He could never remember the way it had happened.

That was the thing about important memories-- you never could recall exactly how the event had occured. Oh, sure, you always knew it HAD happened, because you could see the results. But the mechanics of the thing, the actual hows and whys, they remained a mystery. Perhaps it didn't matter.

But it always bothered him that he couldn't remember, because it felt like something he SHOULD know.

Ganymede stared at his reflection in the mirror. The youth in the glass gazed back at him with unreadable blue eyes.

He could remember BEFORE it had happened. When he thought back to a time before this, it was disjointed, unreal, like a dream. Sometimes he got flashes of cold and wet and hair plastered to his forehead and clothes plastered to his skin. Sometimes he glimpsed dark hair and tanned skin and eyes the color of honey. But maybe it WAS just a dream. It seemed like so long ago. Had been so long ago.

Sun streamed golden through his bedroom window, but here on Olympus, the sun ALWAYS streamed golden. It was only below the home of the gods that clouds ever obscured that life-giving warmth. Less-than-pleasant weather was a problem for mortals to deal with.

He turned his attention back to the mirror but avoided his own eyes. His short, sandy hair was in disarray; he took his brush to it, but it looked just as tousled. It always looked tousled, as though he'd just come from bed. Zeus had remarked once that it gave him a rather wanton air.

He wondered what Zeus would do if he shaved his head someday.

Giving up on his hair, Ganymede rose and went over to the window. Cool-but- not-too-cool air moved against his face, bringing with it the scent of honeysuckle. Birds the color of jewels sang sweet melodies too complex to follow as they darted from tree to tree. It was a beautiful morning, a perfect morning.

They all were.

"Ganymede!" Someone hailed him, and he turned toward the voice. There was Hermes, striding toward his window, grinning that easy grin he always seemed to have. Ganymede smiled slightly in response.

"Morning, lovely!" Hermes tipped an imaginary cap at him. "You're up late on this beautiful day."

It would be beautiful no matter when he woke up, so he hadn't missed anything. He didn't say it, even though he wanted to. Instead he smiled a bit wider and said, "I was feeling lazy this morning."

Hermes laughed good-naturedly. "Well, you've certainly got the time for it! Not like me, I've barely had a free moment in the last century, what with all the messenger duty and all."

Ganymede hated him, just for a moment. He squelched the feeling mercilessly and kept smiling sweetly. Emptily.

"Well, anyway, Zeus is asking after you." Hermes's grin tunred sardonic. "Even here, he's got me delivering his messages. As if he couldn't just come see you himself."

Ganymede could imagine how Zeus had been asking after him. 'Where is my cup- bearer? Where is my lovely boy?' And the others would snicker, and Hera would sneer her contempt, as if she had to make her usual contempt any more obvious.

"I'd better go, then," Ganymede said, turning away from the window.

"Yes, you know how Zeus gets when you make him wait. Well, I'm off on another errand. See you around, my boy!" Hermes gave him a cheerful wave and was gone a moment later.

Ganymede passed his mirror on the way to the door. He glanced at his face once more. The eyes that looked back were expressionless.

***

Someone caught his arm on his way to Zeus's throne room. It was Hera. The expression on her beautiful face was scornful, and once upon a time it would have made him cringe with fear. Now he just felt tired.

"Off to wait on your master, little servant?" She enjoyed it, reminding him that he was there to serve, that his idyllic immortal life among the shining gods had nothing to do with his birth and everything to do with Zeus's fancy. Ganymede faught to keep his expression neutral as he pulled away.

Hera tightened her grip, perfect nails digging into his skin.

"Remember your place before the Queen of the Gods," she hissed. "You're just a boy. A MORTAL boy. You may have Zeus's favor now, but he'll grow tired of you soon enough. He always does. And when you're gone, I will still be here."

Ganymede stared at the shiny marble floor. At his reflection.

"I know," he said.

***

Zeus was in a lusty mood, but then, Zeus always was. He laughed and bantered and called for wine and nectar, and when Ganymede brought it to him he would accept the cup with a smile that should have been reserved for private and a lingering touch that anyone could observe and everyone did.

It made him feel cheap.

Hera's eyes were poison as she watched her husband, and mixed with the jealousy there was hate and love.

Ganymede almost felt sorry for her.

***

Much later, as Ganymede was heading back to his room, he was caught by a strong arm and pulled into a shadowed alcove.

Zeus kissed him, long and deep, and Ganymede reflected that the King of the Gods had always had a thing for illicit liasons, even if everybody knew about them.

"My lovely boy," purred Zeus, as his hands began to roam over Ganymede's slender form. "You're such a lovely boy. You've always been my favorite, Ganymede, did you know?"

Ganymede closed his eyes, and in his mind felt cold and rain and the touch of a work-roughened hand.

He opened his eyes and stared at something distant and unobtainable.

"I know," he said.