Sparta is city buried between two hills.

Deeply encased in a valley, nourished by the river Eurotas, shielded from the outside world by the towering mountains at both sides. To most it was a city-state shrouded in mystery, to those who lived within it was blissful. But even then, it depended upon who you were.

Much of the city was surrounded by forest, that crawled up the mountainsides until it became nothing more than the odd lone tree providing wispy shade to whatever, or whomever, passed by.

The lonesome trees were popular with the deers that inhabited the area. Often, they would be found basking in the shade like overgrown cats, enjoying the calm until something else came along and disturbed them.

They no longer felt disturbed by Hyacinthus. He sat under the trees so often that they'd grown to recognise him, and feel safe around him. He was like a beacon for them, a call of warm light to guide them somewhere safe; he was kind, welcoming and innocent in a world plagued by corruption.

But by no means was Hyacinthus ignorant. He was a prince after all, he saw the world in its' cruellest forms. That's why he liked the trees so much; they were made of nothing more than pure innocence and quiet gusts of wind.

His favourite tree sat to the slight west of Sparta, on the outskirts of the city not too far from the palace. It was part way up one of the mountains, on an even patch of ground, void of any overly-jagged rocks. The tree stood on it's lonesome, much like Hyacinthus seemed to, surrounded by dried-up, dead grass and a sparse collection of wildflowers that provided relieving colour to the mountainsides in the spring.

Hyacinthus considered it his place. It was one of the few places he had found that his siblings were reluctant to come to. They called him boring. He didn't like to hunt, he wasn't overly fond of the games his father held and he didn't much enjoy the large social gatherings that came with them. He was much more impartial to lying under his tree, watching the clouds (Or indeed the stars.), playing the lyre or, if he was feeling especially adventurous or upset, climbing the Spartan mountains and admiring the views when he came to the summit. He was boring in their eyes, but at the end of the day he wasn't going to amount to anything great. He was the youngest of five and was destined for nothing more than mediocrity, and he was okay with that.

Hyacinthus had spent much of today as he did any other, lazing under his tree in the company of a deer and her fawn, who had joined him at around midday and hadn't moved since. She was sat a slight distance from him, too nervous to come much closer, but Hyacinthus knew she'd get used to him with time. All the other deer in these parts did.

"I think I shall call you Giacinta." He said, as he turned to look at the doe. "That is, unless you already have a name?"

Giancinta blinked and put her head to the ground with a huff, and if to say I don't like it, but it'll do.

"Don't be so picky." Hyacinthus rolled his eyes. "What would you rather I call you?"

Giancinta didn't respond. She seemed reluctant to argue, which was a relief.

He smiled triumphantly. "That's what I thought."

Hyacinthus then closed his eyes and put his hands beneath his head, acting as a cushion for it, because despite the fact that he was lying on his father's generously-sized old cloak, the ground was still hard. Maybe I should bring an actual cushion next time, he thought as he began to doze off.

Key word there begin began, because not a moment later he heard the quiet crunching of small rocks beneath walking feet and the cold touch of someone's hand on his shoulder.

"Hyacinthus." Polyboea said softly. "It's time for dinner, father told me to come and find you."

His father probably picked her strategically. Polyboea was the only sibling he remotely got along with, and had he sent Argalus, Cynortus or Laodamia, he probably would've refused to return. He probably sent Polyboea to find him because he knew Hyacinthus was more likely to listen to her.

They were similar in age, only a year separating them, and they had similar interests, though Polyboea was more extroverted than him. She was more inclined to enjoy banquets and large social gatherings, but she could also gleefully discuss the latest performance at the amphitheatre, or could quite contently listen to him pluck the strings on his lyre.

She likely would've come to find him at some point, but it probably wouldn't have been until after dinner.

Hyacinthus opened his eyes and saw Polyboea's sprightly-looking face staring back. Her lips were curved into a soft smile and in the setting sun she looked like a goddess, blessed by the sky.

"Come on." She pressed, though still managing to look blithe. "The food will go cold if we wait much longer."

Hyacinthus quickly rose to his feet and gathered the cloak off of the ground before throwing it around his shoulders, spooking Giancinta and her fawn in the process and sending them running off into the hills. He made a mental note to apologise to her later, and then made another mental note to remind himself that she is in fact, a deer.

It took a few minutes for them to walk back to the palace, down the side of the mountain, through the forest and past the fields, and eventually Polyboea paused outside of the dining hall and gave him a small, unstrung smile.

"I'll see you after dinner." She said, resting her hand gently on his shoulder. "Maybe you could show me some songs on your lyre."

He nodded

She turned away and walked further down the corridor to where the women of the house, his mother, herself and their other sister Laodamia, dined. Sometimes (The majority of the time.) Hyacinthus wished he could dine with them, rather than his father and brothers.

He sighed, and before stepping into the dining hall, he looked to the sky and prayed: Dear gods, let me survive this dinner.

