Chapter Text
Apollo could only watch in horror and disdain as his family, his fellow gods and Olympians, were turned more militaristic, more cruel, more state oriented instead of how expressive, how emotional, more complex than what they used to be.
Apollo was thankful and hateful to the Romans for granting him the decency of keeping his name, even if it were said underhandedly that he was more Greek than Roman.
Apollo could do nothing as Athena, his most complex, brilliant sister was reduced to a simple shell of what she used to be.
Minerva was stripped of Athena’s military titles and epithets, of her strategic brilliance, of her cunning and ruthlessness and made merely a goddess of crafts. She was stripped of her daughter and Apollo could only watch as Minerva once Athena was hunched over a loom muttering over and over again as she desperately tried to figure out what she was missing.
Poseidon, at least, had the mercy of being married to his Queen even though he no longer had his name. Where Poseidon was once the great god feared and respected by the Greeks, Neptune was reduced to a freshwater deity, and barely acknowledged.
The greatest insult the Romans dared to do, was claiming that the Athenide was not Athena’s daughter nor the Pearl of the Sea; instead of rising from her fountain during the contest for Athens, the Romans had this imposter, this Nerio Veritas, this Nerio Fides had sprung naked from the well where the Trojan Prince Paris was resting and assisted him in choosing the victor for the Golden Apple. The remnants of Troy had taken his love, his wife’s birth and tainted it; they defiled her and desecrated her name and body.
And what’s worse?
No one else was in their right mind to change it.
Venus claimed it was fact as she was proclaimed the fairest by such naked truth.
Juno had no issue with it as it was the Romans who gave Mars a wife; the Hera he knew would have been revolted at the marriage or the way the Romans worshiped Heracles now Hercules.
Mars did not care for it because as far as he cared, he could still see his lover because there was no physical wife for him to return to.
Neptune had no memory of his once prized daughter; Nerio had no parents.
Minerva…
Apollo walked over to his sister, hunched over a loom and muttering, as she desperately tried to create a tapestry that could make sense of the many different threads of her mind.
“That’s a nice tapestry you’re making there.” Apollo complemented.
It was a tapestry of Perseleia: she was leaning against a wall, facing away from the looker. In her hands, she held her flute and her hair was loose about her shoulders as she watched over the boy who was Dionysus as he crushed grapes into cups.
“I can’t recall her face. I can’t recall the face.” Minerva muttered as she tied the threads.
“You must love her very much if you weave her.” Apollo said, gently trying to help his sister remember her daughter.
“Obsession is not love. I don’t love!” Minerva snapped at him. “Love is a weakness I do not have.”
Minerva’s grey eyes shifted to silver as Athena briefly took control only for the dull grey to take over.
“Who is she? She haunts the dark recesses of my mind and will not grant me a single night of peace.” Minerva asked him as she stood up from her loom and walked through the temple that had become a shrine to her once living daughter.
Apollo stopped before a tapestry depicting Perseleia with Asclepius as a toddler; her face was hidden by her curls but Asclepius’ joy at being in his mother’s arms was unmatched.
“She was your daughter.”
“LIES!” Minerva snarled as she tore down a tapestry of Perseleia lounging on furs as she held a hand up and cooed at Athene, Athena’s faithful owl and Perseleia’s most persistent chaperone, who was perched on her fingers; again, her face was turned away from the viewer, yet this must have been shortly after their elopement as Perseleia had their handfasting cord around her waist. “I AM A VIRGIN! I HAVE NO CHILDREN!”
This was a frequent argument between them.
“In Greece you did.” Apollo said gently.
Minerva hissed at him with her arms raised, her shawl mimicking her birds in a fight as she hid behind another tapestry of Perseleia; this time, she wore a simple tunic and a crown of flowers in her hair as she was being visited by Poseidon on of the many times he came to her camp to steal some time with his daughter.
“She was clever.” Apollo said, stepping towards her. “She created a game of strategy just so she could spend time with you.”
“Stop.” Minerva whimpered.
“She loved children; it didn’t matter if she had none of her own blood, she took in and raised so many heroes, the Amazons, and brought so many Hunters to my sister’s Hunt and witches to Circe’s isle.” Apollo continued.
“Stop!” Minerva’s voice rose.
“She was born from a fountain during the contest for Athens, your city. She was made pure with no involvement of sex. She was your pride-”
“STOP IT!” Minerva screeched at him.
“Your joy-”
“I SAID STOP!”
“Your greatest heartbreak-”
“STOP IT!” Athena, now in control, begged him. “Stop it. Please! I can’t bear to live knowing they stole what little I have left of her away.”
