Chapter Text
Mount Taygetos was a lovely place to hunt, and one of the few particular places Apollo and Artemis hunted alone together in, no nymphs or current favourites, no dogs.
They'd left their mother behind in Sparta, to view the war dances while they hunted, always such a spectacle. Apollo most often attended them, to be sure, but time with Artemis was important, and so they'd continued on themselves. Flying back over the mountain now and out over the Eurotas valley, Apollo smiled down at the sun-drenched land below, speckled with trees and fertile fields. A beautiful place, and he didn't mind sharing it or its people with Ares. With Hera, was a different matter, but there was little to do about that.
Sharing with his sister and mother was, of course, a non-issue, and was simply as it should be. It'd been a surprise that after the Lakedaemonians took to Ares and Hera in such a way, that they might be interested in any other gods, even if Ares couldn't easily cover all domains they might wish to turn to the Deathless Ones for. Especially when the very queen of heaven had persecuted Leto before the twins' birth as she had, one might think the Lakedaimonians would be uninterested in one of the children born from a woman so scorned by their patron goddess. But then Amyklas of Sparta had married Diomede, a granddaughter of his, and she'd insisted on a shrine being built to her divine grandfather in the town her husband founded at the spot they had the wedding.
So here they were now, and the summer was Apollo's, with its feasts and heat, and with the children of Sparta dancing and singing to Apollo like the warriors did to Ares.
They were going down to both join their mother and view the rest of the festivities, of course, but Apollo slowed his chariot to watch from above. They'd missed the girls' singing, which was a pity, but there would be more later. At the moment there were male youths in armour down there on the ceremonial grounds within the temenos of the sanctuary for his temple that was only barely older than some of the boys down there, dancing in snaking lines. Shields and helmets flashed in the light and the young men who wore them were of the age that they had only within a year or two begun their weapons' training.
"Apollo? Come on, we can watch them from the ground!" Artemis called, impatiently shaking her reins, which made the antlered does pulling her chariot nervously tramp the air, but they otherwise kept still.
"You can go down, Artemis. I'm going to observe from up here for a little while. The view is entirely different."
It wasn't as if he couldn't see them perfectly well like this, with divine sight offering all clarity he might need. Artemis huffed and, after a moment or two, did set her deer to moving again, descending around the temenos in a narrowing spiral. Beyond was Amyklai, the town a commemoration of a wedding and a way to spread Sparta's influence, as well as take some of the city's growing population so the palace wouldn't be overtaxed, but that offered little interest at the moment.
It was, after all, the young men below that held Apollo’s attention, as it should be when they were working so very hard both to show off and to honour their gods.
They were good, strong boys, clever on their feet and carrying the armour well, but by now they would have to begun to tire. Some were slowing, or messing up the steps, others held their shields lower than the others. Only a bare few were still fresh as if they'd only recently stepped up into the dance, and Apollo watched them with enjoyment. Ares would undoubtedly already know who they were to keep an eye on them, but he'd make sure Ares did know of these particular ones, just to be sure. They would need the best if they were to grow into men as glorious as they promised to become.
Soon, Apollo was glancing between two particular youths, matched as they were in skill and energy despite the sweat turning their limbs gilded in the heavy sunlight. One of them had sleek tresses that seemed bronzed in the light, matching his armour. The other, a little taller, had long, hair as dark as hard, heavy wood in thick, luscious curls where they fell past shoulders that might yet grow a little broader still as the youth aged. He wore an actual boar's tusk helmet, reinforced and detailed by metal bands around the forehead and demarcating each diminishing tier of ivory. His bare feet past the greaves were quick, his toes well-formed, and the hand that clutched the strap of the shield was long-fingered but broad.
Must be one of Amyklas' sons.
The boy looked up, offering a bare flash of eyes dark as a shaded pool hidden in the deepest forest, where only deer and wolves go to drink, the water perfect and still and always cool thanks to the huge, heavy trees to shelter it. Apollo felt like he'd been slapped. The youth closed his eyes, tilting his head, and the cut of the firming jaw, still smooth and unshaded by any shy growth of hair, cast a shadow onto the sleek neck.
Apollo, great, glorious god and the favourite son of the king of the gods, in little need of breath, still found himself unable to breathe.
