All This for Love?
Zephyros yawned and stretched, his large golden wings glittering in the sun’s gentle warm beams. His warm golden eyes glanced at the young prince sleeping beside him and he smiled as he ran his fingers through his silky hair. He did not wish to leave, but he was summoned by Aiolos; the Keeper of the four Winds, of he and his three brothers, and it would be unwise to ignore that summons. He knelt down and leaned over the boy, kissing his forehead. “Hyakinthos, my lovely, awaken. I have something disappointing to tell you.”
Hyakinthos slowly opened his deep brown doe-like eyes and smiled. Reaching up he wrapped his arms around Zephyros’ waist and pulled the God down to lay beside him. “There is no disappointment when I am with you,” he said, murmuring into his lover’s ear.
Zephyros smiled almost sadly. “Save this; I must depart, for I do not know how long. I am summoned by the Keeper of the Winds and not even the most carefree such as I can ignore such summons.”
Hyakinthos stuck his lip out in a pout and wrapped his arms tightly around the God’s waist with a constrictive grip. “No, stay with me,” he said petulantly.
Zephyros kissed his generous lips and gently disentangled himself from his mortal lover’s arms. Immediately, Hyakinthos embraced him again, burying his face into his muscular chest and shaking his head. Again, Zephyros pulled gently away, though his actions were a little more firm. “Hyakinthos, you know that I would rather stay with you, but even the West Wind has duties and responsibilities to attend to. Please, my handsome darling, send me off with a kiss and a smile. I shall return with all the swiftness of the wind that is blowing over us.”
Hyakinthos’ lip stuck out more as he looked appealingly at his lover. “Promise?”
“I promise. I shall return as swiftly as divinely possible,” Zephyros said solemnly. The prince sighed, but then smiled and kissed him passionately, twining his fingers in the God’s wavy hair. Zephyros returned the kiss and backed away reluctantly, gently disentangling Hyakinthos’ fingers from his hair. He smiled at the boy and blew him a final kiss, then shed his physical form, becoming the West Wind he embodied and personified.
Hyakinthos sighed again and began to pout again. He did not want Zephyros to leave; he liked having him there and especially liked being a God’s lover. Zephyros, though he was not shy, had never before had a mortal, or even a divine lover and Hyakinthos relished being the first of anything, but especially the first lover of a divinity. Suddenly he gasped. “What if Zephyros has another lover? What if he is lying to me?” he thought aloud, looking almost frightened at the possibility.
“Then why remain with him?” a musical voice asked from behind him. Turning swiftly, Hyakinthos gasped, his eyes widening in shocked and pleased surprise.
“Are you...?” he began.
“Apollon, God of music, healing, prophecy, the arts, youths, archery, and in part the Sun,” the stranger said, bowing low. He looked no different from any handsome mortal, save for the golden laurels atop his blond head and the decadent finery of his glittering white tunic-like khiton and almost toga-like himiton, both of which were embroidered with golden thread. A mahogany bow was draped carelessly over his right shoulder as he smiled at the boy. Hyakinthos was enchanted. To be the lover of Apollon, an Olympian, appealed to him even more than remaining Zephyros’ lover. After all, Zephyros was only one of the Anemoi, the four Winds, but Apollon was one of the Olympians!
Apollon stepped forward and sat gracefully beside the entranced prince. Preening slightly at the attention, he smiled at his amazed companion. Hyakinthos gaped at him, then shook his head and smiled back.
“Such a beautiful smile,” Apollon purred, taking the boy’s chin and kissing him tenderly on the lips. “I could give you so much more. Power, riches, whatever you wish could be yours.”
Hyakinthos’ eyes grew even more wide, though it had seemed impossible. “Whatever I desire? Even your complete devotion, my lord?”
Apollon smiled and kissed him again. “Absolutely. Anything your heart desires.”
Hyakinthos smiled and kissed him, his previous love for Zephyros, which had been absolute, forgotten. He now belonged heart and soul to Apollon, as he had only an hour ago to Zephyros.
Several days passed before Zephyros was able to return to the small, secluded glade. He landed lightly, folding his delicate wings at his back and sighed, feeling slightly fatigued. Even the Gods needed rest, and he wanted to spend that time with his lover, the better to relax.
“Hyakinthos,” he called softly. The glade remained silent; not even a breeze stirred the grass, partly though his own design. Pursing his lips, he wondered where the boy was. Perhaps he was home in nearby Sparta, but that seemed unlikely unless there was some competition that day the God was not aware of. He could be sleeping deeper in the glade on the soft grass, or even exercising to improve his near-perfect physique. Sighing, Zephyros prepared to hunt for him, tired though he was, but suddenly paused, hearing the sound of laughter. He followed it curiously. One of the voices was that of Hyakinthos, but he could not immediately identify the other. Stepping lightly through the flowered field, he reached the deepest part of the glade and froze at the edge of the clearing, slightly hidden by the trees.