Apollo knelt next to his sister; she was never the same since Rome sacked Athens and carried off her Athena Parthenos and with her, the last intact mortal visage of the Athenide.
“I hate them too.” Apollo said.
“Not only have they taken her from me, but they have stolen her from my memory; they cut off her statues’ heads, destroy her mosaics, raze her temples, strip her of all importance yet make her the wife of Mars? Even in death they cannot leave her be. Even in death, they refuse to respect her.” Athena wept as Apollo wrapped an arm around her.
“You have your tapestries. I have my paintings and sculptures. I’m sure between the two of us, we can preserve her memory.” Apollo assured her.
Athena stiffened under his arm.
She turned to him and Apollo wanted to weep.
“Where is she? Where is the woman who haunts my mind?” Minerva asked him.
“She’s gone. There’s nothing and no one who can bring her back.” Apollo sighed, his heart breaking in a thousand pieces.
“No.” Minerva gazed off towards the tapestries that she threw askew. “She was taken from me. She must be so scared without her mother.”
Apollo swallowed down bile as he remembered Perseleia in Troy.
“She longs to return to her mother. To you.” Apollo comforted her; not having the heart to break Minerva’s.
“I will bring my daughter back.” Minerva vowed.
Apollo was thankful his sister didn’t swear on the Styx or Perseleia’s name; he didn’t think she could handle such a thing with her mind as fractured as it is.
“I cannot recall her face yet…” Minerva trailed off. “Is this what motherly love feels like?
Apollo could only give his sister a false smile and a squeeze as he hugged her.
///
The line of Ptolemy who now ruled Egypt believed that the Athenide could be returned to the world; their many daughters named for her and her high priestess reflected that belief.
Apollo watched in grief as the closest anyone got to the Athenide returned, were daughters with her epithet as her name.
Every Cleopatra brought Apollo’s heart to grief.
It wasn’t until the seventh one, and seven is his lucky number, that Apollo spoke to one of them.
Cleopatra they called her.
Goddess they called her.
She had the dark and curly hair but it was bleached brown from the Egyptian sun. Her eyes were as green as the Nile reeds.
She was indeed a great beauty yet Apollo found anyone lacking compared to Perseleia.
“Apollo.” She said.
“Isis.” Apollo returned. “I thought Egyptian gods didn’t like Greeks as their hosts.”
Cleopatra smiled, a smile that spoke of cleverness and brilliance that she used to run her kingdom.
“Preferably not, however, unlike my predecessors, I respect the country and the culture of Egypt. I, like Isis, care greatly for my son. Something you, as a father, can respect.” Cleopatra glanced over to the crib where Caesarion lay.
“Ah, hello Horus.” Apollo greeted the god before turning his attention back to Cleopatra. “So what did you want from a Greek god? Or did Isis want to have a chat over raising children and dead lovers?”
“And to think you loved Perse Athenide.” Cleopatra tutted.
“Perseleia.” Apollo corrected. “She is nothing like Helios’ whore.”
Cleopatra raised an eyebrow like she got exactly what she wanted.
“I have the Greek and Egyptian prophets at my disposal. I have the House of Life at my beck and call. I am the Eye of Isis.” Cleopatra said. “It’s about what I can do for you.”
“Which is?” Apollo said, unimpressed.
“Give you information about the Athenide.” Cleopatra said.
“In exchange for what?” Apollo was the god of prophecy. If there was any information about Perseleia, then he would know about it.
“Protection of my children against Rome.” Cleopatra said.
Apollo looked towards Caesarion.
“You just have the one child.”
“No.” Cleopatra placed a hand on her abdomen. “I shall have three more: Alexander, Cleopatra, and Ptolemy. I have seen all of their futures without your protection and it is not kind.”
“And how does Isis feel about this?” Apollo asked.
“Isis was the one to suggest a trade. She will do just as I will to protect our children.” Cleopatra said.
What the hell? Isis had magic that Greek gods didn’t have.
“Deal.”
“Please swear on her name.” Cleopatra asked.
Apollo understood why she was asking this: she was just as desperate as he was, if not more.
“I swear on Perseleia’s name that I will protect your children from Rome to the best of my abilities.” Apollo swore.
Cleopatra smiled.
“Excellent.” She turned to leave. “You are dismissed.”
Apollo shook with fury.
“Excuse you? We had a deal!” Apollo snarled.
“You didn’t specify when I should tell you. Think of it as insurance that you protect my children.” Cleopatra said, unbothered.
“You are just as deceitful and as manipulative as your goddess.” Apollo hissed. “Your children won’t get my protection until I get my information.”
“Then you better keep me alive until you get it.” Cleopatra said.
