This is weird and choppy and hurried though it took literal months. But I need to post it cause I can't bear to look at it sitting around in my documents for much longer.
By the way, do you know Meg doesn't have a character tag? What kind of injustice, honestly.
Dedication: To the lovely Sarah, or sweetheartyourelovely on Tumblr. You're amazing and one of the greatest TOA — like actual Apollo/Triumvirate/Meg/the ilk TOA — bloggers out there. Keep doing the Lord's work
Disclaimer: Nothing belongs to me. Not the world of PJO, not the characters, not the epigraph.
If music be the food of love, play on.
-William Shakespeare, Twelfth Night
"Good morning, sweetheart," Daddy said as he picked her up and placed her in the high chair next to him. He was sitting at the dining table, sheet music strewn haphazardly around. "We're up early today."
Meg shrieked happily in reply and grabbed at one of the sheets.
"Whoa, honey," Daddy laughed as he moved it out of her reach. "Let's find something else to play with while I make you breakfast, okay?"
He lifted her from her chair and carried her on his hip into the hall of their New York apartment. She struggled out of his grip and bounded towards her toy basket, immediately pulling out her mini kitchen set. She held out one of those toy-plastic-pancakes-on-a-plate for him.
"Food?" Meg asked.
Daddy chuckled and accepted the plate. "Sounds like an idea; let's get some food and maybe then we can go play the piano."
"Piano?" Meg thrilled.
"Sure thing."
With one last smile, Daddy went back into the kitchen. Meg continued to play with the kitchen set for a while. Finally she stood up on her pudgy three year old legs and wandered into the "Magic" Room.
The Magic Room was really just a music room.
Well, not just a music room. It had also been her nursery, her old bedroom. The house only had two rooms (it was after all just a small apartment) — this music room, and the other room where she and her father slept.
To her three year old mind, though, it did seem like a Magic Room. Her father had painted the nursery walls blue and had stuck those glow-in-the-dark stickers of the stars and planets all over the ceiling. There was a white shelf nailed to the wall, holding all her story books and stuffed dolls. The windowsills were lined with brightly coloured potted plants that smelt of sunshine.
Her favourite part of the room, though, was the grand piano in the corner. It wasn't a very big one — a second hand to boot, but it looked beautiful and worked in perfect condition. That had been good enough for Thomas McCaffrey.
Meg, personally, loved to bang on the keys.
That's how her father found her ten minutes later, a stack of (real) pancakes in one hand and a music sheet in another.
"Very nice, Mozart," he said, coming to sit next to her. "Now how 'bout that breakfast?"
Meg shook her head and banged out several notes defiantly.
Daddy sighed. "One song," he allowed. "Just one, and then we're eating these pancakes, okay? I made them with my blood and sweat, Meg." He paused. "Well, so to speak."
Meg smiled angelically. Her father sighed defeatedly once more before neatly arranging the sheets on the music rack.
You see, when Thomas McCaffrey began to play, there wasn't a single thing that didn't stop to listen. Everything fell silent — the flowers on the windowsill, the birds outside, fidgety three year olds.
You stopped and listened, not because it sang of terrible things or beautiful things, or because the melody was sweet. You listened because it presented no other choice — you were imprisoned, whether you liked it or not.
It was not one song. Or two. Or three.
Or maybe it was — maybe it just never ended.
The song did not stop; only Meg stopped listening.
But it wasn't really a loss, was it? There were worse things then curling up in your father's lap, falling asleep to a far away song that promised a happy forever.
"You can show yourself you know?" The new boy said kindly. "I know you're watching me play."
Meg did not give up her hiding place, not until she was forced to. The new boy got up from the piano seat and came stalking over to where she was hiding behind the pillar (not the most innovative hiding spot, she admitted) and smiled.
"Hi!" he said brightly. "I'm Victor Sullivan, son of Ares. I'm new around here."
You don't say, Meg thought. Most people who'd been here for a long time did not usually mention their godly parent with such enthusiasm. Or the didn't know. Either or.
Victor Sullivan seemed a nice, happy boy. He'd be what...twelve? Barely a couple years older than her. But he towered over her, his spiky black hair adding another inch or two. He was almost annoyingly outgoing.
"Meg," she chose to say.
"Cool! Short for what — Margaret?"
Meg nodded.
"Some people call me Vicky," Victor offered, as though it might be vital information.
Meg did not know what to do with this information.
"Nice?" She said.
"You're not new here, are you?" Victor asked curiously. "You seem to know your way around here well. I've been here for only a couple of days. I was dropped off by someone from the Titan Army. Black hair. Eye-patch. Cool sword. Said I was too young to be fighting in the war." For the first time, his face seemed to drop, hesitation biting into his words. "I...went to Camp Half-Blood before. A few weeks. My mother dropped me off there but — she, uh, couldn't deal with the monster attacks anymore," he shrugged like, Hey, that's life. "Anyway. How long have you been here?"