With shaking hands he abruptly urged his horses into movement and steered them heedlessly downwards. He needed to get a closer look. He needed to hear the youth talk, he wanted to know what he was like, if the promise he offered the eyes would be fulfilled by knowing his mind. Still, Apollo didn't stride into the dance visible for all to see. He didn't even take human guise to blend in among the audience, or make himself a conspicuous late addition to the dance. No, Apollo drew a veil of shimmering air and misdirection about himself and stood at the front edge of the audience, shifting between arms crossed over his chest and his arms draped down his sides, hands tightened into fists.
Five dancers became three, and then two. Two who turned the line that was no longer one into a mock battle by flawlessly turning towards each other in twisting spins, their shields skating past each other. Half-kicks and perfect placement of feet never quite touching their opponent as they stepped where the other had just been and their swords used as much as twirling batons for dance as mimicking feints and strikes that would have been useful in a real fight, but now were only there to enhance the way they turned towards, and away, from each other.
Amyklas' son had a smile that was as charming as it was biting in its challenge. It made those dark eyes sparkle, lit up by the sun and just barely shadowed by the helmet. This close, Apollo could see a suggestion of a shade to them that in less bright light would suggest the crying colours of the larkspur, vibrant and near otherworldly.
Finally, the prince’s opponent staggered, putting a foot wrong, and under laughing surrender sank to his knees with greaves and shield ringing bronze against the stone. He bent his head under the sword cutting through the air above his helmet as the other youth twirled, then tapped the metal with his sword.
"You win this year, Hyacinthus."
"This is a dance, not a battle, Enkhelyawon!" Hyacinthus laughed, but the glow of ruddy victory was undeniable on his face, and he was pleased. He was not an arrogant victor, however, and offered Enkhelyawon his hand with an easy smile as soon as he'd sheathed his sword, and the youth proved not to be a sore loser and took it, allowing himself to be helped to his feet.
Hyacinthus had a laugh Apollo wanted to hear more of, though at this point any other conclusion would have seemed not just impossible, but an insult to Hyacinthus himself, as if he would be a meaner figure than suggested from what had already been displayed. Despite that, Apollo did not drop his cloaking air, but he also didn't leave to join his mother and sister. Instead he lingered some distance away from behind Hyacinthus until, in the late afternoon, the young man was playing escort to his two sisters for flower picking. Or rather, he had been summarily kidnapped for the purpose of being draped as a victor deserved, particularly by his younger sister, and his older brothers had not helped him.
Apollo couldn't have asked for a better opportunity to approach the Lakedaemonian prince.
He still didn't approach Hyacinthus as himself, or even with his divinity obviously on display, reasoning it might be better to be circumspect, this time. He borrowed a couple nearby cattle, tucked himself in small, hiding the light and perfection away for the simpler physicality of pretend mortality. Of course, as a mortal youth Apollo still had his long hair, shining in the sun, bright, blue eyes and the sleek, long limbs of a boy teasing into manhood, like a half-grown colt just about ready to bear a man on his back, or the shackles of a chariot's leather traps and wooden yoke, but not yet knowing of the labours that would come, and so tearing down grass-rich meadows with the careless abandon of joy in his own freedom and strength.
Attempting to herd cattle when one's attention was somewhere else entirely proved to be a challenge, even for a god.
Apollo nearly stumbled once, almost walked into a cow's flank another time, and finally found himself eating grass, much like his new, temporary charges were, when he was caught staring by the youngest sister. She called out, pointing, and Apollo turned sharply away only to get thumped in the stomach by the nearest cow turning her head to lean affectionately against what had been Apollo's turned back.
It was so unexpected, Apollo toppled over, swallowing both surprise and grunt as he fell.
Grass swayed in his vision, the cow was poking a silky, soft nose against his butt in curious concern, lowing quietly, and someone was laughing. Apollo narrowed his eyes, but the laughter cut off not for anything he did, but rather the girl in question being hushed, and then there was a shadow over him. It didn’t soothe the bubbling annoyance at having witnesses to his thoroughly embarrassing spill. But Apollo looked up into dark brown eyes that, in the shadow cast, revealed flecks of blue, similar to Hermes', but more towards a bruised twilight colour, and he forgot everything else. Hyacinthus really did live up to his name in at least this way.
"Are you all right? Here."
