11 • Tulips

Semele walked around him, rubbing herself against him with enough force to move him. Semele nuzzled his hand to lead him in a different direction than he had come. Ganymede felt like a child again, so large was Semele and so small did he feel. Lost in the haze of his interaction with the Queen and wiping his eyes, it was a surprise when arms slid around him, a body smaller than Zeus’s pressing against him. Fresh tears spilled over Ganymede’s cheeks, the lush ivy around the columns blurring into darkness.

“Dion.”

Dionysus’ breath exhaled past his ear while a hand stroked his hair. The smell of rain clinging to the plants was a balm to his frayed senses. Dionysus pivoted, keeping his arm behind Ganymede to pull him along. A cup manifested in his grasp, which he held out to Ganymede. Water.

He drained it dry, until it filled up from the bottom once more. He sank into the pile of cushions, feeling as boneless as the heaps of silk and cotton. Semele’s large paws pressed into his lap while she began flattening one side of his hair against her tongue.

“How do you feel?” Dion asked quietly.

Ganymede stared at the surface of his water, or tried to. Semele’s forceful licks were making him sway. “I’m…fine?” his voice escalated into a sob.

Dionysus pressed his lips into, not so much a smile, as an understanding line while Ganymede wept. “Hera has that effect.”

In between sobs, he took a big gulp. “She doesn’t like me.”

“She doesn’t like most of us. That’s family. You fit right in.”

Ganymede sniffled pathetically. He winced against Semele’s attentions. “This…this is, um, starting to…hurt.”

Dionysus called, “Mum,” and then harder, “Mum! Your tongue has barbs.”

He threw a pastry, which bounced off her forehead. She looked around in brief interest, and then examined her work upon Ganymede’s ruddy skin. “Mm!” he exclaimed when she switched to aggressive nuzzling.

Dionysus continued, “Don’t take this too badly, but were you expecting her to like you?”

Ganymede managed to get another gulp down and sighed raggedly. “I wasn’t expecting anything friendly, but—” He peered into his cup and the rainbow fracture of light passing through it. “I don’t want wine.”

Dionysus blinked softly as the water slowly blushed rosy. “You need it.”

“But I don’t want it.”

“Apollo has his medicine. I have mine. Humor me.” He raised his own cup and drank long and slow.

“I don’t want to get sloppy,” Ganymede mumbled, sipping.

Dionysus hummed a note of affront before he swallowed. “Is that a statement towards me?”

Ganymede gave him a look. “We were at your Dionysia.”

A silly grin overtook the god’s face. “Oh yeah. Well, you will have more of a tolerance than regular mortals.”

Semele’s head swung around, orange eyes on her son. He moved the pastry dish between them. “Here, fill your belly with something.”

* * * * * * *

Zeus fiddled with a branch of grapes, his face angled up to the sun’s rays. Ganymede had been gone a long time.

His eyes opened when something passed in the light: a rainbow blossomed on the wall. “I’ll listen.”

The translucent goddess, Iris, emerged and lowered to one knee. Zeus’s tranquil expression lowered with a frown, and then eased with a sigh. “Thank you. Remind my son that Ganymede needs more than fruit and sugar, or I’ll send Hephaestus after him.”

Iris said nothing apart from a smirk, and left while Zeus did the same.

* * * * * * *

Hades’ fingertips slid over the slate wall, feeling the texture of the smooth ripples carved there. He followed the relief to the complicated scales, yet unfinished—

His chisel no more than touched the stone before he exhaled, lowering it. “You know your presence is a disturbance here.”

“We both cause ripples we dislike cleaning up,” Zeus replied. “You didn’t say hello.”

“Mine was a brief errand,” he remarked in a monotone. Stepping away from the wall, he replaced his tools on the undecorated wooden table in the center of the room while his brother observed his work. The room was octagonal and dark stone like the rest of Hades’ home. The towering slate walls let in more light than would be expected, and carved into the walls were small, staggered alcoves for orange lanterns, all the way up to the lofty ceiling. Zeus had always wondered how or where such pale light came from, drifting down from the ceiling as it did, when the place was dark and lit by so much orange. Then again, Hades’ realm did not host the same rules as Zeus’s did.

“This is a new room.”

“My beloved is growing our next child.”

Zeus smiled. “Congratulations. Your palace is expanding. Demeter must be livid.”