"Four years," Meg said. She didn't want to dwell on the war. She knew the Imperial Household was safe — the safest place for demigods in times like these, but she didn't want to think about it. She'd heard a conversation between her stepfather and the leader (...Luke?) a couple of years ago and she still had nightmares about monster infested ships and Titan Generals and dead children.
Victor's eyes widened. "Whoa. So long? How is this place, then?"
Meg shrugged. "It's...fine."
"And Nero?" Victor asked. "He was a Roman Emperor wasn't he? That is so cool! I couldn't believe it at first - I mean gods? Okay, that's...believable. People believe in gods. It wouldn't be wholly unexpected. But dead emperors? Man, that's wild."
"Nero is..." she shrugged again. "My stepfather has been good to me."
Victor grinned. "Yeah, that's the other thing. He just — adopts all of us? Does that mean I'm technically your stepbrother?"
"I-I don't think that's how it works."
"Oh." Victor seemed to ponder over it. "Well, that would have been sweet." He glanced behind him at the piano. "I guess I'll get back to my playing. Wanna hear?"
Meg shook her head frantically. "No! It's - no, I have to get back to my sword-fighting practice."
Victor looked impressed. "You're a sword-fighter? I prefer the spear myself, but I know a couple of handy tricks with the sword."
Yeah, good that you know some sweet tricks, Mr Cool, Meg thought. It's not like I've been doing this since I was five.
Instead Meg nodded. "Right."
"You should show me your sword-fighting sometime," Victor continued. "I can show my spearfighting."
"That's not...really my thing."
"Spears?" Victor laughed. "Yeah, I guess not everyone likes them as much as I do. Well, at any rate, I can show you my music skills — I play a mean banjo." At her startled look he laughed again. How did this guy not run out of air? "I was just joking — I play piano. And guitar. I want to learn the flute."
Meg did not think that was the natural progression of instruments. She didn't say it though — what did she know about instruments? And anyway, she didn't want Victor to go off on another overly-enthusiastic spiel — about music, no less. "Oh! Uh, that's — cool, I guess."
"You can stay," Victor said again. "I know you were listening before. I don't mind."
"Er, I really shouldn't."
"Oh, c'mon!" Victor said. "Just one song. Plus, I need to give you something in return for your future sword-fighting lessons."
"I don't remember agreeing to that."
"Well, you don't need to. As honorary siblings-"
(That was not how it worked.)
"-we don't need a signed contract for these things. It's an unspoken deal." He dragged her over to the piano. Meg let him, unfortunately.
"Do you play?" Victor asked her,
"What? Piano?" Meg tried not to look too put-off by the question. "Of course not!"
Victor stared at her weirdly for a while. Then he shrugged. "Okay." He sat down on the piano bench and flexed his fingers. For the first time, he looked a bit shy. "Right. So I'm good - but not anything like..." he waved his hand vaguely.
Meg shrugged. "I don't know the first thing about it — I won't judge."
Victor smiled and began to play. "You're strangely nice, Meg."
Victor — as it turned out — was good. At least Meg thought so. It wasn't anything fancy (or it didn't seem so to her untrained ear) but the tune was simple and melodious. It felt nice on her her ear.
Victor played a couple more numbers. It wasn't Mozart or Beethoven or her dad, but it was nice. Cool. Good pianist.
When he was done, Victor looked a bit pink. "Er, you like it?"
"It was good." Was that the best compliment she was capable of? No. Was the performance good enough to warrant a little higher praise? Perhaps. But it seemed to make Victor very happy anyway, because a huge grin broke out on his face.
"Thanks!" He said, with more gratitude than a simple good should have brought out. "I've been practicing."
"Shows," Meg said, when instead she wanted to say Yep, I heard it, dumbo, that's why I came here.
"You can come hear me play." Victor laughed again - but this time it came out a bit more self consciously. "I mean, if you want. Not if it's, like, torture. Maybe I can even teach you."
"That would be nice." Meg said grudgingly. Tentatively she reached out to touch the black and white keys. She almost snatched at some vague, half-memory. She drew back quickly.
"I can teach you right now, if you want!" Victor said. "Well, start teaching you. Piano is a pretty simple instrument to start with."
Meg did not answer his question. Instead she asked him, "Who, taught you to play?"
"I started classes a couple of years back. My mom enrolled me." He ran his fingers over the keys. "I didn't actually end up attending a lot of classes - the instructor was a dracaena and it tried to kill me and one thing led to another and my mother pulled me out of the class - I got to keep the book though."
"So you learnt on your own?" Meg asked. "You're pretty good, especially for someone who's self taught."
Victor smiled a bit wistfully. "Thanks. But I wasn't self taught — my mother — she wasn't really big on key instruments, but she was a damn good violist and knew how to play a little on the piano. She taught me a bit."
Meg nodded. "My father-"
The word turned bitter in her mouth. She'd been about to say My father played piano so well that the birds stopped to listen and flowers bloomed and I can remember his songs even if I can't remember his age or how he looked or what he called me. Buthervoice failed - it felt like she was divulging some piece of valuable, hoarded memory; a treasure so rare and precious, even passing it around would reduce the sanctity of it. It was stupid, of course. The simple fact, the memory would not matter at all to Victor Sullivan. He wouldn't reduce the sanctity of anything.
