The Fall of Icarus (Book 1 in the Apollo series)

Εξι

The nights were no longer too long in the company of Apollo.

His voice was velvety as told Icarus of Greece; his voice was smooth, like silk running across his skin, like the smooth Aegean Sea on a good day. Apollo's voice was a treasure to Icarus, much like the Athena Parthenos in which it described, in its extravagant golden glory. Icarus wanted to hold his voice close to his heart, he wanted to replay it again and again, and he would in his head. He remembered its' calming tones, as it spoke of Lesbos' illustrious poets.

Icarus would also treasure the silence. Sometimes, especially on a low day, Icarus and Apollo wouldn't say anything to each other. They'd sit together, either on the windowsill or in bed, and they'd just keep each other company, because sometimes Icarus didn't want to talk, and sometimes Apollo didn't either.  The silence felt like some kind of peaceful truce between them; a truce of understanding. They didn't always have to talk, they just had to be there for support; and Apollo always was.

The world's weight now seemed lighter on Icarus' shoulders. It didn't seem to burden him so, likely thanks to the newfound, ever-warming company at his side, and Apollo seemed willing to carry part of Icarus' burden; he probably wouldn't carried all of it, had Icarus not insisted otherwise.

Even after spending night after night together, they didn't know much about each other. Icarus knee small amounts about Apollo, but that seemed like a given, since he was a widely worshipped god, (a phrase that'll never sound normal in Icarus' head) and Apollo knew a sparse amount about Icarus, thanks to his frequent prayers: yet there were still gaps in their knowledge of each other, people in their lives left undescribed, years of their lives left unspoken, and yet it was unimportant to them. It seemed more important to know the person sat in front of them, rather than know the person they used to be.

If Apollo had asked, he would've found that Icarus was a carefree child, a boy who lived without consequence. He believed he was going to escape Crete, he believed every word that came out of his father's mouth; he believed in everything. He believed.

These days, Icarus didn't do much believing. He begged and he prayed sure, but before he met Apollo, Icarus thought he was praying to thin air. Before he met Apollo, it felt like he was praying to thin air.

Tonight was different than the other nights, but at first Icarus couldn't tell why. Nothing special or out of the ordinary had happened that day, so what had him feeling so strange?

Around midnight, when Apollo arrived, Icarus found out why. It had not been a 'strange feeling' but rather a 'sense of foreboding'.

"Icarus, tonight I'd like to take you somewhere." He said, as he landed gracefully on the windowsill from wherever.

"You want to take me somewhere?" Icarus questioned, now no longer scared to meet Apollo's warm eyes. "Where?"

Apollo grinned cheekily and walked towards Icarus. He then took ahold of Icarus' hand and began pulling him towards the window. "I want to take you to the sea."

Icarus' eyebrows furrowed and he stopped in his tracks, just before the windowsill. "You want to take me to the sea? But I'm not allowed to leave the palace!" He told Apollo. "What if someone sees? What if someone finds out? I'll be punished!"

Apollo continued to hold Icarus' hand, as if it were his lifeline. "No one will know, no one will see, and you will not be punished. Trust me."

Icarus knew that it would be reckless of him to let Apollo drag him to the sea, because even he could not ensure total secrecy, but he kept ahold of Apollo's hand anyway, against his better judgement.