He didn’t often come to Sparta.  

The anger, the war, the insistence of always moving or training exhausted him.  Men were busy training to be warriors, and women were busy insisting their sons be trained up as warriors.  There were few moments of rest and reflection.  There were few moments of letting thoughts wander from the strains of the gymnasium or instances of laying back and listening to birdsong and wondering how to make those sounds yourself.  Horses were for battle, not for exploration.  

He much preferred Delphi and its slower pace.  The incense smoke from the postulants at the oracle could be smelled throughout the town, and it was comforting.  People in Delphi asked questions.  They sought answers and knowledge.  They wanted to know more than how to shed the blood of those that would dare come close.  

But somehow, for one who found the repetitive physicality of the gymnasium dull, he found himself watching a group of young men boxing.  Their skin was gold and glistened with sweat in the sun.  In groups they practiced, but one by one they came to stand before the man in the center.  The one with dark hair and quick movements.  The one with an expressive smile as he offered his hand to the fallen - his opponents were always the fallen by the end.  The one who’s leather cuff at his wrist and that confidence with which he stood made his position clear to those who watched.  

The man they fought was a prince of Sparta.

The prince was stunning to look at, and obviously had attracted much attention.  His face held on to the glory of his youth, but his body was toned and hard, and had obviously seen battle.  There were scars, yes, but nothing to take away from the physical beauty the gods had blessed him with.  The youth of the gymnasium respected him, they smiled as he put them through paces and demonstrated how lacking in skill they were compared to him.  The elders - the teachers - deferred to him and only stepped in during the petty squabbles that erupted between those that were not adequately busy.  

And he’d caught the eye of a man who stood off to the side, watching the prince.  Man whose golden wings shimmered just out of sight of the mortals in the gymnasium, but he could see them.  

Apparently the prince had many admirers.

He felt himself being watched, and as he turned he saw both the prince and the winged man staring at him.  The prince’s head tilted, as if trying to remember a thought that had escaped him.  It was a common expression, as it was customary to present a much more human guise when walking among the mortals.  But the winged man wasn’t fooled.  He was Zephyr, the West Wind, and he could see through the glamours that were applied to divert the attention of mortals.  Zephyr’s expression went hard and he beat his wings, causing the breeze to pick up and the nearly naked males in the practice area to shiver as the wind brushed their damp skin.  The prince’s skin shuddered, but he didn’t look away from the stranger who watched them.  The stranger, in turn, made no move against the cold, not giving any indication that it bothered him.

The prince returned the smile, before Zephyr insisted he refocus on the task at hand.

The stranger returned the prince’s smile before turning to walk away.

Perhaps it would be worth it to remain in Sparta for a while.

***

“Prince, you must allow me to go with you.  Why would you wish to spend time alone when there are so many others who would gladly entertain you?”

The prince smiled as the groom handed him the reins to his horse.  “Sebastian, you worry too much.  I wish to clear my head and go for a ride.  You worry like a child.”

Sebastian felt the heat rise in his cheeks.  “I only wish to make sure that you are taken care of,” he said through tight lips, the gentle breeze in the air turning colder as he spoke.  “I worry about you, my prince.  I care for you.”

“And I you,” the prince replied, shivering slightly as the breeze whipped through his hair.  He swung his leg up and settled onto the horse’s back.  “But your worry is misplaced.”  

“Worry is never misplaced,” Sebastian mumbled.

“I am a prince of Sparta - I fear no man,” the prince laughed.  “I’ll return later.”

“Are you sure you wouldn’t rather stay with me?” Sebastian tried once more.  “We can work on your wrestling.”

“Goodbye, Sebastian,” the prince replied again, his voice bemused even as his companion’s expression grew more frustrated.  

“My prince,” Sebastian grumbled as the prince and his horse left Sebastian and the stable behind.

***

“Why do you insist on this route?” the prince cursed as his horse stubbornly veered off the path and towards a clearing.  “Stupid creature, why can you not follow directions?”

“He is not a stupid creature.”

The prince straightened up and looked around, searching for the source of the voice, but there was no one.  The fields were clear of people, the skies were clear of clouds, and there was nothing on the wind except...  The prince closed his eyes and tried to focus.  

Soft notes from a lyre.  They were faint, but they were there.

