Chapter Text
“No man or woman born, coward or brave, can shun his destiny.”
― Homer, The Iliad
“Green finch and linnet bird. Nightingale, blackbird. How is it you sing? Are you crowing?
Are you screaming? Ringdove and robinet. Is it for wages, singing to be sold?”
― Sondheim, Sweeney Todd: No Place Like London
–
Kneeling at his sister’s feet, hemp seed oil on his hands as he followed the routine they always followed after a competition. Artemis’ chronic pain always seemed to flare up after being at the ice rink for long. Apollo stares at his sister, the way the moonlight frames her face ever so gently, caressing her cheeks in a soft glow. She looked just as much like a goddess as her namesake did.
“Do you ever worry αδελφός? Do you think about our parents and wonder if we’re cursed?” With Artemis’s face red and dried tears staining it, she looked at her dear brother. She seemed timid and vulnerable, nothing like the strength and ferocity she displayed moments before.
“Cursed? Like by a witch?” Despite the stinging of her face and the ache in her chest, she smiled weakly at her brother’s confusion. “No… no, I mean like…”
Softly pushing herself away from her bed frame, she shoved her hand under it, feeling for that familiar hardcover book. Her hand blindly hit all kinds of knickknacks that she held underneath the comfort of her bed until she found what she was looking for.
She pulled it from its confines and gently traced the embroidered title, quiet embarrassment creeping up her spine.
Confused but willing to humor his twin, lest he send her back into a fragile state, Apollo moved from where he sat with his back to his bedside to where Artemis sat, parallel to him. Despite his protests, a small laugh bubbled out of him once he saw what his beloved sister was so timidly holding—the Iliad.
“Artie, you don’t mean…?” He scoffed softly at the way Artemis hid her face in agreement. “Oh dear, you don’t seriously think the Greek gods cursed us, do you?” Despite the worry eating away at his heart, he couldn’t hide the amusement and disbelief in his voice.
Artemis sniffled, her embarrassment webbing away and weaving itself into sorrow. “Think about it, Apollo,”
“Please just think about it.”
–
Apollo was five when his feet first hit the ice. Dragged by his mother, Leto, and his aunt, Asteria, joined by his twin sister. He can still remember how the cold stung his cheeks and how his tears burned on the way down after falling.
“Apo! Apo!” He can still remember the way his sister yelled at him desperately, trying to get him to stop crying. The way her tiny hands squished his pudgy cheeks covered in tears.
The warm bath and the fresh baklava afterward made up for the traumatizing experience. Despite such an awful first time, Apollo and Artemis continued to step onto the ice, but Apollo’s life was never with such simplicities.
–
Born to a rich man and a seemingly nobody woman made for an exciting life. His father, Zeus, already married a beautiful and wealthy woman named Hera, had an affair with a woman just as gorgeous and rich. Except Leto was not rich in the ways of money, but in the ways of family; she was born into a loving and caring family. Her childhood home was filled with nothing but warm love and comfort. Nothing like the cold and harsh mansion that Apollo would soon call home.
The affair Zeus had with Leto was short-lived but filled with passion and care. Leto was saddened when he came to her that fateful day, clutching a bouquet full of roses, with the words on his lips that would change her life forever.
“I can’t be with you any longer.”
Leto was confused and heartbroken, but she was not the type of woman to chase a man. She was stronger than that, and she soon moved on with her life. That was until the pains came and the wretched morning sickness, and before she knew it, she was staring face to face with a pink pregnancy test.
It was positive. Leto threw up for the thousandth time again that day.
In tears and apologies filled with nothing but pitiful excuses, she broke the news to her parents. They were furious but true to the lives of faithful Christians, they helped their daughter throughout the pregnancy and prayed for safe and fast labor.
It was anything but. Five months into Leto’s pregnancy, she answered the door to a worried-looking Zeus. Zeus paled at the confirmation of their baby but rushed past Leto into her home and began to panic.
In quick but slurred words, he began to explain how he had lied to her all those months ago and how he had been a married man for a good two years.
“Oh, Leto, you have to understand. You were just too beautiful, too pure. I had to have you. Please understand. You were just too good, better than my wife.”
Leto was left speechless as the man she once loved and held spewed all kinds of nonsense about how much he loved her but didn’t love her enough to stay. It filled her with all sorts of rage, but Leto was taught to be a good Christian and it was God’s will that just barely kept her from attacking the wretched man.