Apollon laughed again as Hyakinthos said something Zephyros did not quite catch. His golden eyes flashed in rage as Apollon kissed the Sparta prince and Hyakinthos returned the gesture passionately. Betrayed, by his lover and one of his own kindred! Shaking, he left to avoid and action he would regret.
Hyakinthos laughed and gently slapped Apollon’s arm. “Catch me if you can!” he called as he ran from the God. Apollon immediately gave chase, swiftly catching the young man and pinning him to the grass by the shoulders.
“I caught you,” he teased, kissing the back of Hyakinthos’ neck tenderly. The boy turned underneath him and wrapped his arms around Apollon’s neck.
“I knew you would. Now let me up; you promised to help me with my discus throwing.”
“So I did,” Apollon agreed, kissing him again.
Apollon stood, pulling Hyakinthos to his feet gently. He held up his hand and materialized a bronze discus, evoking an awed gasp from his mortal lover. He handed it to Hyakinthos and smiled, “Throw it and let me see where you need improvement.”
He did and Apollon whistled in appreciation. “I know few mortals that capable. I do not see where you could possibly need improvement save perhaps putting more force behind it.”
Hyakinthos flushed, muttering something self-deprecating as Apollon walked over to the discus and picked it up with a mischievous grin. He turned and smiled at the young prince. “You can throw, but can you catch?”
The boy became indignant, his pert reply sharply affirmative. Apollon smiled more. “Then catch!” he called, throwing the discus back to Hyakinthos. He caught it smoothly and threw it back. Immediately, the lesson turned into a game.
Zephyros watched the tow play with hooded eyes. He had been unable to force himself to leave the glade, but instead watched his betrayers from a tree with his feeling of rage swiftly and steadily increasing. He forced himself to blink and turn away and swiftly departed the glade, his speed ripping several branches from their trees. The two playing discus ignored the violence of the Wind, thinking it was not a sign of Zephyros’ presence but simply coincidence. After all, just because the wind blew, that didn’t mean one of the four Winds was physically present.
“Zephyros, my brother, you seem troubled,” Notos, the God of the South Wind and one of his three brothers, said, his red eyes concerned. “Is there some way I can be of assistance?”
Zephyros glanced back and shook his head, returning his gaze to the rocky cliff below the palace window. “No, but I thank you for the offer, Notos. This I must handle alone, for good or for ill.”
Notos walked over and stood beside him, keeping his own red wings tight against his back to avoid hitting those of his brother. He remained silent for a time, just offering his brother companionship, but his curiosity overwhelmed his caution. “What has troubled you? You seem disturbed or depressed. I wish only to help.”
Zephyros stepped away from the window and began to pace. The more he thought of Hyakinthos’ betrayal, the more his anger seethed within him. Something had to be done, but he did not know what, and he knew Notos would be of no assistance, though he wished to be. He shook his head and responded to his brother’s query. “Nothing of importance, my brother. Do not let it concern you.”
Notos shrugged and rested a hand on his brother’s shoulder. “As you wish, Zephyros. Be well.”
“Be well Notos,” he replied distractedly, already deeply in his thought once again. Suddenly he too immaterial form and swept over the ocean surrounding his tropical island home of Aiolia as he returned to the Grecian mainland and the glade just outside Sparta.
Hyakinthos caught the discus with a grin and threw it back at Apollon. “That was easy!”
Apollon caught it smoothly and shook his head at the young man. He had a bit of a bad feeling, but it was extremely vague. He also had the sense that he was being watched, but yet again, it was too unspecific. Ordinarily, he would shrug one such feeling off, but never had he gotten the two of them at once.
“Apollon, throw it back! Make it hard to catch; I want to run!” Hyakinthos called. “You have made this too easy until now!”
“Oh?” Apollon asked with a raised brow. He grinned at the prince and prepared to throw the discus again; however, this time he planned to use all his force. Hyakinthos would get his run all right.
“Come on! Hurry up!”
Apollon threw the discus and smiled as Hyakinthos gaped, then started running after it. He laughed, almost in shock at how far the discus had gone and was still flying. A strong breeze from the West, one that slightly hampered his movements began as he continued to chase it. As his fingers reached for it, he got distracted by a fluttering piece of cloth to the side. Suddenly the Wind caught the discus and amazingly, turned its direction to the West, straight for Hyakinthos’ head. As the boy turned back to his goal, he felt a great blinding pain in his forehead that caused his body to go limp and his eyes to go black. He slowly crumpled, his thoughts raced. He panicked as the pain seemed to only get worse and he cried out softly, “Zephyros, help me!” Then the pain overwhelmed him and he surrendered to the oblivion.
