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Now you may be thinking - why would anyone read a story about me, Apollo, wooing anyone at all? Don't I do that in every story?
You are correct, of course. I am too beautiful not to woo everyone I meet. It must get boring for you mortals to have to read about my success so often.
But this story is a little bit different. I must be clear: I most definitely was successful in my woo-ing endeavors - after all, I am Apollo - but there was one little thing I (quite understandably) did not account for, and that was the pesky talking sword.
Let's set the scene.
I was dallying in Stockholm - I guess it wasn't really Stockholm, then, just a puny little set of mud huts with a tavern - looking for - well, I don't remember, really. Most likely more people to educate on my awesomeness, as up North, they don't get to see me too often.
Anyway. Stockholm. Ish.
Night had fallen early after a snowstorm had begun outside, and I was spending a few drachmae on a drink or two to warm me up. How those Vikings stand that cold, I don't know - I'm more of a SoCal dude, myself.
I was nursing a whiskey, sitting on a barstool, and handsomely glaring at everyone who tried to catch my eye (that's how you get people to go after you, you see), when the bartender set down another glass in front of me.
"I didn't order this," I said, waiting for him to grovel and beg me not to burn him to ashes.
He looked unimpressed. "It's from the one over there," he says, pointing to a corner.
Put off by the distinct lack of groveling, I frowned and whirled around. No one buys me, Apollo, the literal golden boy in this Hades-forsaken snowy -
Oh.
A lean blonde man with a carefully trimmed beard (that looked quite, ahem, satisfying, my traitorous brain whispered) saluted me from a corner table. Despite his pretentious flannel and boots (or maybe it was a fur coat - human fashion changes much too quickly for me to keep up) he was quite handsome, with the rugged look of someone who spends a lot of time outdoors. Besides that, he glowed - not to human eyes, of course, but I could tell that this man was a god much like me - a breath of summer in the storm that battered the wooden walls of the lodge around us.
There was an annoying tinny ringing in my head - either the effects of the alcohol or my instincts and Mom's voice simultaneously screaming to avoid sunny strangers who were too much like me - but I ignored it. This man looked like he needed to be reminded who the real sun god in the room was. And besides, that beard -
Anyway.
"Hello," I said, walking over to his table and perching in the chair opposite. "Thanks for the drink," I added, when he didn't say anything.
He looked amused and sharp all at once, his eyes gleaming. "What's your name?"
"Apollo," I told him instantly. "God of the sun. Pleasure to meet you."
"Oh, I hope so," was all he said. I did not blush.
"And - um, your name?" I asked him, somewhat awkwardly, when it was apparent that all he was going to do was nurse his drink and smirk at me. How dare he.
"Perhaps it's best I don't tell you," he said easily. "Something tells me you and I shouldn't always... mix."
Mix. Interesting word choice, my brain offered, and spiralled into possibility.
No! I told it. We're teaching him a lesson! Who's the best sun god? You are, Apollo.
(Affirmations. Always helpful.)
"Mixing aside," I said, my voice cracking. I swallowed and tried again. "I'm not here to mingle," I told him haughtily. There, that was better. "I'm here to tell you that there can only be one sun god in this joint, and that it will not be you, thank you very much."
"Of course, my apologies, lord Apollo," he said, groveling. "I will leave immediately and never assume sun godly duties ever again. You are too awesome for me."
(What? Of course he said that! Who wouldn't?
.
.
.
Fine, so it went a little more like this:)
"So?" he asked, still grinning.
"So leave," I told him, feeling terribly out of my depth.
He leaned back in his chair (almost more handsomely than me - almost) and crossed one leg over his knee. "It's funny. I was going to say the same to you."
"What?" I asked. "How dare - "
"This is my territory, Apollo," he said. "You forget you journey beyond the borders of your Greek realm."
I did not shiver when he said my name. I did not.
"Too bad," I told him, gathering myself. "I'm more awesome than you, so you need to leave anyway." I was being quite polite, I thought. Mother would be proud - I hadn't even tried to burn him to ashes.
"Fine," he said, knocking back the rest of his drinking and standing up.
"What?" I asked, from my seat. "I mean, good. Beware my wrath."
He chuckled. I stood up indignantly to match him and realized he wasn't actually that much taller than I was. In fact, his aura was more similar to mine than I had realized, except he looked... more relaxed, somehow. Less high-strung. I mean, awesome.
"But I have a condition," he said, lurching me out of my thoughts.
