#like even in the height of my /dark percy/ days I NEVER considered percy would snap to the point of hurting his loved ones | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

phykios · 3 years

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the marble king, part 12 [end] [read on ao3] [rated M for adult situations]

Constantinople, 1453

Even here beneath the waves, down in the darkness of the crushing ocean, all she could smell was smoke. War drums still thundered in her ears. On her lips, she tasted blood and salt--though whether it was the seawater or her tears, she could not say.

But it was not enough that she had failed to defend the city of Constantinople. It was not enough that she had lost her unit to a man, or had abandoned her post, or had allowed the Ottomans through the Kerkoporta on her watch.

Any one of these things would have branded her a failure--but that the wretched, insufferable, intolerable son of Poseidon had borne witness to it all only turned the knife even deeper, salting the wound and taking pleasure in her misfortune.

To be reduced to a weeping woman like this, taking refuge in his embrace, it was disgraceful. It was nearly as painful as the loss of the city.

The city… gods above, the city.

The heart of the known world. The defense of Europe. The last gasp of the Roman empire.

Gone.

And all that was left of it was him.

And so she clung even tighter.

It felt vaguely sacrilegious to be here, holding his hand, beneath the shadow of the temple erected to his father’s defeat. Her siblings would shun her. Her mother would disown her. The earth should have split open and swallowed her whole for such blasphemy.

And yet, it felt so right.

They had traveled so many miles together, weathered so many storms and stood against so many monsters. He had followed the Hunters of Artemis all the way to Mauretania, chasing a hazy vision of Annabeth struggling beneath Atlas’ burden. He had returned from certain death, thrown himself before her when she was in danger, had refused the gods’ offer of immortality. Then, even after she had spat in his face, expelling him from her sight, when the world crumbled around them and he could have so easily turned and ran, straight into the arms of the sea, his protection and the source of his power--he had sought her out.

“If you agree, Annabeth,” he said, strikingly earnest in the way that only he could be, “let us, here and now, tie off these threads of our history, as one would to a tapestry. Let us end this rivalry of ours.”

Percy had always risked life and limb for her safety. And, she thought, her old shoulder wound itching, she had done the same. They were a team, a partnership. In the absence of their brothers in arms, of their divine parents, of all trappings of the world they once knew, they should stay together. His logic was sound.

“A plan worthy of Athena,” she said. “I agree to your terms.”

That her mother did not immediately emerge from the temple, in all her heavenly glory, to smite her for such an insult was even more proof that her spirit no longer dwelt in this place. Lady Athena had never attempted to hide her distaste for her uncle’s son.

“To think,” he wondered, softly, hazily, “that such a legendary rivalry could have been resolved so easily.”

“It is strange,” she admitted, looking out on the diminished city, the light streaking across wooden roofs and weathered stone, “that along with my mother and our ancestral home, I have lost this as well.”

As long as she had known him, Percy had been a remarkably consistent presence in his life--in some ways, even more solid than the other foundational truths of her life. Her mother would not always be pleased, her friends may not always return from war, but Percy would always be there to irritate, antagonize, and infuriate her to previously unreached heights. To let that go as well, to be so unmoored… it was frightening.

“Well,” said Percy, squeezing her hand, a silly little smile crossing his lips, "my first act, in the shedding of our rivalry, is to pledge myself to our future empress, Ana Zabeta Palaiologina."

Palaiologina. The word cut through her in a way she could not quite understand.

Maidens the world over dreamed of marrying into a family with such prestige, spent every waking moment scheming how best to attach themselves to royalty. Annabeth herself had done the very same thing, not days previously. To ingratiate herself to Thomas and Demetrios would be child’s play for someone with her abilities.

And yet… she did not want Percy to call her Palaiologina.

He raised her hand to his lips, and kissed the skin there, gracious, deferential. Or mocking, if the glint in his eye was any indication.

Phykios, she grumbled to herself.

Pulling her hand back, she wiped it on her dress, hoping to rid her fingers of the hot, tingly sensation which had taken hold.

***

The words echoed in her head, long after they had been spoken aloud, clanging like the bells which sat atop the churches on every corner, inescapable.

Percy had long since gone to sleep, safe in the strength of their companionship. How easily had he divulged his secrets to her! Were their rivalry still intact, she would now have the precise knowledge she required to ruin him entirely. Alas that the same knowledge which would have brought her victory years ago now brought her to ruin and despair.