Hyacinthus walked into the dining hall with a manufactured aura of ignorant confidence and blissful unawareness, and found his father Amyclas seated at the table's  head, with Argalus seated to his left and Cynortas seated to his right, all looking at him expectantly with food on their plates. They'd placed a third plate, his plate, next to Argalus and so he sat there.

Such a fact relieved him, Cynortas liked to poke fun at him and attempt to antagonise him at any opportunity. Argalus, whilst appearing nothing more than indifferent to Hyacinthus, was at least was capable of acting civilised and as a man of his age, rather than an insolent toddler incapable of holding his tongue.

"Hyacinthus." His father smiled falsely. Such a thing was clear, it faltered too much to be real. In his twenty years of life, Hyacinthus wasn't sure if he'd ever seen his father smile genuinely. "We thought you'd never arrive, we were going to begin without you."

Hyacinthus sat down quickly, with a smile on his face to match his father's. "Sorry, father. I came as quick as I could." He replied simply. He'd learnt long ago that excuses weren't of much help here. "I lost track of time."

"Lost track of time doing what, exactly?" Cynortas replied. "Napping under that stupid tree, or playing that irritating thing you call a lyre?"

Hyacinthus frowned, as did Argalus.

"You shouldn't speak so ill of a god's blessed instrument." Argalus said, as they all began to eat. "Who knows what curse Apollo could bestow upon you for saying such things."

Cynortas scoffed. "Apollo has yet to curse me with anything more sunburn, even when I have said worse."

"I wouldn't be so sure of that." Hyacinthus said, his face growing a slightly impish grin. "I believe he may have already cursed your face."

"We have the same parents, how can you insult my face?" He frowned, before looking to his father for support. Amyclas continued to eat, feigning unawareness.

"Yes, we may indeed have the same parents but it appears Aphrodite has only blessed one of us, and it certainly isn't you."

Hyacinthus swore he heard the slaves pouring the wine choke on air, before hastily excusing themselves. Amyclas' eyes widened and Argalus smack him lightly on the shoulder.

"Now Hyacinthus." Amyclas said, putting his spoon down. "I think that's enough of that. If you intend to brawl with your brother, save it for after dinner. I don't want to have to clear anything up."

Hyacinthus smiled at Cynortas and regarded that as a victory. There was no doubt in his mind that Cynortas would later find a way to beat him back, but he was going to revel in it for as long as he could. His victories came far and few between.

Cynortas was glaring daggers at him for the rest of dinner. Conversation remained light, on Argalus' recent engagement to the Messenian princess Pherenike and Polyboea's decision to become a priestess of Athena, which displeased their parents greatly. There was also a lot of political talk between their father, Argalus and Cynortas that Hyacinthus didn't understand (He was the third son. The only way he would ever become king was through a great tragedy. Or, a great miracle.) and so he ended up sitting in silence for the most of dinner, occupying himself with thoughts of what shall I do tomorrow and I wonder if there is anything on at the amphitheatre tomorrow?

Hyacinthus was the first to leave the table once the slaves had cleared the plates away. He rose almost immediately and nodded politely at his father. "I going to excuse myself now, father." He said. "I'll see you tomorrow."

"I was planning on going hunting with Argalus and Cynortas tomorrow. Would you be willing to join us?" He asked, awkwardly swallowing a mouthful of wine.

"What a ridiculous question." Cynortas muttered. When he realised everyone else at the table had heard him, he rolled his eyes and spoke up. "He doesn't hunt father, you know that. He'd rather frolic and gossip with Polyboea. You may as well plait his hair and dress him in a peplos at this point."

Hyacinthus frowned at his brother. There was no tone of jest in his voice as there had been before. "This-" He pointed at Cynortas. "-is why I don't go hunting with you."

He turned and left the dining hall, without so much as a word to anyone else. For a moment, he paused outside the door to the hall where his sisters and mother were eating; they were laughing, smiling and talking. This is why Hyacinthus wanted to eat with them; they spoke jovially, less judgementally. They wouldn't berate him for what he chose to do with his free time. He wouldn't be made fun of.

Hyacinthus didn't stick around.

He walked hastily passed, wiping his eyes as he did so. He ignored passing, confused glances from slaves and ran up the stairs, past his room and out onto the roof terrace.

The roof terrace overlooked the whole city, and by extension the whole valley. There wasn't much of the city to see; it was dark outside and all Hyacinthus could see were the small flickers of lit torches and light spewing out of windows. He could still see the sky though.

The sky, although dark, was littered with stars. They were bright and shining, forming shapes and constellations that Hyacinthus liked to look at and spot. This night, the moon was accompanying the stars, curled into Artemis' crescent. It still looked as beautiful as it did when it was Selene's whole.

Hyacinthus wished he could say the same for himself.

He sat in the centre of the roof terrace and laid down on the tiles. It wasn't particularly comfortable, he'd handed his father's old cloak to a slave on his way into dinner, but he made do with it. The tiles were hard and cold, but they served to remind him that he was alive.

Hyacinthus watched the night sky for a while, and whilst he thought the moon was beautiful, he thought to himself:

I think I like the sun more.