Hades gave him a jaded stare. “You’re upset with me.”

Far from bothered, he watched his brother take a seat upon the table. “I would have preferred you didn’t scare the life out of my own beloved.”

“I believe that was Hera, although you’re welcome.”

Zeus’s brow lowered, puzzled. “For?”

“For communicating with your wife far better than you ever have.” Hades rotated with chalk in hand. It clacked pleasantly while he drew out the story for the next wall. “She would not have minded as much, if you had ever been honest about your paramours.”

Zeus had to keep from laughing outright. “That’s not true.”

“No, it’s not true. But only because loyalty has been a longer lesson for you than for the rest of us. It doesn’t take a genius to know she hasn’t a clue about the prophecy. Strange, that Athena knows but your Queen does not.”

Zeus sat like a statue. “Ganymede would not hurt any creature.”

“Of course he wouldn’t,” Hades exhaled for patience. “You know that’s not how prophecies work.”

“You’ve commanded Hera to not move against him.”

The chalk stilled, and Zeus had the unnerving sensation of his brother looking back at him with a rueful smile. “Still our baby brother. No one commands Hera to do anything.”

“Advised, then,” he growled. The chalk continued its path, sliding in a graceful arc—

“Hades.”

“Are you asking if I tried to save Ganymede, or alter the future?” Hades no longer turned around, entirely focused.

Zeus took the time to heave a breath. “Either one.”

“I’m not so foolish,” he crooned as a drooping tulip joined its siblings on the wall. “Events fall where they may, no matter what we do. All we know is that Ganymede will affect us all.”

The table creaked under Zeus when he leaned back. Hades gave him a warning glare. “Perse grew that tree for me. I will expect a spectacular replacement if you crack it.”

Zeus stood to wander the room. “Getting a transparent answer from you does spark inquiry as to what you believe loyalty means.”

“Smart as you are, word play does catch you off guard. Prometheus did so enjoy that...” Hades paused. “He sends his regards, of course.”

Zeus blew air out of his nose. “He never relinquished his sense of humor.”

His head craned to see the lanterns flickering slightly; fading and blooming with light like stars, before a sound drew his gaze to the open doorways of the room. Watchful eyes ducked away. Hades’ cape was among the contents of the table; Zeus unhinged one of the dragonflies. Its wings fluttered with life before he sent it into the corridor. Young giggles revealed how many children had congregated outside the room.

“Behave yourself,” Hades chided, but without interest.

He chuckled, but resigned, “Thank you for not telling me a damn thing, then.”

“Where is Ganymede now?”

Zeus paused. “With Dionysus.”

Hades paused, but barely. “Curious choice,” he said, almost with mirth in his voice. Almost.

Zeus came to the wall, but Hades kept working. “Why?”

“You’re aware he has been frightened but you leave him with someone else instead of comforting him yourself?”

“Thank you for appeasing my vanity, but Dion is the better one to comfort him right now. Ganymede would be too self-conscious with me. I am not innocent from his suffering… Why are you questioning Dion?”

“I’m merely interested in your answer.”

Zeus’s hands found his hips in frustration. “How did this interrogation turn against me?”

“It was a conversation from the beginning.”

“I’m leaving before I go mad talking to you.”

“Apt choice of words.”

Zeus froze. “You don’t trust my son’s sanity?”

“You don’t need to phrase it like I’m questioning yours as well.”

“I know very well what you think of me,” his brother groaned, pacing in a circle.

“On the contrary, I think now is the sanest you’ve ever been,” Hades surprised him. “You are more filled with concern than hatred. Your selfishness includes the desires and wellbeing of another person.”

“Then what does this have to do with Dion?”

Hades brushed dusty debris from his outlines. “Perhaps Dionysus is not the only one whose sanity is tied to another person.”

His brother absorbed that for a long moment. “You do not believe me capable of…an ordinary…healthy relationship.”

“I believe you are yourself.”

“Ah,” he bit.

“Don’t misunderstand me just so it fits your standards of low esteem.”

“Then do speak plainly, for the love of Rhea.”

Hades’ arm stretched up, letting the line draw as far as his physical form could reach. Like a ghost emerging from the stone, the temple he was readying to carve stood out, half complete, beyond the tulips.