Apollo sulked and refused to tell anyone of his ire when he returned to his temple on Olympus.
He returned to his room; reading poems he wrote for his wife she will never read, playing songs for his wife that she will never hear, and he composed his grief.
He was finishing one when he heard Cleopatra call out to him, frantic, desperate.
He had half a mind to ignore her when she invoked their deal.
Apollo rolled his eyes but appeared once again before Cleopatra.
She was older, almost forty, yet that didn’t diminish her beauty in the seventeen years he ignored her; her dark hair now had grey streaks, she had wrinkles but she had laughter and smile lines too.
“You changed your hair.” Apollo commented.
“Antony was a liability. I had word sent to him that I had killed myself.” Cleopatra said, brushing off the comment as she and her ladies prepared..
“Why?” Apollo was not called away from his grief over his wife for this.
“Rome will conquer Egypt, just as it has conquered Greece.” Cleopatra told him. “The House of Life has gone underground; they will use my rule and failings as an excuse to lock away the gods and the old ways but that will only weaken them while Rome grows stronger and stronger. I have no intention of being led in a triumph through the streets of Rome. My children will not be taken and led through Rome as trophies. I am asking you to honor your part of the deal.”
Apollo looked around and saw that this was no palace he was meeting Cleopatra, this was a tomb.
“You’re not-”
“I will not be led in a triumph.” Cleopatra stated, clearly and of a sound mind.
“No. No, you will not.” Apollo sighed, respecting the Queen’s choice.
“Phoebus Apollon, I place my children into your care; Caesarion, Eye of Horus, Alexander Delius, Cleopatra Delia, and Ptolemy Philadelphus. I ask for your protection of my children, Kourotrophos, as I will soon be dead and unable to do so myself.”
Naming two of her children after Apollo and his Twin was a low blow.
Cleopatra had the ability to remain calm even as her world crumbled and burned around her.
Just like Perseleia…
“I take your children into my care, my protection, and will bless them for the rest of their days.” Apollo accepted, reluctantly.
“Excellent.” Cleopatra clapped her hands together and turned her back on him as she went to the lounge to recline.
As she did so, her two handmaidens uncorked vials and drank swiftly.
“I suppose you want your end of the bargain,” Cleopatra opened a basket on the other side of the lounge and pulled out an asp with ease.
“I would like it before you die, yes.” Apollo eyed the serpent.
“They say as Perseus carried Medusa’s head to Polydectes, some of her blood fell to the sands of Egypt and produced the asp.” Cleopatra cooed to the serpent as it flicked its tongue at her.
The handmaidens collapsed by her head and feet, dead from the poison.
“Perseus was Perseleia’s favorite hero; she assisted his birth and his mother was her priestess before she became the Queen of Serifos.” Apollo said, trying to steer the conversation back to Perseleia.
“Isis, I ask that no man finds my tomb.” Cleopatra exposed her breast from her dress for the asp to strike.
The asp struck her many times before she freed the asp from her grasp.
“Cleopatra, the information.” Apollo urged.
“Are you sure you can handle it?” Cleopatra’s eyes started to droop as the venom took effect and heavy sleep was starting to claim her.
“Cleopatra!” Apollo snapped at her.
“You silly god, you will see her again.” Cleopatra sounded dreamy as she closed her eyes.
“What do you mean? When?” Apollo asked.
“Not... for a… long…” Cleopatra’s head slumped.
Her hand went limp.
Apollo gave her the dignity of covering her breast.
- Caligula 37-41 CE
Apollo could only watch in horror as the Athenide became less of a person, a goddess, and more of a concept.
With each emperor on the throne of Rome, it only got worse.
Loyalty to the state, to the military, to the Empire was prized above all else.
It was the antithesis of what Perseleia stood for.
It was the very idea that Apollo loathed.
Emperors began to think that to have absolute loyalty of the citizens of Rome, then they had to marry Loyalty.
With the Romans desecration of the Athenide, they overcorrected with decapitated sculptures.
They tortured the priests that still preserved her cult into speaking of her appearance but none would tell.
An initiate, new to the cult and terrified of death, revealed to the Romans the Athenide’s deep sea, dark curls and her sea colored eyes and the flame was stoked.
Emperors pursued dark haired and green eyed women for their wives or concubines.
Apollo wished he could forget or go mad or become a whole new god like the others but instead he was doomed to watch.
“There is a young virgin to give birth. The Jewish prophets say he’s the son of their god.” Asclepius said to his father when Apollo visited.
Apollo raised an eyebrow.
“They say he’s to be the King of Kings and the Lord of Lords.” Asclepius said.
“He would be a thorn in Rome’s side.” Apollo agreed.