Soon after Zeus calmed down, he told her about his wife’s plans to spread all kinds of nasty rumors about how Leto had willingly seduced a married man into sleeping with her and how she planned to drive Leto out of town. Zeus begged Leto to leave before his wife could tarnish her family’s name, but she refused. Call her what you want, stubborn, or just plain stupid; Leto stayed but couldn’t handle her ex’s rambling any longer. Politely but firmly, she asked him to get out, and surprisingly he left without a fight, but she supposed it’s hard to wring any fight out of an already defeated man.
Four more months went by without hearing from the man whose baby she was carrying—four months of hell.
She hated to admit it, but whoever this mystery woman was, she was doing a damn good job at destroying her life. It started small, with sneers from the local women at the markets and hushed whispers wherever she went. Still, soon it escalated to street vendors outright refusing to sell to her and even her priest sitting her down and telling her in an infuriatingly condescending voice about how she was always welcome in the Lord’s home, but that the women of the church had expressed discomfort at her attending the mass so maybe she could go to a different church? The only slight issue was that the attending church was the only one for miles, but Leto heard their actual demands loud and clear.
They wanted her out? Fine. She’ll get out. Her sister, Asteria, lived across the country in a much bigger town than this one. She’ll have her beautiful child there.
The drive there was tedious, but with every mile, she could feel a weight lift off her shoulders one by one. Soon enough, Leto was greeted with Asteria’s warm smile and an even warmer home. Together, they were able to get adjusted, and despite her sister’s protests, she even started looking for a place to live.
Then the pain started. It was brief at first, in small increments; it was something Leto had felt before, but then it was worse and worse, and before either of them knew it, she was going into labor. Much to the demise of her sister, Leto ended up having to give birth right in her living room. The paramedics that were called in had told them that Leto was already too far into labor and it had to be done right then and there.
It was quick but painful, and before she knew it, she was holding a beautiful baby girl in her arms, but then another pain, just as sharp as the last, came. Bewildered, the paramedics checked, and lo and behold, Leto was having twins. Twins!
Words couldn’t describe the joy that she felt at the prospect of twins, and the next thing she knew, she was on her sister’s living room floor, covered in sweat and blood but happier than ever, clutching the best things to have ever happened to her.
Artemis and Apollo. That’s what she decided to name her beautiful children. Her parents have always been ones for the classics, and they adored the mythology of their homeland, which was why they named Leto and her sister what they did. Leto was only following in their footsteps, unaware of the tragedy that would follow them for the rest of their lives.
Asteria convinced Leto to stay, urging her that this would help her children and that she had enough space to hold two more people, which eventually led them to drag Artemis and her fussy little brother to the ice rink that faithful day.
–
Despite a horrid first experience, Apollo and his sister never stopped skating. Befriending the rink's owner certainly helped. The owner and her best friend were happy to leave the rink open to Apollo and Artemis after hours.
The owner gave them private lessons after school and during the holidays and before either of them knew it, Apollo and Artemis were the town's little celebrities.
Hopping from one small town to the other, Artemis and he went to every local competition they could get their tiny little hands on. The competitions were never too big, usually only seating at most a hundred people, but to Apollo? That could have been the entire country of Greece. Despite the sea of people who showed up to see the pair skate, Apollo never felt too anxious or nervous to perform. With his sister by his side, hand in hand as they performed their usual routine, he could do anything.
It wasn’t until a strange man knocked on their door that things started to change. He was blonde just like him but his nose and cheeks made him look more like Artie. He still remembers how the man's eyes fell on him, bright blue and scarily knowing, but before Apollo could say anything, Aunt Asteria whisked him to her bedroom.
That afternoon was the first time he had ever heard his mother yell. His mother was such a gentle soul, the furthest he’d ever heard her go was when she would softly scold them but now, screams echoed throughout the house. A screaming match ensued, an angry mezzo-soprano and an equally angry alto, always followed by a low baritone. A big part of Apollo, the logical one, knew that the chances of the strange man hitting his mother were slim, especially with Auntie there, but with every scream his heart sank. The small part that worried him became overbearing, like a storm cloud, gray and full of water, and there was no shelter to shield him from the oncoming rain.
He and Artemis spent the entire afternoon in their Aunt’s bedroom, scared out of their minds. At one point, Artemis nearly barged into the living room where their mother was, but Apollo held her back. He doubted that the man would kindly take to their interruption—and quite frankly, neither would their mother.
They didn’t think the screaming match would ever end. Still, after a few choice words (he’d never heard Mother use that kind of language before—?), followed by deafening silence, followed by the even more deafening recognizable sound of the door slamming closed.
Slowly he and Artie walked into the living room only to find their mother clutching onto Auntie like a lifeline. She had her face buried in the crook of her neck and she was—she was crying. That day Apollo swore he’d never forgive that man for making his mother cry.
If only he knew.