He turned and approached to grasp Zeus’s shoulders. “I do love our mother, despite all her mistakes. I love you despite all of your flaws. Dionysus was too almost a mirror of you, but you placed your goodness in him. You found it, and tore it to the forefront of his being, as you’ve desired to do to yourself for so long. Ganymede is not the only one you’ve raised.”

Zeus paled.

Hades’ eyes were heavy. A hand stroked his brother’s hair, so wild compared to his own. His fingers drifted over his temple, feeling the pulse of thought within. Eavesdropping.

“No,” he murmured. “I always hear you. You know that. That’s how we knew to wait for you, to be ready when the time came to leave our father’s belly.” His hands cradled his youngest brother’s head. “I’ve seen you be monstrous. As great as a titan. Worse, as you threw those you could not control into my Tartarus. I’ve seen you be fragile and kind, more than ever with Ganymede by your side. Hera doesn’t know what to make of this. She’s worried for you.”

Zeus closed his hands around Hades’ wrists, who let them be pulled down. “Ganymede will never harm me.”

But Hades’ head tilted, pushed by something Zeus could not abide: pity. “It was never about Ganymede. It is about you harming yourself.”

Zeus flew from his hands, leaving Hades holding nothing but the soft light of the room. Eventually he turned to recommence work on the wall, only to pause and kneel. One of the children, too young, and faintly aglow with the colors of her personality, walked into the curve of his arm. “Sir?”

He met her gaze, encouraging her to speak. “I thought…this room—”

“It is,” he exhaled. Her lips pressed together and she looked down at her hands clutching the dragonfly, gently pulsing with light. Hades took it, and the orange amethyst faded back into stone. “But my brother doesn’t need to know the particulars of our home.”

Her long lashes moved over her eyes, processing before she nodded. They parted for him to return the dragonfly to the cape chain, and then he began the branches of an oak tree growing out of the temple.

* * * * * * *

“Don’t look at me like that,” he complained, but he could not ignore the steady orange gaze. “Mum!”

The cheetah groaned, tilting her head in judgment as her son lifted the drunken Ganymede onto his back. “What? This was good for him. A man needs a good cry once in a while.”

She padded beside him as he crossed the palace—

“Dion,” Athena exited her library when he passed. “I’ve…what have you done to him?”

Ganymede’s head lolled on his shoulder as he spun around. “I have freed his little ball of emotions. He’ll be ready for Troy with a fresh heart.”

Athena was dubious. “What about a fresh stomach?”

Semele meowed, earning an affronted gape from her son. “Mum!”

She merely purred and slid against him, pushing him along. Athena rolled her eyes, shaking her head all the way back into her library. Semele likewise turned to slink her way back to their side of the palace while Dionysus trudged up the mountainous staircase…

“I told you to feed him.” Zeus met them on the landing.

Dionysus huffed, “You better be paying this lad’s thighs proper due credit because of these fucking stairs. And he’s fine.”

Zeus caught Ganymede’s shoulder blades in one arm while his other swept under his legs. He stared at the youth slumping against him, drooling in his sleep. “You completely intoxicated him?”

“I kept him hydrated,” his son disregarded. “Just as much water as wine. He won’t feel inside-out when he wakes.”

Their heads lowered at the words croaked in his sleep. “Fried…pickled…”

Dionysus touched a hand to his chest. “Dreaming of food. After my own heart—”

“What did you do?” Zeus barked.

“Fried and pickled?” Dionysus grimaced and then gaped, “Genius.”

“Why is his voice hoarse?” he growled.

Endearment turned to annoyance on Dionysus’ face. “Sometimes drink makes the voice go raspy. Like crying or some yelling…”

Grey eyes narrowed. “Yelling.”

Dionysus ruffled Ganymede’s hair fondly. “Our sweet boy has a full range of emotions, you know. It’s so adorably human to yell. Singing is just harmonic yelling. Troy is having a festival soon!”

“I don’t trust Ganymede at a festival with you.”

“He did fine last time!”

“In the company of Athena and even Eros before I arrived.”

“You’re not allowed in Troy,” his son reminded.

“I may just ask Apollo for a period of exemption,” Zeus countered.

“Wonderful!” Dionysus beamed. “I’ll arrange lodging!”