"I've got to go," she told him quietly. "Really this time."
Victor's eyes widened a bit. No doubt he'd been waiting for her to finish her sentence and was confused by the abrupt moodswing. "But Meg-"
"No, really, I do." She cast around for a believable lie. Or at least a half-truth. "The Beast will get angry otherwise."
Victor's bushy eyebrows drew together. "The Beast-?"
"You don't want to meet him," she promised, then slipped out of the room.
Victor died two months later, on a mission that involved a dozen kids led by a guy with an eyepatch. Only three had returned, eyepatch guy included.
She hadn't talked to him again, not even a hi, but it felt like she had lost a best friend anyway; or at least his voice. Or at least piano playing.
Nobody else played the piano. No music floated down the staircases at nighttime, no music assaulted the hallways during lunch.
Eventually, the music drove itself out of her memory too.
"Apollo?" Meg echoed. "Really?"
Her stepfather smiled kindly at her. "Yes, my dear Meg. Apollo."
"The Apollo?" Meg asked again. "Like the god Apollo? Son of Zeus? God of the Sun, Light, Poetry, Medicine, Music-"
"Yes to all of that." Nero waved a vague hand. "However, you'd find that he's currently a bit...vulnerable. Not really the god of...well, anything. He's been cast down, made mortal."
"And you want me to befriend him." Meg swallowed. "You want me to betray him."
Nero's lips curled upwards. Slowly, gently, he placed a hand on her cheek. "I want you to befriend him," he agreed, "as for the betraying part...well, just lead him to me."
Meg had read about this Hyacinthus once in a storybook, one of the millions of ill-fated lovers of the gods. She hadn't remembered exactly who was his lover, or how he died, but his name had remained somewhere in the back of her head. The book she'd read hadn't been very remarkable and the only picture that stuck was that of a grainy illustration of a purple hyacinth.
She didn't think she'd ever forget him now though. Not after this song. She wouldn't forget who his lover was, because only crazily-in-love and heartbroken people sang this way and Apollo certainly fit the bill in both, and she would never forget how he died because: C'mon, she'd have to be heartless or severely amnesic to purge the lyrics detailing the blood and the pain out of her mind.
Maybe a few nightmares of flying discusses and vengeful gods and persistent blood loss, but nothing an average demigod wasn't haunted by anyway.
And besides, even if she didn't remember Hyacinthus, she wouldn't be able to forget Daphne, or the dead kids, or lives left in shambles and delusions. Not the pain and regret that came with living forever and ever and ever.
No wonder when the time came, she had to betray Nero. No wonder she had to apologize and cry and ask for another chance. She couldn't bear becoming another stanza in that song.
The bees and the memories weren't pretty, but if they were the side effect of getting out of here, than damn, she would take it.
In the end, she does. She hears Apollo screaming at her to stop, and she sees her father handing her a rose and she sees that rose bloom around the sword in his chest and keep blooming and blooming till it's staining his jacket and staining the floor.
She doesn't stop. Not till she absolutely has to.
When she wakes up finally, properly, Jo is singing by her side, something light and something happy, something that you sing to tiny babies and scared little kids after nightmares.
She shuts her eyes and lets the gentle melody tide her to sleep. It hurts being reminded of what she has missed growing up with no mother and no father and no lullabies, but she knows it would be infinitely more painful to have to forget.
Austin was a good saxophonist. She had to give him that. He could play the trumpet and flute just as well, he banged on the drums like a pro and his piano wasn't half bad either. He could play the cello with ease and the violin with finesse.
Austin was a bad guitarist. She didn't have to give him that. Everyone knew.
"You'll get used to it," Will assured her in their first combined music class, just as he was getting ready to leave for the infirmary. "He's not actually that bad once he gets into the groove. Loads better than me in any case."
"Well, I like his playing," Ellis, who had probably never picked up a guitar in his life, said.
Will smiled at her and waved goodbye, with the easiness that masked what Nico (and secretly Apollo) called "psychotic intensity". Austin continued to strum the guitar, not very badly, but not very well either. Ellis sighed contentedly and shook himself out of his stupor.
"I'm not a great fan of his fancy trumpeting," Ellis admitted, "but his guitar just...it really gets me, man."
He left too, eventually. Then it was just Meg and Austin and Woodrow the music instructor. Meg listened to Austin's playing for awhile till it got unbearable. Instead of walking away, like she wanted to, her feet dragged her forward and she plonked herself next to Austin.
"I don't understand," she admitted when he paused to appraise her with an eyebrow. "You're so good with the violin."
Austin sighed, setting his guitar down. "You're my next poor victim?"
"Oh, you're not that bad," reassured Meg. In that moment Austin sounded very much like his father, but not too much that Meg could take pleasure from teasing him. "You're actually quite alright. Plus, Will's right, you sound really good when you get into the groove."