The prince opened his eyes and gave his mount a gentle pat.  “There’s something out there, isn’t there?” he murmured.  “Someone.  And you can hear him.”  The horse tilted his head.  The prince took it as an acknowledgement.  “Take me to him.”

The horse took off across the field, and it was all the prince could do to hold on.

***

The journey was not long, and even over the rushing wind, the prince could hear the sweet sounds of the lyre filling the air.  Children learned music in Sparta, but like most childish things it was put aside once it was time to enter the barracks.  This music was sweet, full of happiness and longing, and a skilled finger to control the strings.  It was intoxicating.

The horse stopped at the edge of a clearing, and the prince dismounted.  There, lying flat on the grass and smiling up at the clear sky was a man - a beautiful man whose fingers danced over the lyre and filled the air with sweet melodies.  A beautiful man who’d enticed the prince’s horse to the clearing and now laid, bathed in the sunlight, as if he had not a care in the world.  

The prince’s heart leapt in his chest.  There was something more about this man.  More than the beatiful song, or his pale skin that looked as if it was marble breathed with life, or his long limbs splayed gracefully in the grass.  “You...” he murmured, approaching the man cautiously.  “You were at the gymnasium,” he said.  “I saw you.  But you are not Spartan.”

“You are correct,” the man replied, his fingers not leaving his lyre.  “You were beautiful.  I could not help but stop to watch.”

Even his voice was musical, the prince thought as he dropped the reins and stepped close.  “I am Blaine Hyacinthus, a prince of Sparta,” he announced, but the words were unable to carry the weight and confidence they usually could.  But why would his voice waver?  This man was no prince - he was not even Spartan.  What could Blaine fear of him?  He should be cowering to be in the presence of a prince of Sparta!

“I know well who you are, Blaine Hyacinthus,” the man chuckled, finally turning to look directly at Blaine.  “Your horse was amused at his duty of bringing you here.  Although after you called him a stupid creature, I’m surprised he didn’t forcibly dismount you and cause you to walk the rest of the way.”

It was the eyes that did it.  Those clear blue eyes that couldn’t obscure the truth of who this man was.

“You...” Blaine breathed, dropping to his knees as he tried to gather his wits about him again.  “You are no ordinary man.”  Blaine gasped as the other man turned his face back to the sun, and the illumination of his features washed away the confusion from the prince’s mind.  He wasn’t staring at a man - he was staring into the sun itself.  “You are Apollo.”

Apollo smiled, letting his glamour drop as Blaine gasped again.  “Indeed I am.  And your adoration is kind, but it is not why I brought you here.”  The man’s features had not changed, but everything was... more.  He was more beautiful, his skin more luminescent, his eyes clearer, and his voice... his voice was music just as much as the sounds from his lyre.  “I saw you in the gymnasium and I...” he trailed off, turning to smile at Blaine once more.  He looked young when he smiled.  Young, and beautiful, and full of life.  “I wanted to get to know you.”

“I don’t know what to say,” Blaine whispered, awed.  “I am nothing special to a god.”

“I had a vision as I walked away from the gymnasium,” Apollo explained.  “It showed me happiness.  And contentment.  And joy.  With you,” he murmured.  “One learns not to ignore happy visions.”  He patted the grass and motioned for Blaine to come.  “Lay with me.  We’ll play music and talk and enjoy each other’s company.”

Blaine moved quickly, stretching out next to the other man.  How could he refuse the request of a god? He took a chance and shifted close enough to brush his arm against Apollo’s and it was like touching the sun - radiance.  He felt radiant.  “I don’t... I don’t know what to say to a god,” he admitted.

“Then perhaps you should treat me as a friend instead,” came the reply.  “I’ve used another name when I walk among mortals.”

“Then tell me that name and I will attempt to use it instead,” Blaine insisted.

The god turned his head to smile at Blaine.  “Kurt,” he said.  “You can call me Kurt.”

“Kurt.”  Blaine let the name roll over his tongue like fine wine.  “It’s nice to meet you, Kurt.  I’m Blaine.”

