpless against the Fates' design, of someone weak who found a threat large enough to destroy them. Zeus wasn't helpless, nor was he weak.

So he said, "I do not fear anything."

"You do," Apollo accused him, "Everyone does. Artemis fears starless nights. Aphrodite fears her own reflection." He looked up to the ceiling. "You fear someone else sitting on your throne, and ending up like Kronos, taken down by his own children. You fear your crown. You fear your family."

"I do not fear anything," Zeus thundered, again, "Because I have no reason to. No one is enough of a threat to take me down. You are not a threat-"

"But I am, aren't I? You always- always felt the need to keep me in check, punishing me for things that any other god would've gotten away with." Apollo's voice sounded strained. "Ares was willing to cause a war among the gods, and you did nothing-"

"I am the king of Olympus-"

"You're not a king, you're a usurper," he snapped, gritting his teeth, "You only ever wanted to keep your useless power and your useless dignity, and Olympus almost fell multiple times just because you didn't want to listen to anyone else's advice."

"I did what I had to. You dare disrespect my judgement?" Zeus interrupted him, as electricity crackled half-heartedly on his skin.

Apollo scoffed. "What if I dare? Will you kill me?"

Unbothered, as stoic as the sculptures represented him, Zeus stared at his son, and he thought- for the first time, he actually stopped to think about who Apollo was, really, underneath all that golden shimmer and his ever-present smile.

For centuries, he'd sit just the slightest bit straighter whenever Apollo entered the throne room - he who was supposed to be an equal among his peers but stood out anyway, radiant and prideful, intelligent enough to match Athena's wits, fast enough to beat Hermes in a race, strong enough to take down the god of war himself. He was the warmth of the afternoon sun in June and the scorching fire underneath Earth's crust; he was the relief that came from a cold salve and the sharp pain that came from a fresh wound; he was the son that Zeus had always wished for and the one who was most likely to bring him to destruction.

He should've been proud of him - and if there had been a part of him that was still the man that danced and sang with Leto all those nights ago (the man who was still a father, above all else), he would have been. But that part died long ago, replaced by the increasing paranoia.

Zeus kept studying Apollo as he stared at his father defiantly, ready to fight him even though he couldn't, even though his hands were shaking and his eyes were more closed than they were open. He didn't see a god in those eyes: he saw a boy who was too fierce and protective and loyal for his own good towards the people he cared about. He saw the boy who used to look at him with adoration whenever he turned leaves into sparrows, and who later turned that adoration into a sour expression and a cold stare.

The tension in Apollo's shoulders died down, as he turned away. His head tilted, and he was struggling to stay awake. His labored breathing echoed in the cave, accompanied by the spring's gentle flowing.

'Whatever it is you're fearing, it will be no more.'

"Why did you punish me, then?" Apollo asked, with resignation.

Were they like Daedalus and Perdix?

"You cared too much," Zeus said.

When Apollo lifted his eyes again, they were veiled by tiredness. The blue looked grey in the low light. "And you cared too little."

He couldn't find it in himself to answer that question.

After a long time (one minute or an hour, he wasn't sure), Apollo asked, "That's what it is about too, right? You hate me." He stared into nothingness, far away from himself, from his father, from his aching bones and his damaged soul. "You never told me, but I know."

Zeus always had something to say, something to prove. His voice was thunder - powerful enough to shake the ground to its core, to destroy cities. Striking, magnificent, clear.

This time, it fell silent.

Apollo turned his head towards the man, searching for any sign, any movement. His nostrils flared, and he looked away again. "I do hate you," he whispered, his voice cracking and his lips pursed, "I do, with all my being."

"I know."

His chest went up and down, up and down, and he winced every time.

"You ruined our family," he continued, "You ruined- you ruined Thalia, you ruined Jason, you ruined Artemis too, even if she doesn't admit it. You- you ruined me."

Zeus put a hand on the boy's head. "I know."

"What did I do?" Apollo asked, stubborn enough not to let any tears spill, "I didn't do anything wrong. I tried to be a good son."

"I know," the god replied, again.

The hiccups went on for an hour, before slowly dying down. Eventually, Zeus got up and headed towards the exit, towards the night and the rain.

All he left behind was a weeping willow facing the stream.