"That's just his opinion. It's his job as official den mother of our cabin," Austin mumbled. "You know, along with telling us to go to bed at a reasonable hour and eat more fruit. He's like a dad...which is pretty nice I guess, but kind of tedious when actual Dad is there telling us to do the same thing. It's like I've got three parents all of a sudden..." Austin shook his head immediately. "But I'm not complaining. I wouldn't give it up for anything. After this blows over, I'll be too used to being bossed around to go back living life without Will's sib-renting."
Meg wasn't one for many words. But she liked Austin. He'd grown on her during her short and scattered stays at camp, along with Miranda and Billie and Will and Kayla and Nico. So, as a first, she asked him: "Do you think Apollo won't be there around much after he gets his godhood back?"
It's a loaded question, and probably a sensitive topic, but she had to ask. Austin, to his credit, looked neither bothered nor surprised by the question.
"I don't know," he admitted. "I mean, he's not going to get a chance to is he, even if he wants to? Ancient laws and Zeus and all. It'll be back to the whole routine, most probably."
"Do you mind?" Meg asked.
Austin shrugged and picked a string on his guitar. "I'll miss him," he said, "and what we have, whatever it is. But if it means I can stop worrying about him when he's on a quest, or—" He broke off and bit his lip then, and Meg saw the worry there.
"Do you know how to play?" Austin asked suddenly, changing the subject. "I don't think I've seen you play much at class."
"My fingers don't move fast enough," Meg said. "I'm worse than you by…like a hundred miles."
"Well, you can learn," Austin said. "Maybe start with a simpler instrument. The flute perhaps, or maybe reed pipes. Or maybe the piano—"
A few years ago, a few months ago in fact, that kind of offer might have made Meg withdraw into herself, stop all future conversation, made her run away. Now she just shrugged at the offer. "That's an idea," she said. "Your dad offered to teach me, after all this blows over."
Austin furrowed his brow at her. "Really?"
"Well, not exactly," she amended. "He said he's a bit advanced to be teaching beginners like me. But I'm his master! I can make him no problem."
Austin laughed at that, and Meg, unable to help herself, smiled as well. "You know what, Meg," Austin said, springing to his feet. "Maybe I can get you a head start. Surprise him. I'm not half as bad at piano as I am at playing the guitar."
A few years ago, a few months ago, this would be the point where Meg would run away screaming.
She didn't. The smile didn't even slip off her face. "Sure," she said. "I'd love that."
You aren't supposed to move somebody when you suspect their spines might be injured.
Meg was no doctor, but even she knew this. You aren't supposed to move somebody whose neck or spine might be broken, you aren't supposed to move somebody whose body is spurting buckets of blood, you aren't supposed to move somebody who has been flung unceremoniously into a pile of rocks by a dying snake. You could paralyse them for life, or worse, even kill them.
Meg knew this.
Then why in the name of all the gods of Olympus had that vital piece of information disappeared from her memory when she needed it the most?
Python self destructed before her eyes, taking down hordes upon hordes of monsters along with it, shrivelling up into a rotting, festering carcass. She knew this wasn't the end of the battle — they'd stalled the three emperors and their armies temporarily, but no doubt, there was still much work to do.
Meg did not pay any particular attention to this — Python was self combusting, and seemed to be doing an amazing job at it, taking down the other monsters along with him. Yeah, that was good. The Triumvirate would probably arrive in a few minutes, the Imperial Household and Germani and the frankly terrifying array of monster armies they possessed in tow. Yeah, that was bad. But Meg tried not to let her mind dwell on it. For now, she'd have to keep Apollo from dying.
This, she decided, was going to be exceptionally hard — especially since Apollo was unconscious and unresponsive and bleeding out an astonishing amount of blood.
Oh. She'd also completely forgotten the fact that she wasn't supposed to move someone whose back was broken, and then proceeded to drag him bodily to the side. Had she mentioned that?
"Okay, c'mon." She pressed two fingers to his neck, trying to find a pulse. "C'mon! It can't be that easy to kill you!"
Technically it should, she admitted. Hundred foot drops into a cluster of jagged boulders should be enough to kill anyone, especially teenaged mortals with no notable superpowers.
But he was an ex-god. That had to account for something, right?
Miraculously, there was a pulse. It was weak and irregular, but it was better than nothing. Apollo coughed, sputtering out blood. The front of his blue shirt was stained crimson. His eyes remained annoyingly closed.
"Look, we can fix this," Meg told him. "You - you just need to walk me through it a bit, okay? Just a bit." She cast her eyes around, trying to find something that might be of help. What was the standard equipment for fixing broken spines? Severe blood loss? What even was he dying from?
"We don't have bandages," she said. "That would have been a first good step, wouldn't it? Never mind. Er...we have a jacket! Would that be of any help?"
Apollo's eyes cracked open, just a bit. His blue eyes looked cloudy and delirious with pain.
"Oh, thank the gods!" Meg cried. "You've got to hold on for a while, Apollo! We'll get back-up soon enough." She bit her lip. "Hymns! Hymns work right?"
Apollo did not answer. His eyes moved rapidly behind half closed lids.