Apollon stood in shock as Hyakinthos fell, his eyes wide in disbelief and unable to understand what had happened. The shock wore off and he ran to him, kneeling beside the limp form with a cry. Having no care for his fine white clothing, he held Hyakinthos’ body to his chest as blood streamed from the terrible head wound. How could this have happened? There was no reason for the discus to have turned. None.
“How…?” he asked in dazed disbelief, tears streaming down his face. He closed the boy’s eyes and closed his own to stop the tears. As he moved, his hand lightly brushed the blood soaked grass around him and a couple flowers, ones that he did not recognize, sprang up around him, thought he sensed that it was by his own power. He slowly stood and left for a moment to find a shovel.
As soon as Apollon was out of sight, Zephyros took his natural form, tears streaming down his face as he knelt and gently touched Hyakinthos’ cooling cheek.
“What have I done?” he whispered, swallowing slightly. “Why did you leave me? I loved you, Hyakinthos. Why did you leave?”
He mourned silently for several more minutes before rising to his feet, he paused and noticed the flowers born of his lover’s blood. The blood he had spilt. He picked one, sadly admiring its rich purple color and lifted off, forcing his wings to carry him as swiftly as the Wind he could become, relishing the slight strain it caused.
Apollon returned and laid Hyakinthos to rest, leaving the new flowers to mark his grave and missing the signs of Zephyros’ past presence around him. Still distraught, he returned to Olympos to grieve.
“I know you killed him, Zephyros,” Apollon accused some months later. He glared with anger at the Wind God before him. Zephyros avoided his gaze, trying to ignore his presence. His usually artfully windblown wavy bronze gold hair was disheveled, as was his usually impeccable reddish gold tunic. His warm golden eyes were reddened and he seemed to be distracted. “I know it was you, Zephyros; only you could have could have turned my discus from going East to going West.”
Zephyros continued to ignore him, attempting to read through the epic poem he had been reading before the Olympian’s arrival. As he reached for the chalice of nectar beside him, Apollon slammed his hands on the table, making the cup and the Wind God jump.
“Why, Zephyros?” Apollon’s question was both grieved and as cold as winter.
Zephyros sighed and put the scroll aside. The divan he had lounged on groaned as he stood and leveled his own reddened eyes on Apollon. “Why?” he hissed softly. “You dare ask me why?”
Apollon rose up angrily, “He had done nothing to you to-”
“Nothing?!” The wind whistled fiercely through the windows of the spacious and airy palace. “He did as much to me as you, Apollon. You seduced him, and he abandoned me. After all I had given to him, he abandoned me for the prestige being with an Olympian would give him. For prestige, he abandoned, destroyed my love. For the right to be the lover of an Olympian,” the last word was hissed with disgust and rage.
Apollon started to reply and the door slammed open. Both turned to see Notos at the door, looking surprised to see his brother and Apollon fighting. The God of music ignored him to cast a venomous glare on Zephyros. The West Wind returned the glare, with sparked between them.
“Hyakinthos was my lover, Apollon. Mine, and you decided to be your usual thieving self.”
“Thieving? Thieving?!” Apollon began indignantly.
“Yes, thieving. How often Apollon, have you taken the lover of another? Another God, or a mortal? Nor do you keep that prize; you quickly tire and move to another.”
“So why did you kill him?” Apollon snapped, hating the description of himself Zephyros was painting.
Notos stepped forward, wondering if he needed to end this. He had no clue of what was going on, but he knew Zephyros had been badly affected, and he did not like seeing his brother is such pain.
Zephyros blinked the tears from his eyes, “Because I loved him too much to stand seeing him with the likes of you.”
Apollon laughed harshly, “Hyakinthos still loved you. He had expressed, though discretely, his regret and leaving you. When I had, as you say, tired of him, he would have returned to you.”
Zephyros advanced toward Apollon, a near murderous light in his eyes. Notos grabbed him and held him back, though he too glared at Apollon with anger. Apollon smirked tauntingly. “He loved you, and you killed him. You, not I.”
“Go!” Zephyros bellowed in rage. The wind, coming only from the West, echoed his rage, roaring loudly and violently through the windows and knocking Apollon off balance. He laughed, knowing he had touched a sore spot within the West Wind.
“Remember, Zephyros. Hyakinthos still did truly belong to you. And because of you, he belongs to Death now.” With that parting blow, Apollon left, knowing he had triumphed in this battle.
The moment Apollon left, Zephyros sank back to divan and began to week, the candle of his rage snuffed out. Notos sat beside him. “Zephyros, brother, what is going on?”
“Do we really do all this for love?” Zephyros whispered, ignoring his brother’s question. “All this… for something so simple as love?”
“Brother, nothing is simple.”
“Oh?” Zephyros asked harshly. “This is. Never again. Never again will I lose my heart to someone so wild and impermanent as a mortal. And never will I forget this; all this that has been done for love.”