No mortal woman.

Again, for what must have been the fifth time since he had fallen asleep, she examined every corner of their conversation, turning each word over for double, triple, twisted meanings, meanings which he may not have even been clever enough to imply. That he had rejected Rachael’s advances, even though she had been a fine marriage prospect, that she had never seen him in the company of another woman, that he had admitted to relations with a man so easily, that he had never pursued her, despite years of questing and friendship and several less-than-obvious hints--it all pointed to one logical, if devastating, conclusion.

Yet there was another side to such a terrible coin. She should not have spent so many years agonizing over her words and actions which had turned his heart from her, for she had never had his heart in the first place, had never had a chance to it. No woman had. Annabeth need not have gone to such lengths, seducing Katya when she had expressed an interest in Percy’s hand, monopolizing his attention, flaunting her femininity before his eyes, for he never would have noticed her at all.

While Annabeth was beside herself, worrying herself sick over his health and safety, Percy had been languishing in the arms of another man--of a man of the Legion.

She felt so cold, despite the fire, despite her cloak, despite the heat of the summer night which lay upon her, heavy and still.

None of it had mattered, she was coming to realize. Not the time he had refused immortality, nor the time he had returned from the island of Ogygia, nor the time he had crossed the known world to rescue her from Lukas and the titans. A maiden’s fanciful romance, she had enjoyed imagining that at least some of it may have been for her sake.

The stars blurred before her eyes, her breath hitching.

No. She would not let herself fall to pieces, in her silent, lonesome revelation. There was no sense in weeping over spilled oil; to mourn for a future which had never been possible was a waste of time and energy.

And yet. Gods above, and yet.

She had so successfully repressed the stunning depths of her feelings for him for years, her stubborn, willful pride refusing to let go of a silly grudge and a terrible misunderstanding. How fitting, then, that it should resurface as soon as she discovered such an avenue had never been available to her.

Sniffing heartily, she scrubbed at her eyes, wiping the tears which had gathered in them.

Do not weep, she told herself. There were more wars to fight, more battles to be won, and matters of the heart did not take precedence, no matter how much they hurt.

***

Her siblings, as children, always teased her for her fixation on her hair. Blonde was not an unusual color at the agoge, but children of the war goddess were not supposed to be so concerned with such things as physical appearance. That was strictly the purview of the sons and daughters of Aphrodite; Athena’s children were supposed to focus their wits on things far more deserving of their attention than beauty. Beauty was fleeting, ephemeral, intangible--beauty did not win battles. Athena and Aphrodite were always at odds, in this way.

Yet when Annabeth, a child of fourteen years old, one day very shyly sidled up to Silena, having swallowed her pride to ask the older girl for assistance, Silena agreed immediately, without ever having to hear any arguments. “You have always had such lovely hair,” she had cooed, sitting beneath the shadow of one of the olive trees, her hands deftly twisting her thick, curly, unruly hair into sleek, orderly locks. “Many a sibling of mine has lamented that you have been given so many gifts, your tresses not the least among them.”

Annabeth had smiled, pleased. The older she became, the more comments appraising her apparent beauty she received, and she was not always so pleased to receive them, though coming from Silena’s mouth, they seemed much more sincere. “You speak truly?”

“Of course! And it is not only my siblings who say so.” Then, Silena had leaned over, slipping Annabeth a sly wink. “I have heard tell that a certain son of Poseidon has expressed quite a particular admiration for it as well.”

Indignant, she had squawked, lightly smacking her friend, while Silena tittered, very prettily. “Cease with such falsehood! I know you do nothing but jest!”

“It is no falsehood, korie,” she had said, pulling on a curly forelock. “Carlo has told me how he often speaks of you in such flattering tones. One would think he had decided to court you already!” And then she had laughed again, gaily, delighted--but never mocking.

Flushing, Annabeth’s heart had begun to pound as she considered the potential truth of such a statement, that Percy had spoken of her that way. Recently, she had developed a rather peculiar set of reactions to Percy’s presence: flushed cheeks, pounding heart, an absence of all her faculties so that she, at times, became nearly as foolish as he.

She did not like those feelings. Not at all.

“Can you teach me,” she had said instead, unwilling to dwell on such strange emotion, for such things were so obviously beneath her, “how you wove your hair so skillfully the other day?”

“Of course,” Silena had said, a knowing glint in her eyes. “In fact, I will teach you one better. My siblings say that this particular braid is supposed to resemble the tail of a mermaid.”