"You really need to cooperate," Meg said. She lowered her voice. "You're the God of Healing. You need to tell me how to fix you."
Something seemed to solidify behind his eyes. He dragged it back from wherever-the-hell-land and locked his gaze on Meg's face. "...Meg?"
"Yes," Meg agreed. "Now, who am I supposed to sing to? You? Asclepius?"
"I-I can't feel my.."
Meg grimaced. "Yeah, that's definitely the broken spine." She shrugged off her jacket and laid it across Apollo's wound. She pressed her hand down on it, trying to stem the flow. The blood had slowed to a crawl. How much could a former god stand to lose before dying of blood loss? "But it'll be fine. We're going fix it."
"You can't." Apollo muttered softly.
"Don't say that. You're the God of Healing."
Apollo looked like he was trying to smile. "I'm also-" he took a rattling breath. "Also the god of-of truth."
"Not the time for jokes."
"Meg..."
"Look, if you're lucid enough to talk and make jokes, you're lucid enough to help me heal you!".
"Too many words."
"Then shut up and save your energy!" Okay, the blood was starting to get really discouraging. "Please, Apollo, you've got to help."
"Not...work."
"You don't know that!" She reached up to angrily swipe at her eyes. "And at any rate, you aren't allowed to die! I'm your master! I order you to stay alive!"
Apollo just coughed up some more blood in answer. Where was he getting this blood from?
For some reason, that was what made her stop. The fight left her. She stopped pressing down on the wound and removed the bloodied jacket, throwing it down beside her.
Obviously, Apollo was in no position to help himself. Meg wasn't going to fix anything - she was probably the one who had paralysed him in the first place.
"Fine." She was surprised by her sudden malice. "Fine. Die. Go ahead."
"Always knew you'd..." Apollo's eyes were drooping shut. "Thought you'd be the one — ordering me to die."
"That's dumb."
"I'm sorry."
Meg glowered. "If you're going to die, do it quietly."
Apollo didn't seem to have heard her. Or he had and he didn't care. That seemed more likely, "Don't be sad, Meg."
Meg snorted. "You sure do a lot of talking for a dying man."
"You're good." Apollo's gaze was getting progressively farther away. "You are good, Meg. You're the light. Don't forget that. No matter what happens next — Nero, or-or anything — you're the good guy."
Did dying like this really take so long? It seemed painful enough to be instant.
He was a god, Meg reminded herself. That had to give him that extra endurance.
"You're good too." Meg said instead. She sighed exasperatedly, "Whatever this life was — however cruel you or others or the circumstances seemed, you're good."
Apollo gave her a small, nearly imperceptible nod, eyes slipping shut. "Thank you."
He was a god.
It was too quiet. It was too quiet for a god's death. To quiet for the God of Music's.
Meg scooted closer to Apollo, pulling his head onto her lap and stroking his hair. Her fingers came away blood stained. "I know nothing's going to save you, not really," she said quietly. "No hymn, no prayer...but would it give you a little bit of comfort, at least, if I were to sing something for you?"
Way to go Meg, she chided herself. Because your singing is totally the torture you've got impose on a dying man.
But it was the only choice. Phoebus Apollo could not descend into the Underworld in silence.
But then again, Phoebus Apollo would not have descended into the Underworld blood-stained and with a shattered back, with only a twelve year old's scratchy voice echoing off the walls of Python's cave. Phoebus Apollo would not have descended into the Underworld at all.
She sang.
She wasn't even sure what she sang of. She did not know any songs except the one she'd sung all those months ago in Trophonius's cave. She started with those verses, sang them over twice. But her tongue seemed to have a mind of its own - it sang of other things, both great and terrible. Sad things, but also incredibly happy ones; deaths and births and second chances, waves gentle and guiding, tsunamis that broke the earth. Lovers separated and reunited, impossible battles won, a child's laugh, a thousand grievances. Of cruelty, of unexpected kindness. It sang of mothers and fathers, brothers and sisters and children, friends and lovers, the earth itself. The night, the eternal night.
She didn't run out of the music. How could she? She sang and sang and sang, of Nero and the gods - their wrath and their love, of her friends at Camp Half-Blood, at Waystation, at Camp Jupiter, of her father, of Apollo, of herself.
"It's been an honour knowing you — all of you. This life — it's been kind," Apollo said at last. His voice sounded strained and far away. "It's been a good one, Meg. The best."
He didn't speak again.
Meg did not see Apollo again for two months. Neither did his kids, or friends, or the startling number of wild animals/pets he'd accumulated over the course of his trials (including but not limiting to: giant ants, elephants, gryphons, ostriches, and a very grudgingly friendly alpaca.).
This wasn't as alarming as it had the potential to be. This was not even as surprising as it had the potential of being.
Meg guessed she would be singing a very different tune if not for the fact that half an hour after she'd left his dead body alone in a former nemesis's lair, Apollo had made a miraculous recovery (back to godhood!) and proceeded to decimate the rest of the Triumvirate with the help of the other demigods and Olympians. It was an ass-kicking fight, something Meg had found both awesome and incredibly depressing to watch.