***

There were many days that followed in a similar fashion.  Blaine would excuse himself from his duties and his training in the gymnasium, must to Sebastian’s displeasure, and let his horse lead him to a clearing, for it was a different one each time.  He would catch the sweet sounds of a lyre in the air, or a clear voice singing words in a language he did not know, and he would know that he was close.  The horse would stop and lay down in the grass to let Blaine dismount and approach the god of light, the god of music and poetry and truth and prophecy... the god that had deemed Blaine worthy of companionship.  

Apollo.

No... Kurt.  

“You’re later than usual,” Kurt said as he sat cross-legged in the grass, plucking his lyre.  

“Forgive me,” Blaine said softly.  “My father was in a mood.  Trouble with Athens.”

Kurt laughed his musical laugh, and it soothed any of the frustration Blaine had brought with him after dealing with his father.  “When does Sparta not have trouble with Athens?”

Blaine smiled as he sat down next to Kurt.  “You speak the truth.  But then, you are the god of truth.”

“So you should trust me when I tell you not to worry,” Kurt insisted.  “But you do not have to come to me as a god.  Not when there’s no one but us.  I told you my hiding name, and I’ve shown you both sides of the glamour.  I am your friend.”  He placed the lyre on the ground next to him and reached over to cup Blaine’s chin.  “But you wish for it to be more.”

Blaine’s eyes went wide and his skin flushed.  “I... I would never request more than you were willing to give,” he sputtered, certain that his thoughts, those secret desires that he knew better than to ever speak aloud, would cause his death for insulting Apollo.  

Or far worse, cause him to leave Blaine to live out his days knowing that the hole in his heart was in the shape of a sweet lyre and a beautiful face.  

What he was not expecting was for Kurt to close the distance between them with a kiss against his lips.  A kiss that tasted like a sunny day, and all of the happiness that comes with a clear sky and the warmth of the sun on your back.  Blaine moaned, his hesitation melting away as Kurt’s arms circled his back to hold him close.  He shouldn’t thread his fingers through Kurt’s hair, or tug him closer to deepen the kiss, or shift his mouth to Kurt’s neck as soon as Kurt gasped for air.  He shouldn’t do those things because Kurt was a god, and even as a prince of Sparta, Blaine couldn’t compete with the immortal pleasures that Apollo - Kurt - was intimately familiar with.  

The gods never love only once, Blaine knows this.  But in this moment, as Kurt falls back into the grass and Blaine shifts to cover the god’s body with his own, Blaine feels immortal.

And Kurt... Kurt feels blissfully human.

***

“You’re distracted - this is why you’re not throwing straight.”  

Blaine laughed and tucked the discus under his arm as he tried to look annoyed at Kurt’s frustratingly valid point.  It had been a two months since Kurt had come to Sparta and had all but summoned him to the field with his lyre.  Two months of music, and passion, and sunshine... and most recently sport.  With all of the time that Blaine was missing at the gymnasium to spend time with Kurt, the fear of his edge dulling was real.  But given the choice, he would take Kurt at any moment of the day.  

He’d forgotten that Kurt was more than just Kurt until he’d had his fill of watching Blaine repeatedly miss his target and took the bow from Blaine’s hands.  

The three arrows he loosed quivered from the same, singular notch in the wood.  

Ever since, their time together became split between music and poetry and laying about enjoying the peaceful time together, and working on Blaine’s physicality.  

“I can’t help but be distracted,” Blaine answered jovially.  “I can see you, so I have nothing I’d rather concentrate on but you.”

Kurt smiled, shifting to stand behind the prince instead.  “Then I believe you need to be free of me in your sight,” he chuckled, placing a gentle kiss on Blaine’s neck.  “Because concentration is important.  We don’t want you to hurt anyone.  And I want to see the jealous looks of all the other males in the gymnasium when you best them at this as well.”

“So this is where you’ve been hiding.”

Blaine and Kurt turned at the sound of the voice behind them.  Kurt had felt the change in the breeze and heard the rustle of the invisible wings, but as long as Zephyr had stayed quiet, Kurt wouldn’t protest him watching.  It was good for him to watch.  Perhaps he would realize his flirtations with Blaine - and oh, that day, that first day in the gymnasium was nothing but attempted flirtations - were for naught.  

“Sebastian!” Blaine called out pleasantly.  “You will be surprised at how good I’ve gotten at the discus.”