–
It took Leto eight months to break the news to her children and she knows she should have fought harder—tried harder, but Zeus was a powerful man. (And the bruises were getting harder to hide from Asteria—from her poor children)
–
Apollo could never fathom leaving his mother at the time, but he never had a choice in the matter, did he? No—he wasn’t stupid. He could see how his mother's eyes seemed to dim after every visit from the strange man.
And makeup wasn’t everything.
–
Ten months—ten months of nonstop competitions, of nonstop practicing. Apollo and Artemis used to beg their mother to let them compete without breaks in between, fueled by the kind of confidence only eleven-year-olds could pull off, but she said no every time, forcing them to take at least two weeks off from any competition or practices.
He understood why now. His legs ached, his arms weak from tossing Artemis into the air, everything just hurt and he knew Artemis was feeling the same kind of pain. She wasn’t landing her jumps and Artemis always landed her jumps.
Apollo helped his sister off the icy floor, in the distance he could hear incomprehensible yelling from his so-called stepmother across the ice, surely they’d get in trouble for not listening to whatever she was saying but oh well, it’s not his fault he couldn’t hear her over the loud overhead speakers, right?
After a reassuring smile and an exasperated look, Apollo quickly rewound the music, some generic classical piece that Apollo usually would’ve taken time to analyze and feel but couldn’t be bothered anymore, he skated back into position. His arms outstretched to throw Artie back into the air for what seemed like the thousandth time.
Apollo still doesn’t know what went wrong.
Artemis glided towards him, her face far too worn for an eleven-year-old. That should’ve been a sign. He should’ve stood up for them—should’ve stood up against their stepmother’s negligence. He should’ve protected Artie. Instead he—he put up with the constant practicing, the lectures, the sleepless nights, he put up with it and it's all his fault.
He can still remember everything so clearly yet so far away, like as he was watching it unfold with another set of eyes.
Artemis fell with a resounding crack, her blood splattered onto the white ice.
Apollo's limbs moved on their own. All he remembers after that is the burning of his throat as he screamed and the pungent smell of antiseptic when they reached the hospital.
–
“I'm so sorry.”
The pit in Apollo's stomach dropped. The doctor's face was ashen and grey.
“I'm afraid with a leg this damaged you won't be able to skate again.”
The words rang through Apollo's ears and shimmied their way into his mind where they played over and over again.
Like a prisoner on death row mulling over their demise.
The break was so severe, she'd never dance on the ice ever again. That's all he could think about.
He wasn't paying attention to the doctor after that, only on his dear sister and oh god—she looked just as devastated.
Her face was stone cold but the tears welling up in her eyes betrayed everything. To anybody else she'd look like a brave little girl but to him? Artemis never looked more fragile.
The doctor left with a trail of misery behind him.
His “parents” were outside of the room, not even there for her. They were too busy arguing about Artemis’ “future”.
So instead Artemis turned to Apollo, and wept. His brave twin sister wept. Her face red with tears and nothing but despair behind her eyes.
Apollo was never the prisoner on death row. His sister was, and he was the person behind the glass. Helplessly watching as the one person he's ever cared for slowly crumbles.
–
It only took three years for Hera to decide to become Apollo's manager.
Three years after he was forced to continue his career alone, without his sister.
His popularity skyrocketed and before he knew it, he was on a plane to Detroit to train for the Junior Grand Prix.
–
Detroit is a blur. Between the constant practicing and constant rotation of coaches, he didn’t have much time for sightseeing. The gold medal dangled from his neck and his cheeks were straining to hold his smile. His muscles ached and his joints creaked but nothing could compare to the hole in his chest. Artemis wasn’t here to see him win. They won’t be able to go out and explore the city like they usually do. Apollo thought he was used to this already, the quiet hotel rooms, the lonely dinners, but now he misses her more than ever. The roaring crowd is deafening, Apollo bites the inside of his cheek and prays that the cameras don’t catch his glassy eyes.
He fiddles with his gold medal on the drive back to the hotel. Detroit's glowing skyline and bright blue river have never looked duller.
–
Apollo has long grown tired of winning. Which— he knows— is a stupid thing to get sick of but if he’s going to be honest with himself (after putting it off for— how long?) the adrenaline just isn’t there anymore. Now, he simply dreads getting on the ice. So, for once, in his 28 years of life, he’ll let himself be selfish.
Looking into the sea of flashing lights and reporters all screaming for his attention, his eyes land on a timid looking blonde kid with sea-green eyes. They lock gazes and his resolve only hardens.
“I, Apollo Papadopoulos, will no longer represent Greece after this season.”
Those eleven words seem to stop everyone in their tracks, and before they start back up (and before his resolve crumbles) he continues,
“I’m retiring.”