"No," I said, immediately. He grinned again.
"I'll leave... if you come with me."
I stared at him.
"Back to my place, I mean," he clarified, the corners of his mouth twitching behind that insufferable beard.
"I know what you meant," I snapped, and then clapped my hand over my mouth.
(No, foolish mortal, Apollo does not blush. Be quiet or I'll burn you to ashes.)
"Well?" he asked expectantly. "I make a mean lefse."
(Yes, lefse are pancakes, yes, they're breakfast food - I'm not sure what you're getting at. Let me tell the story.)
"I'll think about it," I said, sounding as put-upon as possible.
He grinned like I had already said yes, which was, frankly, rather presumptuous. "Well then, how about another drink while you do?"
I'm not so impolite as to refuse an offer like that.
**************************************
Later
It was getting ever-darker and the snowstorm had begun to peter out, leaving only the occasional blast of wind to flicker the fireplace. Mysterious Hot Blonde God and I were two of the few left in the tavern, and a sleepy silence had fallen over the conversation. He was very handsome in the low light, I thought idly, although that was probably just the alcohol.
"What's that?" I asked, when I had summoned up the wits to form words, pointing to a pendant that hung around his neck.
MHBG, as I had started calling him, looked down. "Oh," he said, his face falling into a frown. "Not what. Who."
I wanted to make him smile again. Probably some strange Norse summer magic that he was giving off. "An ex?" I asked, laughing. I could see the appeal of turning some of my nastier exes into a pendant.
He laughed lightly. "No, not really."
Wow, this man really knew how to hold his tongue. "Well, then, who is it?"
"Just a friend."
"That's what they all say." I pouted cutely to encourage him to elaborate. It didn't work; he smiled and took another sip.
"Fine," I said, standing with grace and definitely not wobbling at all. "If you won't tell me, I'll just have to see for myself." Decisively, I reached forward for his pendant, missing and (quite accidentally, I assure you) grabbing at his chest for a bit before closing my fingers around the necklace.
"Apollo, no - " he began, but it was too late. The triangle pendant popped off in my hand and grew into a full length sword, which began to glow and hovered before me. "Hey, boss," it said cheerfully.
I backed up, crashed into a table, and made a noise that was certainly not a shriek.
"Hans," said MHBG, to his sword. "Let's not - "
"My dear MHBG," I told him, solemnly. "There is someone trapped in your sword."
"M - H - what?" he asked, as the sword (Hans, apparently) said "I'm not trapped, thank you - !"
I decided to answer the easier question first. "You are most definitely trapped," I told Hans, "because you're in a sword. Swords do not talk. Weaponry 101."
"I don't like him, boss," said Hans to MHBG. "He seems a bit..."
"Amazing? Fabulous? Handsome?" I offered.
"Crazy," finished Hans.
"He's not that bad," chuckled MHBG, which filled me with more warmth than surfing at Montauk.
"Yeah, sure, boss, but we talked about this. No more hanging around taverns on Fredag nights to pick up cute gods. Fredag night is bro night!"
"I know, I know," said MHBG tiredly. "But look at him. Do you think I could resist?"
"He is your type," said Hans, which made me like him better. I'm everyone's type. "But you promised."
MHBG sighed again, and turned to me. "Sorry, Apollo," he said, sounding like he meant it. "But I guess you'll get your wish after all."
My wish, at the moment, had changed, but I wasn't about to tell him that. "Good," I told him. "I wouldn't have gone home with you anyway."
His lips twitched. "See you around, then," and leaning in, he brushed his lips to my cheek. His beard tickled my jaw, and the hunting horns hung on the wall spontaneously burst into a rendition of "Ode to Joy."
He laughed for real this time. "Frey, by the way," he said. "That's my name."
"Frey," I said, tasting it in my mouth. His grin became a little sharper, and I swallowed hard. "Thanks for the evening, Frey," I said, just to see his eyes darken.
"It was my pleasure," he responded. We stared at each other for a moment.
"BOSS! Let's go already! Survivor: Niflheim is on!" Hans the sword complained.
"Yes, yes," he said.
"I'll see you around," I told him, which was more honest than I had meant to be.
"I'll look forward to it," he responded, and followed his sword out of the tavern. As the door shut, I shivered. It already felt colder in his absence.
Well, then, I thought, mentally checking Scandinavia off Apollo's List of Places to Make More Awesome with my Mere Presence. Five stars, I thought. 10/10 would return.