The prince offered his hand to what by all accounts should look to him to be a common cowherd, and Apollo's insides quivered with the heat of the hand around his, even mortal as it was. He didn't need the help, but he let Hyacinthus pull him to his feet anyway. Nineteen and strong, his burgeoning muscles revealed themselves with the heave to bring Apollo upright.
"I'm fine," he said tightly, already having forgotten the laughter and more annoyed at himself for having fallen at all. The Deathless Ones did not stumble, did not get unbalanced by a cow unexpectedly smacking into their back! His little pinky finger alone in truth weighed more than the whole cow entire, and yet he'd ended up face-first on the ground. How did such a thing happen, when he was not actually mortal? Truly, it was lucky he had not approached Hyacinthus with no disguise. "I didn't expect anyone else to be here. I apologize for disturbing you and your sisters, my prince."
Only afterwards did Apollo consider that such fine speech might not fit a cowherd who, by all appearances, wasn't royal born, but Hyacinthus hadn't seemed to notice. In fact, he was silent, and only shuddered back into what seemed full awareness as he blinked, looking away from Apollo and then back.
"Oh, you certainly saved me for a couple moments at the very least," Hyacinthus said, laughing. "I am being held captive until I can be granted a proper garland for my victory at the celebration today."
Despite the exasperation on the young man's face, the look he shot towards his sisters, especially his younger one, was soft. Apollo found himself smiling, and perhaps not minding that he had been laughed at. He knew what it was to have aggravating sisters you loved very much.
"A victory such as that deserves a proper reward, my prince. You danced very well." Perhaps Apollo's voice dipped into a gilded edge, perhaps it rose up into immortal perfection, just for a couple syllables, for Hyacinthus was staring, and a little blush fought against his burgeoning tan. Apollo and Hyacinthus both cleared their throats at the same time as they broke their shared stare. Hyacinthus dipped his head, a grin on his face.
"Thank you. I'll only be satisfied if I should be able to repeat it three years running, but with the grace of Phoibos Apollo, with his hair unshorn and watching over contests, I don't see why I shouldn't be able to make it!" Hyacinthus waved and wandered back to his sisters, urged on by the youngest, calling insistently and holding up a flower crown that was only slightly lopsided. The older one was working on a proper garland to go with the crown, but Hyacinthus bent for the crown as if it was the actual prize given for winning a contest.
Apollo, meanwhile, stood there with a hand to his chest. He had been given nothing that wasn't his due, and Hyacinthus had said the words earnestly, pious words worthy of anyone who wished to pull off the feat he did, honouring both his own skill and the god who might grant him glory for the effort. Still, he was warmly pleased, and only remained in the field long enough for the three royal children of Amyklas to be securely distracted by each other before he took the cows back to the little herd they truly belonged in, turned himself into a raven, and flew over to meet his sister and mother.
After that, despite his embarrassment, Apollo could not, of course, stay away.
The next time he met Hyacinthus was out in the forest, this time choosing his guise and the moment better. Something that would be of more use and a better excuse to keep meeting the Lakedaemonian prince with a single face and persona, if not entirely his own.
"No other companions with you, my prince?" Apollo walked out from the trees that shaded the spring Hyacinthus had chosen to rest at, a couple hunting javelins at his feet. Mount Taygetos rose up behind them, the mountain's foothills spread out around them. It was certainly a good place to hunt, as Apollo well knew, but it also had more than a couple boars, animals which certainly shouldn't be encountered alone by a mortal hunter, especially when one was without even dogs.
This time he did not stumble, and it was instead Hyacinthus who jerked, nearly falling off the rock he was sitting on as he looked up, wide-eyed for a moment. Apollo almost paused to straighten his kilt, though it needed little straightened, but he was just so terribly pleased at having made a proper impression this time.
"I saw you from up there," he added, pointing up at a cliff quite handily overlooking the little valley, "and while I wouldn't question your skill at hunting, Prince Hyacinthus, surely you would usually have dogs with you, at the very least?"
Apollo knew the current crop of dogs the royals of Lakedaemonia used were certainly great, for they came from two of Artemis' hunting hounds that she'd agreed to let him gift to Lapithes. It made them uncommonly loyal and eager hounds, ready to obey commands as other dogs may not. Hyacinthus having some of them with him while roaming these hills would make Apollo feel better.