“Sebastian?” Kurt murmured, releasing his hold on Blaine’s waist as he narrowed his stare at the other immortal.  A human name, he thought with disdain.  

“I would not be surprised at any talent you possess, my prince,” Sebastian replied, although his gaze didn’t waver from Kurt.  “Your beauty is only matched by your talents.”

“You are, as always, kind,” Blaine chuckled.  He glanced between the two males and indicated to Kurt.  “Sebastian, I would like for you to meet Kurt.  He is... special to me,” he said warmly, placing a hand on Kurt’s shoulder.

“Kurt?” Sebastian repeated, rolling the human name around his mouth to make it fit the image of the god behind the glamour standing in front of him.  “An interesting name for an interesting man,” he spat.  

Kurt saw the wings expand, making Zephyr seem massive, but that was all he was.  The ruffle of the wings altered the wind, but his power was no match for the power of Apollo - and both of them were well aware of it.  “Sebastian,” he chuckled.  “Surely you have something else you must attend to.  I’m certain you’re quite a busy man here in Sparta.”

“Do you two... know each other?” Blaine asked as he turned the discus over in his hand.  The breeze had turned cold, and Blaine was both curious... and afraid of the answer he may receive.  All of the stories he’d heard, all of the temples he’d entered, they all told stories of Apollo’s kindness.  He could be deadly, yes, but at heart... no one who made the music he made could be anything but love at his core.  But the looks he was giving Sebastian, and those Sebastian was giving in return... Sebastian must not know what forces he’s dealing with.  “Perhaps we should leave,” he said softly.

“No, never,” Kurt replied, turning his smile to Blaine.  Any chill Blaine felt was gone with the light and radiance of that smile turned his way, even behind Kurt’s mortal glamour.  “It is your turn to throw.

Blaine nodded, settled the heavy weight in his palm, and spun to throw the discus far into the field.  

While Blaine ran to retrieve the weight, Sebastian stormed up to Kurt, sneering down at the slightly smaller god, his anger growing at bored expression settled on Kurt’s face.  “You had no right!” he sneered.  “He was mine.  You saw us at the gymnasium!  He is not your plaything, he is mine.”

“He belongs to no man but himself,” Kurt replied cooly.  “And he has made his choice.  He chose me.”

“You bastard,” Sebastian growled.  “You stole him!”

“Call me names again and you can deal with my father,” Kurt replied, his lips curling into a slight smile.  The benefits of being born from the king of Mount Olympus.

Sebastian muttered an oath before recognizing his defeat.  The discus came flying through the air, digging into the ground a few paces away from where they stood.  “We were in the middle of something, Sebastian!” Blaine called from his place further down the field.  “I’ll catch up with you later!”  It was insult to injury, and Sebastian was not going to take it any longer.

Without a word, Sebastian turned and stormed away from the pair.  

Kurt put Sebastian out of his mind as he picked up the discus and motioned a bit further from where Blaine stood.  “What do you bet I can hit the tree from here?” he called out, laughing.

“I believe that you can do whatever you wish!” Blaine answered.  “But I would still like to see your attempt.”

Of course he could hit the tree from here.  They both knew it.  But Kurt enjoyed making these small bets with Blaine, pretending they were both human and didn’t know the outcome.  It was fun, and the joy on Blaine’s face the few times he turned out to be right filled Kurt’s heart with love to bursting.  

He loved this man.  There was no other term.  His sister, Aphrodite, must have created Blaine Hyacinthus just for him, because there was nothing between them that didn’t fit together.  Blaine’s smile was just as radiant as his own, and the tone of his voice was as sweet as any melody he could craft on his lyre.  Sparta was too harsh for such a kind soul.  Kurt would take him to Delphi when he was ready to leave.  They would be together for as long as Blaine walked the earth.  

The joy he’d seen, the happiness he’d seen in his visions, they were with Blaine.  Kurt would take him away and they’d create that joy together.

Kurt swung his arm back and launched the discus into the air, the weight of it cutting through the air towards the tree.  Blaine, for his part, ran across the field towards the tree, to assure that Kurt would not celebrate until the weight hit the tree.

Sebastian had not left the field, but stood, angry and motionless, as Kurt threw the discus towards his lover.  The humiliation of being discarded for Apollo ate at him, his anger rising at the two of them enjoying their time and throwing their happiness in his face.

