Disclaimer: I don't own Trials of Apollo.
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.
My contribution for TOA Collab Event 2022! My match was nyaningthroughlife and I chose the second piece of art in this tumblr post nyaningthroughlife[tumblrurl]/post/678538129561518080/presenting-my-favourite-couple-ahaha-now-this 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.
Thanks for reading!
Tsari