"Did my brothers send you after me to scold me for escaping without both human and canine companions?" Hyacinthus laughed as he stood up, picking up his javelins. "I merely wished to challenge myself."
The heart of the Lakedaemonians had certainly bred true, such as it was already taking shape to become, and Apollo smiled. "Perhaps, but don't think of me as an obstacle to that. I will follow at your side, but not aid you unless you ask for it, how's that?"
Besides, he did want to both spend some actual time with Hyacinthus, find a suitable moment to reveal himself, as well as to get a better idea of what Hyacinthus could do. Watching from afar was just not enough, or the same. Running alongside him, seeing those muscles move, the sun catching in his hair and gilding his tanned skin, was something altogether different. He would also get a better idea of what aid in teaching Hyacinthus he could lend, if he was right there beside him, too.
Hyacinthus eyed him narrowly, but even before he smiled Apollo felt a dawning light in his heart, for Hyacinthus' eyes were warm, despite the stare, and he couldn't quite look away from him. Of course he couldn't, but Apollo did to all appearances seem nothing but mortal at the moment, which made the risk Hyacinthus might reject him greater, however small it was.
All he could see on Hyacinthus' face, however, was, he thought, potential interest. Potential interest was all Apollo needed.
"All right, yes." Hyacinthus smiled and hefted one of his javelins. "If you can keep up with me, that is!"
Smirking, with a light in those dark brown eyes and a flash of teeth that pierced Apollo as surely as if Hyacinthus had thrown his javelin, Hyacinthus ran off, quiet and light on his feet. A moment, and then Apollo smiled tightly and gave chase. Though he was torn between the sweet success of running Hyacinthus down as quickly as possible and the surprise that would surely garner and the satisfaction for his eyes and spirit in following behind the fleet-footed prince for a while, Apollo compromised between those two options, though it almost hurt his immortal heart to do so.
Not so quickly that he deprived himself of the enjoyment of a couple flashes of smoothly moving limbs through dappled sunlight and shadow, not so slowly he would be anything but exceptional when he caught up to the Spartan prince. And when Hyacinthus didn't so much as twitch when Apollo leaped out, but focused on throwing his javelin at the deer he'd caught up to even as he threw Apollo a wide-eyed look, Apollo was impressed.
Perhaps it was cheating to give the javelin a gentle nudge to ensure it would hit straight, but Hyacinthus deserved his kill.
"Blessed Artemis, thank you!"
Suppressing a growl and a grimace both, Apollo allowed himself the tiniest of sighs. He supposed he could let his sister have that one. Particularly so when Hyacinthus immediately turned towards him, wide smile on his face.
"I've never had someone catch up with me that quickly! And do it without chasing off what prey I was hunting, as well."
Definitely could let Artemis have the gratitude for the kill, for Hyacinthus' stare was bright and intent on him. Admiring, plain as it was, and while his divinity was due worship, there was always something quite thrilling in this sort of unassuming admiration as well.
"What was it I said, my prince? You'll have no cause to complain of my company," Apollo said, and pleased, tossed his head towards the deer as much for the gesture as for how he knew the light would catch in the stream of his hair, mostly unbound, and Hyacinthus did not disappoint him. "Let us deal with your well-earned kill."
Apollo, glorious, far-shooting Apollo, focused as he was on Hyacinthus, the way the prince was still catching his breath and the light in his eyes as well as terribly pleased with the lingering look to his own tresses, did not look where he put his feet. Divine as he was, he should not need to pay such attention, but Apollo always forgot himself when struck too deeply in his flawless, faultless heart, and the stone was half hidden by a tangle of low, thorny bush.
He stumbled.
"Ah---!" Hyacinthus lunged forward, mortal reflexes for once enough in the face of divine distraction, and Apollo was caught by a hand around his arm, wide eyes studying him earnestly as he was needlessly steadied. Twice, now. How was he supposed to reveal himself to Hyacinthus when he could not even walk straight in front of him? "You catch up to me so easily, and yet stumble while walking. Is your aim as great as your running?"
Hyacinthus' smile was teasing, but not malicious, and Apollo, teeth gritted, let go of his humiliation. Hyacinthus' smile was worth it, and if Hyacinthus wasn't even mocking someone he could by all reasonable means be sure he would catch no consequences from giving some well-deserved ribbing, Apollo supposed his secrets would be safe with him, when he did reveal himself.