Meg hadn't talked to him. He hadn't talked to her.
This was fine, Meg told herself. In fact, it was probably more than fine. Apollo was alive and well and (most probably) didn't have a broken back. Meg was alive and well and did not have to justify bodily dragging a severely injured person across a cave, or leaving said injured person's corpse alone for the maggots to find in said cave.
This was an arrangement that worked out perfectly, she was sure. She could cut all links to her past lives at once, the good and the bad influences — Nero, the Triumvirate, Apollo. She didn't have to think about them. She didn't have to talk about them — not much — she'd told Will that their father had died, then inexplicably come back to life, kicked ass, then disappeared after the battle and that had been it (the poor boy had gone through thirty different emotions during a ten second explanation: ranging from heartbroken to confused to happy to resigned to confused again to "what the Hades, why can't the gods figure anything out?").
All in all, it was fine. Cabin Seven still had their worries, but had reasoned out (optimistically so) that the gods would have had the decency to tell them if their father was back in the Underworld and that he was just too embarrassed about the whole mortality ordeal to show up again. Mr D wasn't back yet, but Chiron was, Camp Half Blood was safe, and so was Camp Jupiter, and so was the Waystation. An uneasy calm settled over the demigod world, and eventually it had grown into a comforting and (more or less) normal calm.
Yeah. Everything was fine.
It didn't matter that even after two months of complete and utter silence, she woke up each day thinking that an acne plagued mortal named Lester Papadopoulos would show up that morning. It didn't matter that every night when she sacrificed a portion of her food to her Mom, she'd also slip in a small offering to the Sun God.
Likewise, it didn't matter that one day, in the middle of stable-cleaning duty, there was suddenly a familiar warmth that embraced her, and her heart leapt up even before she caught a glimpse of Apollo.
She didn't punch him. She didn't cry. She didn't hug him, or bow to him, or grovel, or whatever else you're supposed to do when you reunite with your friend who when you last saw was a dead man disappearing to the heavens.
Meg broke the silence at last. "Are you Jesus now?"
A small smile broke out on Apollo's face. "You think he'll file a lawsuit for copyright infringement?"
Meg burst into tears.
"Oh, don't do that," Apollo said, looking miserable. He wasn't Lester Papadopoulos anymore, not in appearance — his skin was more tanned, his hair was blond and neater, his acne had cleared up and he was nearly a foot taller. He looked like a god. Only his eyes looked familiar to Meg, dark blue and haunted and unnervingly old. "C'mon, are you really that sad to see me?"
Meg punched him. Then she hugged him. She continued crying.
"Dear Meg," Apollo said, grimacing from the impact, "this is heartwarming and all, but those tears are wasted — wipe them away, everything's sorted out now."
"You died," Meg accused. "And you're crying as well."
"Shit," acknowledged Apollo, extracting himself slightly from her pincer-like grip to hastily swipe at his eyes. "It must be contagious — I was originally sort of happy to see myself alive; none of this crying."
Meg just sobbed harder, burying her face into his chest. Apollo sighed and ran a hand through her short hair. They did not talk.
"I'm sorry," Meg told him finally, when she'd calmed down, "about leaving you alone in that cave."
"Hey, no sweat," Apollo said, like she had only let the sink overflow and not left his dead body in a damp cave for the mice to find. "I was a goner the second Python threw me down — you stayed longer than was needed. Plus everything's good now, right?"
"Still, I shouldn't have-"
"Meg," Apollo interrupted, "you did the right thing. You didn't have to stay after Python died. You didn't have to stay with me and try to find a solution when it was evident there wasn't any. You didn't have to stay and sing and offer comfort. But you did — you did and that was an extravagant kindness Meg. A stupid, extravagant, kindness that you didn't owe me and that I didn't deserve."
"Don't say that."
Apollo sighed and plopped down on the stone slab in the stables. He patted the seat next to him like come sit.
Meg sat.
"How's Camp?" Apollo asked.
"Good."
"Your sword fighting? How's that coming around?"
"Good."
"Sweet." Apollo threw his head back, sighing. "Sweet — great. That's good to hear."
They fell into a companionable silence.
At last, Apollo squeezed her hand. "I was watching over you."
Meg blinked at him. "What?"
"You did amazingly well in the final battle," Apollo said, "you were so brave, Meg...those monsters and germani and demigods and Nero--"
"I don't want to talk about it," muttered Meg.
"Okay," agreed Apollo. He sounded very tired. "I'm sick of talking about it too, honestly. I've been talking about the mess for two straight months."
"The battle? Or, like, the whole punishment in general?"
Apollo shrugged. "Either or...the Council was — debating."
"I missed you," said Meg, breaking her own promise of not speaking about the ordeal. "Kind of. I saw you in the battle, but then you disappeared...it was a bit worrisome. I was worried. So was Will. So were Kayla and Austin and Leo and Calypso and Grover...what happened?"
