Based on this [idea] of Apollo being in snake form whenever he's with Orestes, symbolizing their dynamic, but this time, it's when Orestes is older.
Or at least, that was what he thought he said to Apollo. In truth, he gave a response that never bodes well for any moral: No.
The snake didn’t respond, instead choosing to remain loosely coiled around Orestes’ shoulder.
Apollo started doing this way back in Phocis, never having fully grasped how resting on anyone's chest when they wake up would scare anyone. It was to make it easier to travel, he insisted, and to be closer when he needed protection.
A tight knot used to form around his stomach, but Alexicacus Apollo kept his word, blowing all his fears away.
As such, this has become so familiar over the years that Orestes barely noticed anymore.
But then the snake coiled another loop around his neck, barely enough to choke, but Orestes stiffened.
Too warm. Too wet. His skin prickled against his sleeves, and suddenly he was aware of every scale touching him and every breath that passed through his lungs.
The lack of anger in his voice made it worse. At least then he would know what to do.
Glowing eyes illuminated the shadowy temple room, and Orestes refused to meet them.
"Who protected you when the Furies came? Defended you in Athens when no one else would? Gave you victory over Achillides? Returned white-armed Hermione into your arms? Made your name name to all? An exile from Phocis into lord over all Danaans?"
Orested wanted to answer. He wanted to say that he remembered; never forgot that every kingdom beneath his feet, every honor bestowed upon him, and every moment with Hermione had been touched by Phoebus.
"Did I make an error, Atrides?” Apollo tilted. “Would you like to be that boy again?"
Suddenly, he was no king over the Argives. No husband of Hermione. No killer of Neoptolemus.
A boy who spent years waiting, waiting for an end to a life that was too bleak.
Orestes’ shoulders drew inward. He tried to breathe quietly as though the very sound of his breath might end him. His legs felt weak beneath him, and he hated himself for it.
He cannot be weak. He had to show Apollo that he made the right choice in choosing him, and that those years of protection weren’t wasted. He was still worthy of his love.
Apollo watched him for a moment that felt forever before the question came again, softer than before.
Orestes’ face looked up with the god’s tail lifting his chin.
The pressure around Orestes’ neck disappeared, but he could still feel where the scales had been, like if he were a branded cattle.
All the while, Apollo settled against his shoulders, and, as though nothing had happened, nuzzled his cheek.
But Orestes remained perfectly still.
He had assumed he understood their relationship. Patron and king. God and faithful mortals.
He had made the first wrong move in their dance.
He would not make that mistake twice.