Not now, though. He was feeling a bit too bruised to do it now.
"If you have some patience, I can prove my aim and more, my prince," Apollo said and smiled, his mood instantly lightened when he caught the faint burn of a possible blush on Hyacinthus' tanned face.
Yes, he would wait a little with revealing himself.
Never mind that he had had other young men and women tumbled no later than a first meeting as what had already passed. Never mind that he came up with more and more excuses for waiting yet a little longer, despite that that meant he hadn’t gotten so much as to kiss Hyacinthus yet. The chance the Lakedaemonian prince might reject him sat cold in Apollo's heart and stayed his words and half his touches, as rarely happened. Daphne had been a sharp lesson, and Bolina had been another, though at least he had been quick enough to ensure she didn’t kill herself because of him. He hadn't been able to stop pursuing Daphne until Gaia had opened up to receive her despairing daughter, young as he had been. He had been able to let go of Bolina, but not before she, too, had been willing to face death rather than him.
Could he do the same for Hyacinthus? Could he stop before he had to resort to turning him into a daimon, stop before he had to make him immortal, if Hyacinthus chose to flee him and into death instead? Could he stop at all, even older now, because truth was, Apollo could barely look at Hyacinthus and not feel his heart quivering for just that simple sight of him. Hyacinthus smiling was as sweetly perfect as a rich hekatomb of sacrifice - more than that - and the thought of it turning into anger, into fear, made it terribly easy to find excuses to hide himself behind.
Excuses meant he did not yet need to turn this into a potential chase. Excuses meant there was no risk. Excuses meant it was terribly hard to deal with Hyacinthus, who had some very interesting questions and was not afraid of voicing them whenever they were alone, head tipped back and his eyes thoughtful on the sky, or whatever it was he was musing about.
"What is it bees even gain from visiting flowers, when there's nothing there that looks like honey? If they can make it all themselves, why do we find bees around flowers like ardent worshippers at shrines and temples?" Hyacinthus asked, hand shading his face as he stared out at the field around them, no bows or spears in their hands today. The weather was hot enough even the short kilt, hugging Hyacinthus' hips and ass like Apollo wished to do, seemed like too much clothing for the prince, a fine sheen of sweat covering bronzed skin.
It was three months since he'd first laid eyes on Amyklas' youngest son, and Apollo was going mad as much from his own wanting desire as from being unable to explain as he wanted to, as he was able to, as he should be able to. Apollo drew a breath and immediately had to let it go, teeth clenching down around words, around phrasing, he should have no reason to know as a mortal youth. Words and phrasing not even the most learned man in all the world would know yet.
"I know I should probably take these sort of questions to the priests, especially Phoibos', but what do you think, Aigletes?"
"Why do flowers reach for the sun?" Apollo shrugged, biting the inside of his cheek and feeling a little like he was killing himself. "Perhaps the bees attend flowers for the same reason the flowers turn their bright faces to the sun, beseeching its light and warmth. I wouldn't know, my prince."
Technically that wasn't even wrong, as such. Flowers needed the sun for sustenance, as bees needed flowers for the same, but couching it in such language and having to cap it off with the nonchalant I wouldn't know, pained him. Prophecies were given straightforward or with a multiplicity of meaning, for that was the nature of the thing, whatever served the gods, fate and necessity best, but explanations of how the world worked was only a mystery to mortals right now because they hadn't yet reached the ability to see it as it was yet. He could not explain all, but something like this was harmless, and Hyacinthus' questions were clever enough. They deserved answers. But Aigletes, Lakedaemonian noble youth, would not have answers as what Apollo, radiant god of knowledge, prophecy and music, would.
And thus he was suffering, for more than one reason.
"I suppose so," Hyacinthus sighed, and Apollo blinked, refocusing on the young man beside him and not staring out at the horizon, filled to the brim with pained pining like a cup forgotten out under the sky during a night of hard rain, left there with the water that wasn't even supposed to fill it almost straining to spill over the edge but by pure, torturous chance not able to.
Had Hyacinthus been eyeing him? Well, if he had, Apollo would be glad for it, except the narrow look hadn't been quite what he would want to see from his prince when aimed at him. Now Hyacinthus' face was clear once more, with only a little twist to his pursed lips to give any hint as to the content of the earlier glance. He was frustrated, Apollo could tell, and resigned, though trying to hide it under unanswered curiosity. Frustrated about said curiosity going unsolved, undoubtedly. Hyacinthus was terribly inquisitive, of which Apollo approved, but it was also killing him.