Annabeth had practiced the skill for years, long before and long after the moment she had divined what those feelings of hers had truly meant. The mermaid’s tail, however, had not caught its mark--nor had any of the other simple or complex plaits she had mastered and perfected. By the time she was old enough to begin covering her hair, as older girls were meant to do, it seemed that there was nothing she could do with her hair to entice a particular man’s gaze, nor with any other part of her.

Of course, now she understood why.

How cruel were the Fates, that they had finally given her what she had so fervently desired, Percy’s hands in her hair, at such a terrible, unromantic time!

Still, he treated her with all delicacy and respect as he quite crudely hacked away at her gathered hair, sawing off all traces of her femininity. Annabeth was not endowed with so much in her hips nor her breasts; her hair was certainly the most obviously feminine part about her, thus with its removal, she would be better able to pass for a man, and be better kept safe from marauding bandits with evil, grasping hands.

It was sound logic, yes. But it was not her only goal.

She closed her eyes, measuring her breathing so as to keep the rapid war-drum of her heart from alerting the other party. All she could smell was the comforting salt scent which seemed to engulf her, like the warm embrace of the sea on a sunny day.

With a tug, then, it was done. “There,” said her companion. “It is finished.”

How odd, she thought, to feel air on her neck, so cold and exposed. “Well?” she asked, turning round before she let fear get the better of her. “Am I sufficiently boyish?”

He looked on her so oddly, his face a strange concoction of overlapping emotions, coalescing into a furrowing of his handsome brow, a pursing of his lips which still sent her into madness if she should consider them for too long. Please, she nearly prayed, as though she could change his mind from the force of her want alone. Am I as beautiful as all the boys in Rome? Am I someone you could love?

It seemed he had learned quite a bit of tact in their years apart, for he relieved her of her little fantasy ever so gently. “I am not certain,” he said, careful, deliberate, “you could pass as a man--though, perhaps you could be seen as a particularly delicate one.”

Her foolish wish shattered, as glass hurled against a wall.

Well. What was done was done. With a snap and an appeal to his gentlemanly nature, she sent him away so that she could pilfer a dead man’s clothes--and mourn her childish dreams--in peace.

***

Something in the air, the cold snap of it, the feeling as though one were breathing in pure ice, little shards of glass tickling the lungs and stomach--she had not realized just how much she had missed it. Of course the summer nights of the south were pleasant and fair, but there was something so sublime in the frigidity, the freezing, the ice in her fingers and the heat in her cheeks.

And, truth be told, something to say of her traveling companion as well.

Percy had been… nothing short of a miracle. Ripped far from his home, from everything he had ever known, and from his great Roman love (she thought to herself, with an internal scowl), he had been, the whole time, staunch, stalwart, solid. A better companion she could not have asked for, nor a better friend.

She told him as such, and distantly enjoyed the way his face flushed, ever so lightly. Tanned a deep, dark brown by the sun and by his natural coloring, it was sometimes difficult to tell what he was thinking, but she knew him well enough now. Had known him well enough for years.

He was very, very close now. For warmth, they had begun drifting closer together, their bodies’ natural attempts to stave off the bitter, northern cold.

She saw his eyes flick down to her lips.

No, she told herself firmly, no. He did not want for her advances. She had done everything she could to demonstrate her interest, short of simply throwing herself at him, and he had never risen for a single one. Annabeth and Percy were simply not meant to be, and no amount of forced companionship could change that.

For a brief, agonizing heartbeat, she thought she saw him twitch closer.

Then, from the corner of her eyes--light. “Percy, look!” she gasped.

Ásbrú, the rainbow bridge, pierced through the night sky as a blade through water, a burning ribbon of color, near as bright as the moon itself, even more beautiful than in her wildest imaginations. Though she knew well its existence, the bridge had never presented itself to her, not as the mountain of Olympus had. To see it now, it felt like stepping through a silk curtain, passing some invisible line. It felt like a rush of bloodlust, a guttural roar, like a warm fire and the hot curl of mead in her stomach.

“I can’t believe it,” she murmured.

It felt like coming home.

***

How little her father had changed.

Politics was certainly not his area of interest, but he threw himself into his work as passionately as he had with the histories of Anglia and Gallia. His collections of papers, books, and pamphlets of various sizes and subjects were dizzyingly well-researched, a kind of organized chaos which resonated within her, every piece of information in its precise place, even if the place was incomprehensible to others. However, she could sense how little he cared for it.