Apollo couldn’t help but look at the young girl in pity; barely fifteen, pregnant, forced to travel with her fiance/husband a long distance for Caesar Augustus’ census. But with her dark hair and olive green eyes, Apollo couldn’t help but think of Asclepius’ mother and how she would pity the poor girl, how she would want to help her.
The least Apollo could do for the poor thing was to ease the pregnancy and her labors during her journey.
When Apollo heard of the killing of all male children two years old and younger in Bethlehem, Apollo hoped that the poor girl didn’t go to that city; he recalled vividly how small and fragile Asclepius was after birth and didn’t think Perseleia could have survived his death; she barely survived when he died as an adult.
Tiberius wasn’t any better with his wives; divorcing his pregnant and faithful wife under the whims of others for one who committed adultery and plotted treason.
Caligula, his heir, was not as weak, but infinitely more ruthless than him.
His first wife was for a political alliance, married for looks just as much as politics.
Apollo watched in pity as Junia Claudia died in childbirth.
If the Romans hadn’t cast aside Asclepius in favor of Vejovis, they would have known to try and perform the same procedure he had to do to Perseleia when she gave birth to Asclepius.
Instead, they lost the Empress and the heir.
A small price to pay but Apollo’s wife and their son’s birth was not tainted by the Romans.
Caligula proclaimed that he shall marry Loyalty.
Fides he called her.
Caligula took Ennia Thrasylla as a lover to cope with the loss of his wife.
Once he tired of her, he kidnapped Livia Orestilla from her legal marriage in Perseleia’s name to Gaius Calpunius Piso; he cited Romulus and Paris as his cause for doing so. His excuse to kidnap another man’s wife.
Apollo pitied the girl who wanted to marry under Athenide Nymphia's blessing and protected her in the shadows from Caligula after Livia swore to be faithful to only Piso. He thought it was his mind playing tricks on him, but he could smell the sea breeze surrounding Livia.
Livia was then exiled under grounds of infidelity with Piso but she thankfully escaped Caligula with her life.
Apollo watched in disgust as Caligula married Lollia Paulina, named her Athenide, named her Nerio Fides, and then divorced her, also for infidelity.
The fourth wife, a Julia Drucilla, was also named the mortal Athenide; she was the opposite of Apollo’s beloved.
While Venus watched Rome with intrigue as scandal after scandal occurred, Apollo only watched in fury, waiting for the empire to come crumbling down.
- Nero 54-68 CE
Never had Apollo hated someone as much as he hated Nero.
The emperor was named after Nerio, the name the Trojans called Perseleia, the name the Romans called the Athenide, and he seemed determined to spit on her memory, her honor, her beliefs.
Apollo hated this man who was worth less than the dirt in the gladiator arena.
The mortal had the audacity to claim he was Apollo.
The mortal had the audacity to demand to be worshiped as Apollo.
The mortal had the audacity to do horrendous deeds in Apollo’s name that had Apollo clenching his teeth in anger.
Apollo adored his mother. He loved her. He avenged her when Niobe insulted her and when Python pursued her. Never in a million years, never as long as the sun was Apollo’s to command or while his heart beat for Perseleia would he ever think of trying to murder Leto.
When he saw how Nero killed his mother, Apollo had to go to his mother and hold her as he cried.
Leto said nothing as she held him but whispered assurances that she knew he loved her.
The wedding between Claudia Octavia and Nero was a symbolic wedding between Fides and Apollo, which, if Nero hadn’t had an affair with Poppaea Sabina and ordered Claudia’s decapitation, and then named his daughter with Poppaea Claudia after the wife he murdered, he would have cracked a joke about finally marrying the Athenide.
When Poppaea was pregnant with their third child, Apollo didn’t care to know why-it was most likely over a simple thing like how she spent too much time in the theater or if she wanted him to be a more present father, but she argued with Nero about something and then in a fit of rage, Nero pushed her to the ground and kicked her in the abdomen until both her and the unborn baby were dead.
He claimed it was a miscarriage to the onlookers.
Apollo had Clio ensure it was recorded as the murder it was.
Nero was mad before, but now he was not denying it.
Nero gave Poppaea divine honors and in an act of blaspheme, presented her dead body at the state funeral for her in a manner like the Athenide. Apollo didn’t know who told Nero about how Athenide looked upon her death, but he would destroy the one who told him. Nero had Poppaea laid out in blues with white flowers in her hair and her hands placed over her now deformed swollen belly.
Not even a pretty funeral and makeup could disguise the bruises she suffered or the abuse that killed her.
