The years passed in molasses.
Ever-ageing Time waited on no man nor woman.
A coffin of glass laid unmoving in the main courtyard of Castellan, and inside, the daughter of the sea laid bare for all to see.
(With a heavy heart, it is Apollôn and Hermês who preserve her body from falling victim to the rays of Hêlios. Her spirit hovered within the veil between the living and the dead as Haidês refused her entry into his realm.)
It was only three years after everything that had occurred and Sparta was still feeling the aftermath. Poseidôn and Apollôn had raged for weeks.
It had taken the combined strength of the entire Olympian council alongside the council of the Halioi to keep the two from wiping the kingdom off the map.
It was shameful really as Amyklas,son of Lakedaimon, remembered how Poseidôn sent forth a beast to rage against the lands of Troy after King Laomedon refused payment and gratitude for their glorious walls. And now years later, his daughter fell victim to a fatal strike that was fated for the son of Amyklas.
Oh, how Amyklas grieved.
He should have known that this day would come when his daughters, Phylonoe and Polyboea carried up to heaven by the goddess Fates whilst in the service of the goddess Artemis. And when he saw all the suitors that loved his son... he should have known that his time with Hyakinthos would end prematurely.
The king had grieved loudly as his heart threatened to spill from his body. He had fallen sick on his deathbed, clinging to Life like a child to a toy. His youngest child... his beautiful beloved son.
There had been days where he could not see it fit to move himself from Hyakinthos' side even as Poseidôn raged against the entire country of Lacedaemon.
Even as Apollôn had to be halted in his pursuit of Zephyros, chasing after the west wind as the wrath that he usually secreted away in his smile lit his eyes like a funeral pyre. It had taken the soothing words of Artemis and the harsh truths of Hermês to be convinced to go away to Delos to make peace with grief and fury for he had done something that he may regret.
Lucian, Dialogues of the Gods 16 (trans. Fowler) (Greek satire C2nd A.D.) :
Hermês: Hyakinthos? he is not dead?
Apollôn: Dead.
Hermês: Who killed him? Who could have the heart? That lovely boy!
Apollôn: It was the work of my own hand.
Hermês: You must have been mad!
Apollôn: Not mad; it was an accident.
Hermês: Oh? and how did it happen?
Apollôn: He was learning to throw the quoit, and I was throwing with him. I had just sent my quoit up into the air as usual, when jealous Zephyros (damned be he above all winds! he had long been in love with Hyakinthos, though Hyakinthos would have nothing to say to him)--Zephyros came blustering down from Taygetos, and dashed the quoit upon the child's head; blood flowed from the wound in streams, and in one moment all was over. My first thought was of revenge; I lodged an arrow in Zephyros, and pursued his flight to the mountain. As for the child, I buried him at Amyklai, on the fatal spot; and from his blood I have caused a flower to spring up, sweetest, fairest of flowers, inscribed with letters of woe.--Is my grief unreasonable?