Apollo fiddled with something around his neck. She was taken aback to see the Camp necklace with a single black bead was hanging from his throat — this summer's bead. Apparently he had decided to wear it even as a god. "I missed you guys too," Apollo said, "very much so. All of you."
"What happened?"
"There were some...decisions."
"About what?" asked Meg. "About granting your immortality back?"
"Uh-huh," Apollo smiled a bit sadly. "There was some technicality issues about dying and the Underworld, and the grudge Styx holds for me wasn't helping much...Look, I'll tell you what the deal is later, okay? So far I'm back and I'm immortal and...we'll see where it goes."
"No more Lester Papadopoulos?"
Apollo shook his head. "No."
Was she imagining things or did Apollo seem a bit disappointed about that fact?
"Cool," Meg said, "we succeeded."
"That we did."
"You need to go back to Olympus," Meg said, "and you aren't allowed to interfere in mortal affairs now either, are you?"
Apollo winced. "I believe so."
"Well, it's what the goal was, right?" Meg asked. "Back to immortality. You should be happy. You deserve it after all your trials."
Apollo nodded uneasily. "Perhaps."
"C'mon," Meg said.
"Meg, what I deserved were the Fields of Punishment."
"Don't say that." Meg hesitated. "Er — you didn't...?"
"I didn't get judged," Apollo said bitterly, "I was brought back by Hades not even half an hour after I died. I did get...sent back for a while the others where deciding what to do, Styx ordered so, but I got to just, you know, wander around that time." He smiled wryly. "I hung out with Hades for awhile, when he wasn't deciding whether I should live or die."
"You got sent back to the Underworld?" Meg asked, horrified.
"Just for a bit. It wasn't like I was judged or something — just touring. It's not that bad of a place, really."
Meg didn't trust herself to say anything. She just nodded, eyes burning behind her rhinestone glasses.
"I'm going to miss you Meg," Apollo said. "Terribly so. All of you — Will, Kayla, Austin, Georgie, Grover, Leo, Calypso...I'm going to miss you all a hell lot. I won't be able to interfere, to visit you guys so often. Ancient Laws forbid it and especially after the stunt I pulled with Styx..." he trailed off. "But that doesn't mean I'm not going to try, Meg. I'll try my best, my hardest to bend around the rules best I can — to change them, to find a loophole if any. It won't be - there won't be any Titan Armies. No Imperial Households. No Luke Castellans. No...Octavians. No freaking Neros. Not if I can help it." His blue eyes hardened. "And for the first time in a very, very long time I can help it. I can make a change, I have the power. I spent my time as a mortal trying to regain my godhood — well, I have it now. This won't happen again, Meg. I promise."
"Okay."
"On the Styx."
Thunder rumbled warningly in the distance.
"Again?" Meg asked. "So soon?"
"I need something to remind me." He pulled down his shirt and Meg got a glimpse of the top of a long, horrific scar running down his collar bone and along his spine. It was disconcerting. Gods didn't have scars after all - they could change shape and appearance at will, and they healed flawlessly.
"It's something Styx gave me, I can't seem to get rid of it," he explained, taking in her confused look. "A warning...or a — promise. I don't know. Maybe she just wanted me to suffer more, sounds like her. But it doesn't matter. I need something to remind me when I forget — and I'm not choosy about what it is."
Okay, I get that, Meg found herself thinking. But why not your memories or Camp necklace or just a post-it note? She caught herself in the last moment. Styx, she knew, was an extremely touchy and sadistic goddess. Better not piss her off more than she was.
"It's okay," she said quietly. "If you do. Not like...right now, but in a hundred years, a thousand. It's alright if you don't remember your promise. Or — or if you don't remember us."
Or me, she thought, but she didn't voice it. Instead she shook her head furiously. "I get crazy just thinking about it now. All of it. All the pain and all the loss...all the change. And I don't remember even a decade worth of memories yet! I can't imagine having to cram all that, all of us into your brain and hold on to it for years and years and years—"
Apollo pulled her close to him then, brushing back a few locks of hair from her face. Meg struggled and sobbed against his chest. This time, Apollo didn't join her. He just held her tight till she calmed down, blank faced and removed like only a God could manage. Once she was done, he pressed his lips to the top of her head.
"Oh Meg," he said and it wasn't the tone of an elder sibling, not the tone with which Miranda called out to them at lunch and dinner, not the tone that Will used to comfort Austin or tease Kayla. "Meg, I wouldn't ever forget you. Not in a million years."
It was a tone that Meg had heard when Sally Jackson asked her son to come home for blue cookies and his SATs, the tone Apollo used to say goodbye to his kids before their final quest, the tone accompanied by hugs and kisses to foreheads and tears. The tone of a parent, the tone Meg knew, logically, she had heard in her life, yet couldn't remember for all her trying.
A tone she knew she would hear, if she was lucky, soon again.
Will cornered her immediately after dismissing the archery class. Meg looked up from tying her shoelaces. "Oh, hey Will."
"Good job today," he said. He looked genuine about this, even though she'd only managed to land three arrows in the inner circle and shot him, quite literally, in the foot. Will waited for her to finish, hands tight around his bow.