If Blaine would not belong to him, then he would make sure that Blaine belonged to no man... nor god.

Kurt’s laughter was cut off as the wind picked up.  He turned back to look at Zephyr, but the god was pointing at Blaine.  A gust of wind shot through the field, knocking the discus from its true path towards the tree.

A sickening crack... a thud...

Kurt screamed, running across the field as Blaine Hyacinthus, his beautiful Spartan prince, collapsed onto the soft grass.  The ground surrounding him was stained red as the wound on the back of his head throbbed, his body jerked, and his heart stilled.  

“Blaine?” Kurt gasped as he dropped to the ground beside his lover.  He rolled Blaine’s head into his lap, but the eyes that looked back at him were blank and now forever dull.  The light that had effused Blaine was snuffed out, and all that was there was a bloody, broken boy and the promise of Kurt’s happiness shattered.

He screamed again.  

And again.

He screamed until the birds had flown and the deer had run and he was alone.  

It was hours before Kurt stopped sobbing over Blaine’s body.  He gently rolled Blaine back onto the grass and lifted his blood covered hands to look at the last indication of life from his beloved Spartan prince.  It wasn’t right to just leave him here, alone, and cold.  With the glamour dropped, and the full light of his godhood ablaze, he pressed his fingers into the soft, bloody ground.

His lips moved, and his voice trembled, as he sang his sorrows into the silence and coaxed a flower up from the grass.  An explosion of petals on the stalk, in vibrant purple for his fallen prince, but each petal stained with the tears he still cried for his Blaine.  

For his hyacinth.  

***

Three women appeared in the field after dark, after Apollo had left and taken his light with him.  

“This is the mortal man our brother has cried over?”

“Yes.”

“But he is so small.  And broken.”

“Love does not care what shape the vessel takes.”

“But is this wise?”

“I cannot leave my twin to suffer his loss when there is something we can do.”

***

Apollo retreated to Mount Olympus.  His light was dull as he sat in silence cupping one of his purple flowers, his hyacinths, close to his heart.  Time flowed different here, and he knew that by now, the body of his Hyacinthus was found, and grieved by his family, and gone into the ground.  His Hyacinthus was gone, and had left only this flower behind.  

The gods loved more than once, this was true.  But Apollo would never love as deeply as he had with his mortal Spartan prince.

Heavy footsteps pulled him from his thoughts.  He knew his father stood behind him, but he wasn’t ready to face the king of the gods yet.  Zeus was many things, but one for lingering in mortal pain was not one of them.  “You still weep for the mortal boy,” he said.

Apollo sucked in a sharp breath before nodding.  “He was so much to me,” he admitted softly.

Zeus lowered himself to sit next to Apollo and leaned in close.  “Your pain is my pain, kiddo,” he said, using an endearment Apollo hadn’t heard since he was born.  “And mortal life is pain.  They are short, and sad, and filled with challenge.  But sometimes...” he trailed off, motioning behind him.

Apollo turned his head to look where his father was pointing.  There, behind them, was his twin, Artemis... and her hand on Blaine’s shoulder.  Blaine, who was alive, and standing on Mount Olympus, and shining like the son.

“Sometimes Hades refuses to accept what is not ready to leave,” Zeus continued.  “Your sister made a worthy case in your favor.”

“What...” Apollo gasped.  He stood and walked slowly towards Blaine, unsure if this was but a cruel trick the gods were playing on him.  But he reached and brushed his fingers through Blaine’s soft hair, and the tears fell once more.  “What does this mean?”

“He has been reborn,” Zeus explained.  “He is Apollo Hyakinthos, for he’s your hyacinth, and he is yours forever more.”

Apollo pulled Blaine into his arms, burying his head against Blaine’s neck and sobbing once more.  “My visions...” he sobbed.

“Were true,” Blaine said softly as he rubbed his hand against his lover’s back.  “We can have our happiness.”

“My Blaine,” Apollo said, lifting his head to take in the sight of Blaine’s beautiful eyes, full of life once more.  “My beautiful Blaine.”

“My Kurt,” Blaine whispered, as he leaned forward to meet his lover’s lips once more.