“But - prophecy?” Melpomene groaned again, wanting to lie down - no, wanting to get up and walk - no - wanting to do nothing but disappear into Alan’s song and Apollo’s reassurances.
“If Merlin’s right, he’s right, but I’ll make the same promise to Aphrodite as I made to you, and she won’t try anything if she doesn’t want devastation rained down onto her and everyone she loves. Do you have a bag packed to take with you?” He knew she would, Calliope would have made sure of it.
“Other room,” Melpomene breathed, and Apollo jerked his head at Alan, hinting that he should go and get it. “No,” Melpomene’s voice went deep, and she clutched tighter onto Alan’s arms. “Alan, stay.”
“Oh Alan,” Apollo said, realising. Not a Mystery Man after all, but a Merry one. That her ex was here seemed even more on brand, somehow. He looked the other man over with a different eye, and then pressed a soothing kiss against Melpomene’s temple. Her pounding head very slightly abated.