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Title: Child of Fate
Fandom: Greek Myth
Characters: Apollo, Orestes
Rating: G
Length: 550
Summary: Apollo doesn't like that he sees everything the moment the boy enters his temple. Sees blood as he crosses the floors, Furies when he drops a sweaty handful of barley grains onto the altar, madness when he kneels and folds his hands beneath his chin.

Prophecy is not a kind domain. Apollo doesn't like that he sees everything the moment the boy enters his temple. Sees blood as he crosses the floors, Furies when he drops a sweaty handful of barley grains onto the altar, madness when he kneels and folds his hands beneath his chin. A tortured lifetime before he whispers, "Lord Apollo..."

Apollo makes himself visible. "Orestes, son of Agamemnon." A ten-year-old child, already half an orphan, and destined for so much more.

The boy's teary eyes go wide, then spill over. "My father is dead. They s-say my mother murdered him. I don't know what to do."

Apollo wishes he could tell him to go back to his caretaker and ask for the comfort and reassurance he deserves. He wishes he could tell him to stay far away from his cursed family, that he could burn that selfsame curse from his blood. But Apollo knows how prophecy and fate work. Trying to avoid them often brings them to pass. Staying his tongue, refusing to play his part, may only make things worse.

Apollo sits across from the child. "Orestes, your mother killed your father, her husband and king. He must be avenged."

Orestes is sharp. "By me? How?"

"Her life must be taken in turn."

Orestes stares. "I-I have to kill her?"

"Yes," Apollo tells him, already full of regret for the trials to come and how little he will be able soften them.

The boy's eyes well again, his voice gone tiny. "She killed him because he killed my sister. Will someone kill me too if I do it?"

"No," Apollo is glad to be able to say, "but that doesn't mean you won't suffer for it."

"This is because of my family's curse, isn't it?"

Apollo can feel the thing even now, the sense of wrongness emanating from the still-innocent child before him. The victims of Tantalus and Pelops and Atreus and even Agamemnon screaming for justice, soaking every member of their family with blood.

"Yes, Orestes. I'm sorry." Because even Apollo is powerless in the force of this.

"What if I don't do it?" the boy asks with a little flicker of defiance that makes the god's heart ache.

"Fate will wait until the proper time but will not allow you a choice, Orestes. Things will only be worse for you if you refuse." The child looks away, tears flowing now, and Apollo turns him back with the gentlest of touches. "You will never be alone, though. Your friends will be few but loyal and loving. And I promise you this: after the suffering, real justice will win out."

Still crying, Orestes manages to meet Apollo's eyes and whimper, "I'm scared."

"I know, little one. Come here." Apollo opens his arms, and the boy lurches into them and clings to him, shivering and sobbing. "You have me as well," Apollo murmurs, stroking his hair. "You can call on me as often as you need, and I will help you as much as I can."

Orestes gives a tiny nod against the god's chest. Apollo holds him tight, safe in this moment, safe for the ten years the knowledge and preparation for the fateful act will haunt him.

It's a long time before either of them manages to let go.