He kissed Ganymede’s hair and flew down the stairs. Zeus sighed, shaking his head and knowing full well what he had agreed to as he set Ganymede on his bed. He commanded the bedposts on the head to grow and entwine, leaves budding and unfolding into a shady canopy over Ganymede’s head.

Zeus waited for nightfall, but as the earth glowed with the last light of sunset, it was not just Apollo who arrived on his terrace. “Artemis,” Zeus smiled as the twins moved over the tile. Apollo’s gait was casual. His sister’s was strong. She lifted her hand for him to kiss its back while Apollo peeked into the room beyond the curtains.

“He smells like a satyr,” he voiced with equal parts amusement and disgust.

“I have a heavy request of you.”

Apollo looked back at his father with curiosity and appropriate focus. Artemis’s interest took her further along the terrace, her angular face lifted to read the stars. Zeus continued, “I wish to escort Ganymede during his next visit through Troy.”

A grin flashed on Apollo’s face as he laughed. “You’re just now asking? How patient. All right, but I have many stipulations.”

“I’ll hear them,” Zeus leaned against one of his columns. Phil, the cat, pressed himself against the god’s legs.

Apollo mirrored him, leaning against the terrace wall as he counted in his head. “Any ornamentation he wears will be of his family. My crests.”

“In the palace, and in private,” Zeus negotiated. “He will remain in disguise throughout the city, and it cannot be announced to the court or to the rest of the family who he is.”

Apollo smiled and shook his hair off his shoulders. “You will, of course, not influence my people. You may use tricks like Dion does, but if someone makes advances toward Gany or if natural unrest occurs, you will behave like a rational being.”

“Of course.”

“If Ganymede and Priam wish to speak in private, you will grant them that.”

“Only in Priam’s palace, and they will have you, Athena, or Dion in attendance.”

Apollo gave that some thought. “I suppose ‘private’ was the wrong word. If there is ever a moment Ganymede wishes to explore the city in relative seclusion, you will allow myself and Athena to look after him.”

“If he asks for it, but he will know he is being looked after.”

Apollo turned thoughtful. “How honest. It goes without saying that you cannot make a spectacle of yourself. It would be better for you to take a less conspicuous form.”

“I want Gany free to focus on the things around him, not bothering to remember what I look like. I will not be the largest man in the city, and I doubt Trojans would stare anyhow. Not much surprises them.”

Apollo drummed his fingers on the terrace, his lips pursing to the side. “You may not prefer this next one.” His father nodded to indicate he should continue. “You will not be allowed in the palace. If you insist on this form, you will be of Hector’s stature; it will inspire curiosity, games, betting—” he waved a hand with an impatient sound. “Gany will be safer with as little connection to you as possible.”

A long moment ensued. Apollo was right: he did not like that bit at all. “Is Ganymede required to stay in the palace?”

His son released a long sigh as he crossed his arms. He glanced at his sister once before answering, “No. His living situation in Athens was ideal. Having godly roommates is safer for him, and if he is to remain secret from his grandnephews, the little ones are far too likely to run right into his room, and they’ll be especially curious if they see a guest, as opposed to just another one of their father’s emissaries. Goodness knows the nieces don’t forget a handsome face.”

Zeus could not help but smirk. “Anything else?”

“Athena is ecstatic. Ganymede is interested in hearing the speakers. So…I suppose you’ll be dealing with stimulating philosophy, drunken nonsense, and debauched opinions of us. Ganymede may feel emotional strain, especially if you become a subject of the agora. Your liaisons are so often a favorite for perverse old men, bored husbands, and eager virgins. You must remember that you cannot influence anyone.”

“My sole concern will be Ganymede,” Zeus agreed.

“I can add to this list at any time. Humans are inventive, and I’d loathe for an unscheduled storm to arrive over my city simply because something mundane set you off.”

Zeus cast his gaze to Artemis stroking the cat. “Best behavior and only gentle showers.”

Apollo’s features lowered, not amused. “And do remember that we actually care about Ganymede as much as you do. We’re on your side. If you are bothered by something, peruse the notion of talking to me before you dash back here with him.”

Zeus felt something…relax inside of himself. “I will.”

Apollo’s warm smile returned. “Good. Lastly, you have to apologize to Priam.”

He and Artemis flew across the sky like shooting stars, leaving Zeus gaping behind him in the echo of Apollo’s laughter.