“My dear,” he said, exhaustion in the slump of his shoulders, “I am afraid there is not much else that I can do. Mary tells me the Totts are growing more and more insistent--and they are merely the kindest about it. Word of both your reappearance and your inheritance has spread far faster than either of us had suspected it would, and we are expected to reply to a demand.”

Annabeth had returned to Svealand, it seemed, in the middle of quite the precarious situation. In the years since she had escaped her monastic doom, there had been no less than three separate kings who had ruled over the joining of northern lands: one deposed, one dead, and one perilously close to danger. Now the union had split apart, and had been at war with itself, with no signs of stopping.

Like many, many noble girls, Annabeth was being paraded around for marriage. At first, when she learned her mad uncle Randulf had left her some properties and the like, she had been oddly touched. She had never known the man personally, nor his children, who had died by some supernatural force whilst she had been roaming the European countryside, but she supposed it had been a final act of some charity, some avuncular affection for his brother’s daughter--yet, after she had learned what the inheritance had brought with it, she wished her uncle had given it to Magnus instead. Or at the very least, kept it to himself.

At least her father was equally upset at this turn of events, if not more so.

“Understand me well, Anja,” he said, his voice thick with fear and worry, “were it up to me, I would never allow it. If I had known you would have been subjected to the predatory whims of the blue-blooded fools in Uppsala, I would have never prayed for your return. I did not get you back just to lose you to--”

“I understand, papa,” she interrupted, gently. It would do neither of them to lose their heads at this time. “Of course I understand.”

“The rebellion is growing, and it is powerful. I do not think it will be very long until Karl Bonde is overthrown, but I worry this land cannot undergo any further crises. To see you enmeshed in such bloody business is one of my deepest, darkest fears, and yet…” He then put his head in his hands, the picture of defeat. “I see no way out of this.”

For her part, Annabeth could think of a few ways, each more distasteful than the last, full of lies and conceit. If she knew she would be forced to be married after all, she would have done more to convince Percy to take her to the Morea.

Then, a thought occurred to her. An idea. A magnificent, inspired plan. A dirty, sordid trick.

“What if…” she said slowly, considering. The next few words out of her mouth could determine a whole host of things, be they pleasant or or unpleasant. She had to speak carefully. “What if I were already married?”

He raised his head, peering at her curiously. “Are you--?”

“No, no,” she assured him. “Certainly not.” Not for a lack of trying, anyway.

Still, he looked thoughtful. “That is a clever idea,” he mused, rubbing his chin, “though I suppose they would then question why we did not think to mention it sooner.”

No doubt her stepmother had paraded about her unmarried status to all who would hear her. “We could say I was married in the eastern church. Perhaps that could explain the irregularity.”

“Perhaps.” Her father sounded doubtful. “I fear, however, that without a union in this church, it would not be recognized as legitimate.”

Seated in her chair, her foot tapped against the floor, quite unbecoming of a lady. Her fingers twitched in her lap, blood pulsing. “Then I suppose my ersatz husband and I must be married again.”

He nodded. “I see… yes, I see. And have you someone in mind for the role?”

It came tumbling out of her mouth so quickly, she ought to have been embarrassed. “Percy.”

“Your friend from the agoge?”

Upon her return, she had relayed a number of stories to her family of her adventures--and of course, nearly all of them included Percy. They had all been privy to tales of his nobility, honor, and gentlemanly nature; surely there would be no reason for her father to refuse the idea.

She swallowed, a knot of terror in her stomach.

“Percy,” he said again, “yes, I do believe this could work.”

At his assent, Annabeth nearly collapsed.

“Another brilliant idea, my dear,” said her father, fondness suffusing every word, “though I cannot say I am surprised. Even as a child, your mother’s influence shone through quite clearly.”

Were she of a crueler, colder nature, Annabeth could have walked away right there and then, freedom solidly within her grasp, in a form most pleasing to her. Percy’s hand in marriage--the dream of many a girl in the agoge. She could leave it at that, and be done with the whole affair.

But. But.

“I will speak to him on the morrow, then,” he said, gathering up his files. “Is there anything else you would like to discuss?”

“Just--” she blurted, heat rushing to her face. “Only--promise me, papa, that we will not move forward without his consent to the match. I do not… I would never wish to force his hand in this manner.”

