The gradual sound of soft, light music floated to his ears as he sat on his throne alongside the other Olympians three days prior to the Winter solstice.
When a blonde demigod, who sat cross-legged by the other half-mortal musicians (who were mostly his children), put a flute to her lips Apollo sat up a little straighter, his interest tweaked.
Such sweet music…
Biting his lip, he dropped his eyes from where he'd been staring unseeing out of a window, to stare at the blonde young woman curiously; she wasn't one of his children, was she?
He drank in the sight of her lithe form - that he could see clearly despite the pool of the grey fabric of her robes - and her slender, curved face.
He took in her pale, flawless skin - he couldn't recall a mortal woman with pale skin that was that unblemished…
He stared at her thick, dirty-blonde locks - he'd never recently taken to a form that had hair of that tone, that texture...
His heart faltered at her wide silver grey eyes (such an extraordinary colour), her straight nose, her thin, upturned, pale pink lips (he ran his tongue over his own) and the curve of her neck as it met her shoulder…
No, definitely not one of his children, the question was, whose?
A second passed and the maiden, perhaps having sensed his gaze, locked eyes with his. He felt his lips curve into a half-smile, and he was sure she would have returned it had she not been playing her flute. He felt only slightly dismayed when, seconds later, she dropped her eyes and dipped her head.
He frowned but before he could even begin to think about the maiden's curious actions he felt something slither up his legs. He jolted in his throne but saw nothing out of the ordinary when he looked down at his legs. He scowled at his paranoia but just as he was about to lean back in his throne he felt something slithering on the back of his neck and around his ankles. He shrugged his shoulders and twisted his neck to stop whatever it was but before he could continue further the thing slid around his face, across his mouth almost like a gag.
When he tried to rise to his feet he found that his ankles were tied together by what felt like a thin rope and he fell unto his hands and knees in front of his throne. The other Olympians turned to him curiously but he paid them no mind as he'd reached up to rip out his gag and the smoothness of vines met his fingers.
Now who did he know who had a speciality for conjuring up vines?
He ripped out his bonds, glaring fiercely at an amused, smirking Dionysius who sat far to his right, "You..."
"Me?" Dionysius chuckled, "Please! I wouldn't have prolonged the suspense like that. If that had been me," He broke off with another sinister chuckle, "You would have been encased in vines in the blink of an eye."
But Apollo had already turned to stare at the next possible culprit, who was giving him a glare that rivalled that of the lord of the Underworld's himself.
"Demeter," He grimaced and stood in a shaky movement, the look in the Goddess' blazing green eyes making him feel colder than he'd ever felt before he'd taken on the role of a sun god.
This coming from the Goddess who had captured the wild, fiery Titan Helios' heart long ago, came the flickering thought to the mind of Apollo. Though how that was actually relevant he did not know.
He didn't know just how he understood the Goddess of Harvest's threat but he knew the message in her narrowed eyes to be: stay away from my daughter. Or else.
He winced and sat back down in his throne, turning his head from Demeter's glare and towards the demigods, all off whom hadn't stopped playing all through the incident courtesy of the Mist. They weren't even looking in his direction. Well, all except one.
The eyes of Demeter's daughter hadn't left him as he'd sat in his throne and even now when he stared back at her, her gaze never faltered from his, nor did the sound of her flute cease…
Why exactly did he get the feeling the daughter of Demeter was much more than she seemed?
A/N: I've added a few thing 2 this chap along with the nxt chap.