"Dad left a gift for you," he said, the minute she straightened up. "It's in the Cabin. C'mon."
"What?" Meg blinked. "Really? What is it?"
"I don't know, I didn't open it yet," Will said, but he sounded inordinately pleased. Meg guessed he was lying to her; Will was never a good liar. None of the Apollo kids were. "He left gifts for all of us — and letters. They're sweet and well-meaning, even if the one he left for Nico is a bit disturbing…"
He handed over a thin envelope to her. Meg took it and turned it over. It was plain white and had a simple To Meg inscribed on it.
"You can go read it in private, after lunch," Will told her. "And come back later for your gift."
"I thought you didn't know what it was."
Will scoffed, ruffling her hair. "C'mon, even you couldn't have believed my lie."
Meg didn't wait till lunch. She made a beeline to her cabin and locked the bathroom door before ripping the envelope open. A letter fluttered down, along with a pamphlet and an admission letter.
Dearest Meg, it read.
I'm going to keep this as short as I can since long letters always seem too final, and frankly I'm not very good at writing letters.
I can't think of anything to say to you that I haven't already, and that I can't just pop into your dream to tell you. But Athena insists that sending presents without a card is a faux pas in gifting, and I don't want to be picked apart by owls so soon after returning to immortality.
Never mind, though. This letter doesn't have to be important. It's just got to fulfill a promise that I made, because (HEAR ME STYX): breaking promises is bad! Which promise you might be wondering? Why, the piano lessons!
I understand that Austin volunteered to teach you, but a musical prodigy such as him really has no business sacrificing his performance time to teach (no offense) beginners like you. Besides, he's more suited for wind instruments anyway. Do I come off as a very controlling father? Too bad, I'm making up for lost time.
This was honestly just supposed to be a tag that accompanied your admissions into the music academy down the block that we saw a few months back, but it's devolved into quite a mess.
The gift was also originally supposed to be just an admission into the academy, but Hermes insists that if you can fit a gift into a postbox, it isn't really a gift (I should stop listening to my siblings' gifting advice, but alas). So I got you a piano that I'll stash away in Cabin Seven for now, but which you can get Nico's skeletons to move around for your convenience.
I miss you, Meg. Though Artemis has picked up considerable slack, it's very quiet without you constantly insulting me.
All my love,
Apollo
The audience burst into applause the minute she stopped playing. In the front row both Billie Ng and Austin, who'd offered to come and cheer her on, beamed at her. She smiled at them, just a flash, and the anchor was back on stage, offering compliments and introducing the next participants.
Meg trooped off the stage, heart still thundering in her chest. Even after five years of practice and dedication, every performance left her nervous and jittery, at least for a little while.
"Hey," Billie said, running up to her and wrapping her in a hug. Meg had long outstripped her older sister in height, but Billie more than made up for it in enthusiasm. She pressed a kiss to the side of Meg's head. "You were great!"
"No kidding." Austin grinned at her, offering a fist bump. When she obliged, he pulled her into a hug. "Continue this and we'll be hanging around in Juilliard come fall."
"Isn't it going to be weird for you to be hanging around with a freshman?" Meg joked. "Austin Lake, saxophone prodigy and YouTube sensation, hanging out with a raggedy pianist?"
Austin scoffed and began to say something how she was being too kind, he was dying with the coursework, but it was drowned out by a familiar voice cutting in.
A warm arm wrapped around her shoulder.
"Of course you'd hangout with him," Apollo said. "You'll hang out with the absolute best of musicians, Meg. You spent a year hanging out with me. You can't do better than the God of Music, now can you?"
Meg would have screamed in excitement if she wasn't already so used to him popping up for various competitions; grand events and school rehearsals alike. So she instead just hugged him and then let Austin have his turn squeezing the life out of his father.
"Were you here the whole time?" Austin asked, pulling away. "I didn't see you in the audience."
"I wasn't there in the audience."
"How much did you see?" Meg asked.
"Everything," Apollo replied, "and then some. You were amazing out there Meg. Juilliard won't know what hit it." He sighed. "Now, I'd love to stick around and talk, but there's somewhere else I've got to be. I'll come backstage in a moment, alright?"
Billie frowned. "Where do you need to be?"
Apollo opened his mouth to answer, but was interrupted by the last few bars of the next contestant's song. Meg's ears reddened in sudden realization.
"Stick around," Apollo said, eyes flashing mischievously. His gold hair darkened to a brown, and his jacket morphed into the fancy shirt that the anchor had been parading in the whole night. Of course. Of course. She'd felt an inkling of recognition through the entire evening. The voice had been sort of familiar — and those eyes. Mortal eyes were never that old. "There's a lot to talk about. Now first, let me go spew a few niceties about this—" he checked his notepad, "—Rosita Finch's playing. Hades knows I didn't hear anything with your lot's chatter."
He winked at them and disappeared from the wings onto the stage, saying something about how lovely Rosita's performance was and tacking on some clichés and compliments and—
Finally, Meg thought. Something familiar. Something she needn't forget.