She may have had him in her grasp, but she loved him too much to keep him there.

But, she vowed, as long as Percy was beside her, she would never be able to marry another man, not a lord nor a king nor an emperor--for what were any of these compared to her prince of the sea?

***

She silenced the little voice of doubt in her mind, cast aside all thoughts of fear or nerves.

Percy had agreed to marry her, and, all told, it had taken very little convincing, as she had suspected--his nobility was well-documented and unflagging. He would never have left her to such a horrid fate if he thought he could do something to save her.

It did not make her feel better.

But, in the end, they were married in the local church, in a simple, unfussy ceremony. Annabeth wore blue for the occasion, a garment of her own creation, and a garland of flowers, as was custom. Percy, of course, was unfairly handsome as always, his eyes lighting up when he first saw her, and when he kissed her, as the ceremony required, she allowed herself to pretend for one beautiful, beautiful moment, that he had kissed her of his own volition.

She was smiling as she pulled away, carried off by the fantasy, even as she could tell he worked very hard to keep his composure. It would not do to show open disgust at his own wedding, she surmised.

They were forced to kiss once more by her dastardly cousins, Magnus cheering and jeering and egging them on until they participated in the little wedding game devised by Alejandro. Her cousin was far more empathetic than many people realized, and though she had never spoken of it to him, she was almost certain Magnus knew the truth of her feelings, and had decided to play a cruel trick on her. If only it did not make her heart tremble so!

Fortunately, or unfortunately, depending upon the perspective, she could not dwell on it for very long. The marriage bed awaited them.

Her family accompanied them there, to see her off on this final portion of the path to womanhood. Magnus and Alejandro were still quite inebriated, but her father was sober as could be, embracing his daughter warmly. “Tell me, Anja,” he whispered to her, in their language. “Do you love him?”

Athena would only have chosen the cleverest of men with whom to create a child. Of course he had uncovered the truth of it.

She nodded into his chest, and he held her even tighter. “I am glad,” he said. “I am so glad.”

Then releasing her, he nodded to her husband--her husband--and he left them alone with the marriage bed.

The two of them had shared a bed several times during their journey. It should not have affected her so--but there was a slight, yet significant, distinction between a bed shared by two friends, and one shared by a husband and wife. A distinction she could no longer ignore. A distinction which Percy, too, seemed well aware of.

A distinction which, unfortunately, changed the nature of their relationship.

The trinity men believed a marriage was not valid until intercourse had occurred--the rule held even more strongly for those of the nobility. Percy and Annabeth shared no such inane assumptions, of course, but they were beholden to a different set of rules, now. To please the land-grabbing nobles of Svealand, they would have to consummate the marriage.

Annabeth wished she could say she explained the matter plainly and calmly, and that Percy had accepted her logic without much fuss, and they had gone to bed in order to fulfill the silly contract set out for them.

In reality, that was not how it had gone.

She had fallen to pieces, dissolving into tears, so intense he had had to hold her, and she could not even enjoy the feeling of his arms around her, so ashamed was she by her display of emotions. Haltingly, punctuated by sobs and hiccups, she explained her case, and all but begged him to make love to her.

And he did. Because he was a noble man.

And it was just as wonderful as she had always imagined it.

He finished inside of her, glorious and copious, and she could have died in that moment, so full of him, she might never be empty again.

But the truth swiftly fell upon her like a sword: she had coerced, tricked, and beguiled a good man into her bed, a man who did not, and would never, love her. She felt cold all over, from the pit of her stomach to the tips of her toes, still wrapped around him.

It was done. They were married. And Annabeth had never felt worse.

Not even sleep could soothe her, for that night, she had a most frightening dream.

In her dream, she stands upon a stone hill, overlooking a little town. From the rocks beneath her burbles forth a spring, salty and strong, and beside, an olive tree, of thick trunk and golden branches. Before her, there is a king, his body compounded of a man and a serpent, and there is a god, he who is the wave and the storm and the thunder of hoofbeats, and she, too, is a god, she who is the owl and the spear and the shield who strikes terror in the hearts of men, and the king delivers judgement onto them. He says then to the wave and the storm, “The people have spoken, and their choice is clear. This land shall be ceded to the goddess.”

“Bah!” scoffs the god, the rumble of the earth in his breath. “You would insult me so, who cares for your sailors and delivers them home unharmed?”

