Percy Jackson's Greek Gods (Percy Jackson and the Olympians companion #5.5) - Rick Riordan Page 0,111

of art, like tragedy, comedy, docudrama, and whatever. Apollo couldn’t decide between them. They were all too lovely; so he vowed never to marry, just date around.

Only once was he tempted to break that promise. He fell in love and got his heart broken—and it was his own fault.

One afternoon Apollo happened to be walking through the palace at Mount Olympus when he ran across Eros, Aphrodite’s son. The hit man of love was sitting on a window ledge restringing his bow. The kid looked so young, his bow so tiny, that Apollo burst out laughing.

“Oh my gods!” Apollo wiped a tear from his eye. “You call that a bow? Those arrows look like darts. How can you hit anything?”

Eros was seething inside, but he managed a smile. “I do all right.”

“This is a bow, kid!” Apollo pulled out his own golden longbow, made by Hephaestus. “My enemies tremble when they see me coming. I can destroy anyone with a single arrow from any distance! You…well, I suppose you’d be a fearsome gerbil hunter.”

Apollo strode off, still laughing.

Eros gritted his teeth. He muttered to himself, “We’ll see about that, Mr. Big Shot. Maybe you can bring down your enemies, but I can bring down you.”

The next morning Apollo was walking by the riverside in Thessaly, just playing his lyre and enjoying the sunshine, when Eros shot an arrow straight into Apollo’s heart.

By chance, a naiad was bathing nearby—one of the daughters of the local river spirit. Her name was Daphne. By anybody’s standards, Daphne was beautiful. Most naiads were. But the moment Apollo saw her, he thought she was even hotter than Aphrodite. All the other women he’d dated suddenly seemed like complete losers. Apollo decided he had to marry Daphne.

Sadly, like a lot of smart nymphs, Daphne had long ago sworn off dating gods, because bad things happened to their girlfriends. Not all the time, maybe. Just, like, 99.9 percent of the time.

“Hey!” Apollo called out. “What’s your name?”

Daphne leaped out of the water and wrapped herself in her robe. “I’m—I’m Daphne. Please, go away.”

“Oh, Daphne Please-Go-Away,” Apollo said, “I love you! Marry me, and I will make you the happiest naiad in the universe.”

“No.”

“I insist! Come; let me kiss you. I will prove my affection and…Hey, where are you going?”

Daphne ran.

Apollo was fast, but Daphne was faster. Apollo was burdened with his bow and his lyre and he was dazed with love, so he kept stopping to compose new haiku in her honor.

Eventually, though, Daphne began to tire. She reached a cliff that looked out over a canyon. Apollo climbed the slope behind her. There was no way Daphne could double back.

That left her with two options: leap to her death, or agree to marry Apollo. Hearing him spout love poetry, she thought leaping off the cliff sounded pretty good.

In desperation, she tried one last thing: “Oh, Gaea, protector of all nature spirits, hear me! Save me from becoming this god’s girlfriend!”

Gaea took pity on Daphne. Just as Apollo reached the cliff and threw his arms around the naiad, Daphne changed into a laurel tree. Apollo found himself hugging a tree trunk, caressing arms that had turned into branches, running his hands through hair that had become leaves.

Apollo sobbed in despair. “Oh, beautiful naiad! I will never forget you. You were my one true love. You should have been my wife! I failed to win your love, but from now until the end of time, you will be a symbol of victory. Your leaves shall adorn my head, and I will totally start a new fashion trend!”

That’s why you’ll often see pictures of Greeks and Romans wearing laurel wreaths on their heads. Apollo made it stylish. Laurels became a sign of honor. If you won a contest or a sporting event, you got to wear laurels. If you conquered an enemy nation, more laurels! If you got tired of doing amazing deeds and you had enough wreaths to stuff a mattress, you could retire and rest on your laurels!

All because Apollo bragged about his big fancy golden bow.

Eros had the last laugh, but generally speaking, Apollo was right to brag. He was the best archer in the world. Only one person was as good as he was, maybe even better.

That would be his sister Artemis. If you want to read about her, fine. But, guys—be on your best behavior. I’m warning you now: Artemis doesn’t have a sense of humor.

ARTEMIS UNLEASHES THE DEATH PIG

IT’S NOT THAT ARTEMIS