"It's a pity we can't just ask the bees themselves." Grinning at Apollo over his shoulder, Hyacinthus sped up, long, lean legs eating up the ground as he walked out into the middle of the field before he stopped, tossing his arms out.
Hyacinthus was truly a descendant of his father and a son any great nymph might ask for; he was tall and handsomely broad-shouldered, but not in a way that left him looking clumsy, merely tapered and with his longer legs to weigh up the broadness at the top. Someone who could carry one of those huge shields well and not be burdened by his long spear, skilled from the chariot and on the ground both. Apollo had also seen Hyacinthus with a lyre, and his fingers were quick and clever; he had a feeling for both art and war - or the art of war as well as the art of music.
"Does it matter? The bees will go about their business whether you know why or not," Apollo said as he caught up, his shoulder brushing against Hyacinthus' as he stopped beside him. Had to suppress a shiver from the electric feel of hot skin against hot skin, and wished he could grab the youth by his shoulders and turn him around to face him, wished he could kiss him.
"That's what Argalus and Harpalus would both say, but I don't wish to better the works of bees or the course of the sun and moon, I just want to know why! Why those things, and why the sky changes colour!" Hyacinthus exclaimed, looking up at the blue dome above them, shining and bare of even the smallest trace of clouds. "And if such works truly are the knowledge of the gods meant for them alone, I will satisfy myself with that, but I can't help but wonder, Aigl---ah?"
Apollo yanked Hyacinthus to face him, clutching his shoulders like he'd wanted, though less as a caress and more in frustration. His fingers were digging in to deep, for Hyacinthus winced. Apollo eased his grip, silently cursing his carelessness. That tanned skin was very soft under his hands.
"Your curiosity do you honour, Hyacinthus, never think otherwise. There are things for mortals to know, and things for the blessed immortals, but the bees seek flowers because the blooms provide the basic ingredients for what becomes honey, much like you might farm corn for bread."
Apollo, as one of the Deathless Ones, could not grow breathless, though breathing properly was of course necessary for speaking, but he felt tight about his chest as he was caught in Hyacinthus' wide, dark eyes, the light just barely picking out the hidden purplish tint, a twilight shadow among the trunks of trees, and it was only then that he caught up to the fact that he'd broken. There was no way to explain those words away, and Apollo gave up, clutching Hyacinthus by his cheeks instead, feeling himself threatening to shed mortal guise, but yet he was a coward as he rarely was ever otherwise, and by not changing perhaps he could fancy to somehow contain the secret he held himself back.
"Besides, I don’t punish just for the desire to seek knowledge. That is of great pleasure to me."
It was done. Irrevocable now, such words couldn't be misconstrued. No one would lay claim to the identity of one of the blessed immortals and hope to live long after. Hyacinthus seemed to have no doubt, for he didn't even glance up at the sky as if expecting retaliation. Instead he reached up, fingers trembling a little as they came to brush Apollo's cheek.
"Lord Apollo." It was a whisper, each syllable carefully placed, those perfect, narrow lips shaping them out with breathless reverence. "I didn't push unduly, then? I admit I, ah... was half expecting to end up making a god who didn't want to be known reveal himself."
Hyacinthus smiled, half wild, cornered daring, half trembling relief, and Apollo drew a breath as if those words had punched him. Hyacinthus had known. Well, Apollo had wanted him to know, he had just not dared to take the step until maneuvered into it, so even if it was unknowing, it hadn't been unwilling.
"Son of Amyklas, I have wanted you to know since I saw you dancing."
There were more words on the tip of his tongue, held captive by the fear of rejection, of what he might do if that wide-eyed stare was not what it seemed to be. Those eyes might be lingering close on his face, but he was a god - Hyacinthus ought to look at him in such fashion, and if he hadn't Apollo would have been upset. But he wanted more than due reverence. He wanted, and having done one thing, he could not contain the other. So Apollo leaned in, and Hyacinthus turned his face up, tilted it, and the question was answered by the eager lips against his, the careful creep of arms coming up to wrap around Apollo's shoulders.
Sometimes, questions didn't need to be voiced aloud to be answered.