“Cecrops has spoken, uncle,” she says, in a voice not her own, silver and gold and unyielding. “The Oracle has given the people of this city the power to choose their patron, and chosen they have. You, who lay claim to the bounty of waves and the power of the sea, will you not allow me this little hill? Will you not respect their judgement, and go in peace?”

But the god frowns, his thick brows drawing together above the typhoon in his eyes, and he brandishes his weapon, the three-pronged trident which had split the very earth itself. “I shall go,” he says, as the crash of water on the shore, “I shall leave you the city--but be warned, glaukopis, and be wary, king, for you and your people have made a powerful enemy on this day.”

“No, uncle,” she says, commanding and columnar, the sound and the fury and the cry of triumph, bolstered by the land which now belongs to her, and the people who are already worshipping in her name, an ever present thrum in the core of her being. “It is you who has made a powerful enemy.”

He glowers, the black, heavy clouds of the horizon, and he strikes the stone with his weapon, and from that spring which had been his gift, now becomes his curse, a mighty wave pouring forth from the earth itself, powerful and unyielding as the hundred foot waves and the stampede of horses, rising up as the sea itself, flooding the plain and the people and the king and the goddess, burying it all beneath the sand and the water, but still the stone hill remains, and still the olive tree stands upon it, its branches stretching towards the sky, defiant, willful. It stands, proud, rooted, planted, immovable, immutable.

Permanent.

***

Annabeth had dreamed of married life with Percy for far, far longer than she was willing to admit. In her dreams, she had imagined it to be endless fun, endless bickering, and endless bliss.

It was none of those things.

He did not love her, nor any woman. He’d married her to secure her hand away from squabbling lords and wicked step mothers, and possibly for the financial security of her land--she did not blame him for it, of course. Such a large favor demanded an equal reward, and if any man deserved to rest on his laurels it was Percy. She was happy to take care of him, but as the days dragged on, she wondered if that was what was happening at all.

Marriage seemed to have drained all the light out of Percy. He floated around the manor, gray and listless, speaking rarely, and then mostly to Alejandra. They shared a bed, closer than ever before, and yet, she was not sure she’d ever felt so distant. He looked at her, yet she was not certain he saw anything at all.

She tried to entice him to enjoy the finer things, offering to hunt with him as Alejandro had, suggesting that they go for a trip around the lake, even attempting to arrange for them to visit his new holding, so he might see where they were to make their estate. Each advance was summarily turned down. He resisted meals together, and ate very little. He retired to bed early, and stayed in after she’d gotten up.

Once, desperate and sad, she even asked him to join her to view the beauty of the midnight sky. It was an indulgent thing, but she thought only the night sky could compare with him in beauty, and she wished to see it all up close.

He declined.

He did not even seem to notice when she found herself ill several mornings in a row. He slept for much of the time these days, but it still hurt--once upon a time, he had been so quick to observe her.

Her maidservant tutted as she instructed a chamber girl to take the chamber pot into which Annabeth had vomited away. She was a middle aged woman who had served Annabeth’s aunt, and was rather eager to have another woman in the family, because Alejandra did not like having a personal servant to help with dressing for reasons Annabeth understood, but that was not well known beyond the family. After the pot had been emptied and the dirtied linen had been delivered to the laundry, she had helped Annabeth into her gown.

Annabeth had not engaged any servants in Constantinople, obviously, nor at the agoge, and could lace her stays perfectly well, yet there was something delightful about having assistance. The gowns here were heavier, after all, the fabric much thicker and the detailing far finer. Not having to do it all herself was a relief, as was someone to clean the room and cook the food.

“Will you and the master be moving to your estate before or after your babe is born, ma’am?” asked the maidservant.

Stunned, all she could say, was a single, inelegant, “What?”

“I know you were inquiring with the steward about going and surveying them, and the houses,” said the older woman. “But no one was sure what you’d found.”

Slowly, like the pieces of a good strategy, the woman’s meaning began to make itself clear: Percy, her master, and the estate her dowry, now transferred to her husband, where they would have to move sooner or later. “We have not yet gone,” Annabeth said. Percy had not wanted to. “We have not yet gone,” Annabeth repeated, because she could not quite understand the last part of the maid’s question.

“Then, if Lord Magnus and Doña Alejandra will have it, best stay here until the baby is born. You and your husband can have some time then to engage the household. My brother in law would be a good candidate for steward, ma’am. He’s learned in his letters, can write anything the master might need, even in Latin.”