Nero then married another woman but that was not as horrible as marrying a young, free man named Sporus; Apollo pitied the young man as he was forcibly castrated and dressed in Poppaea’s clothes and married to the Emperor who demanded that all call Sporus ‘Poppaea’ and act like he was the deceased Empress.
In his third imperial wedding, Nero donned a bridal veil and married his wine steward before covering himself with animal skins and ran about attacking the bodies of men and women he had tied to a stake for wedding entertainment before setting them on fire.
As Apollo watched the horror that was the Roman Empire unfold, he wondered if Athena was smart in retreating to Athens to take refuge against the mind breaking headache she was getting by staying on Olympus surrounded by the others going by their Roman names.
As far as he knew, Poseidon was still under the sea and refused to come out unless it was a nonnegotiable meeting like the solstice.
Asclepius had taken his wife and daughters back to Greece because Rome made him sick at what they were doing to his mother.
“I’m a minor enough god, father. I have to get my wife and daughters out of here before Rome defiles them too.” Asclepius said before he fled.
Why did Apollo watch these emperors?
Why would he do this to himself?
Lord Apollon, Emperor Nero has come to Delphi for a prophecy.
Apollo understood why his Pythia was fretful: Nero was a madman and a prophecy he didn’t like would be taken out on his priestess regardless of her protection.
Apollo looked into Nero’s future and found it odd that most of it was hidden from him. He would be killed in two years by a man that was 73 years old but… it possibly meant nothing. Nero would be dead soon and there was no need to worry about why his future was clouded.
“Tell him to beware the seventy-third year.” Apollo whispered into his Oracle’s ear.
When Nero was killed by Galba who was seventy-three years old, Apollo only said, “good riddance.”
- Commodus 177-192 CE
Commodus was arrogant as he was stupid and ostentatious.
The fool believed himself to be the rebirth of Hercules.
It was preposterous.
If Hercules died, then it would only be by Apollo’s hand for what his monster of a half brother did to his wife.
As “Hercules,” Commodus ordered that all dark haired women with green eyes be brought to Rome and inducted in his harem. When one displeased him, Commodus killed her in the gladiatorial arena; why did he care? He had over three hundred concubines in his harem and just as many men.
Apollo loathed.
He watched as the sixteen year old Emperor married Bruttia Crispina and dubbed her Iuventas in their wedding ceremony and Apollo felt sick at knowing what would come after.
He waited but it didn’t happen.
Not that year.
Not the next.
Eventually, Bruttia Crispina was exiled for failing to produce a child; the men in the court and senate said she was barren yet for a man of over a hundred concubines and slaves, Commodus had yet to produce a child.
Then Commodus’ eyes fell upon Marcia Aurelia Ceionia Demetrias.
The woman was a mistress of the Emperor’s cousin, taken also for her dark hair and greenish, and Commodus finally did it.
Apollo watched in horror and fury as Commodus dramatically reenacted what the Romans termed “The Rape Of Loyalty.”
Of all the things Rome could have done, of all the things Commodus and the rest of the damned emperor’s could have done, he does this?
“Apollo,” he felt his mother’s hand on his shoulder.
His mother was strained but not as badly affected as the other gods and titans were under the Roman Empire.
“He’s disrespecting her! He’s naming himself after him and he’s-” Apollo clenched his fists and looked away from his mother.
“Oh, baby,” Leto pulled Apollo in her arms.
When Apollo painted the sunsets-
She liked sunsets…
When Apollo painted the sunsets, he made sure to fire an entire quiver of arrows in his banished, vile, wife killer and kidnapper of a half brother.
Under the light of his sister’s moon, Apollo went down to the royal chambers where Commodus was bathing.
Upon seeing Marcia, he brought his finger to his lips.
Her eyes went wide but she said nothing.
Apollo stepped into the baths with a purpose.
“Is that you Philocommodus?” Commodus sipped wine but did not turn around. “Come and join me.”
So Apollo did.
Apollo got in the baths behind the Emperor.
He started to massage the muscles in his shoulders.
When Commodus let out a sigh of contentment, Apollo shifted to massaging the muscles in his neck.
“I prize you above all my lovers, Philocommodus.” Commodus grunted under his touch.
Apollo said nothing.
He squeezed.
He squeezed until the gurgling stopped and the thrashing was no more.
Commodus dared to rape Loyalty, Apollo’s beloved and treasured love, as entertainment?
Apollo would not regret this death.
He left the baths and Marcia was still there.
“He was going to execute you tomorrow.” Apollo said, his voice sharp.
“Thank you.” Marcia trembled as his words set in.
“I didn’t do it for you.” Apollo said to her.
He hated Rome.
He hated the emperors.
He was going back to Greece and he was taking his mother and the Muses with him.