“Percy can write Latin,” Annabeth said distractedly.

“Oh, of course, ma’am. I should expect nothing less of a prince.”

Annabeth could not even begin to parse that statement. Percy was, technically, a prince, but that status was kept even from the small group of people who still kept the heathen gods in her cousin's house, and this woman was not one of those. But--“What baby?” she asked, instead of interrogating the woman what she knew of Percy.

Her servant blinked, and paused in her lacing, just above Annabeth’s stomach. She gave a kind of condescending smile which would have normally rubbed Annabeth all the wrong way, but she was too struck with terror by the implication. “Well,” she said, speaking as though Annabeth were a little girl, “you can never quite tell before the quickening, of course. However, it has been seven weeks since your monthly, and five since your wedding. Now you have fallen ill in the morning,” She had a twinkle in her eye. “I won’t be getting anyone in trouble, but there has been lots of talk, given how taken you and your prince are with each other, for how long it would be before you’d be with child. Such a joyous occasion is to be celebrated, even if perhaps it wouldn’t do to go around announcing it just yet. For safety's sake."

Her blood rushing, the ocean in her ears, with almost trembling hands, Annabeth touched at her belly. Nothing felt different beneath the layers of fabric.

It had not occurred to her it could even be a possibility. Percy had only laid with her once, on their wedding night, and only at her insistence. Now that the idea had entered her head, it began to grow, taking shape in her mind and her heart. Just like Percy’s seed in her womb.

Percy’s child. She could give Percy a child.

That happy thought carried her for several more weeks, as she monitored the signs and tried to find the perfect time to speak with him, to get him to visit their land, so she might show him his fortune and share the news that she would give him an heir for it as well.

Men wanted sons, she knew. Perhaps, perhaps with luck Annabeth could still win him, could give him money and a son, and earn a little of his affection in return.

As the days turned longer, still his mood did not improve, until one day after the morning meal, she prodded him to eat more, so she could then take him out to see all that was his.

He told her instead that he wished to leave. Leave Svealand, his newly acquired land, and leave her, too.

Struck with panic and despair, still she would not resort to cheap ploys. She fell back to the tricks that always worked with Percy: a little bullying, a lot of logic, and a refusal to let him go without her.

By the end of the week, then, the plan was set. Once again, she would set out for lands unknown, leaving her father and her family behind, with no assurance she would ever see them again. This time, however, she was able to give her a proper farewell--and to tell him her suspicions.

He embraced her, his joy overtaking his sorrow, and she embraced him in turn.

To leave once before nearly rent her in two. Leaving him now was sorrowful, yes, but startlingly simple. The road would be long, and hard, and dangerous, but she was going to have Percy’s child. She was going to find her mother.

Let all manner of horrors just try and stop her.

***

She was beginning to understand why her mother had sworn to remain a chaste goddess.

Pregnancy was a truly nightmarish invention. Between the nausea, the soreness, the constant need to relieve herself, the inability to use the full spectrum of her wits in the manner to which she had been accustomed, she was well and truly suffering--to say nothing of the incessant, unending, all consuming lust which would strike her at the most inopportune times. The wind could merely change direction, and she would suddenly be aflame with carnal desire, aching for the touch of her husband in her most private, feminine parts, unable to think for the haze of want and need.

It was maddening. Utterly, utterly maddening.

Then, her hand would come to rest on her stomach, and it all would fade away at the mere thought of the child inside of her. Percy’s child. Their child.

Their son, she prayed.

And oh, how she prayed for a son, a little boy with wild black hair and eyes the color of the sea in the sunlight, who drooled in his sleep and loved his mother above all other women!

Concern gripped her, then, cold fingers around her heart.

What did Annabeth know of being a mother?

She had only met her true mother a handful of times, and had barely ever received an ounce of affection from her. Her father’s wife had been the sworn enemy of her childhood, the two of them always at odds, until it had reached its boiling point, and Annabeth had taken her chances with the wild. The most she knew of motherhood had been what little she had been able to glean from Percy’s mother, Sarah, who had been more than happy to share the secrets of her trade--yet she could have spent a lifetime under Sarah’s tutelage, and still she feared it would not be enough.

Annabeth was not a kind, nurturing person by nature. Hard rather than soft, sharp rather than gentle, none who had ever known her would have ever imagined her to be a mother. In truth, as a young girl, Annabeth had not even imagined it for herself. A warrior woman, a daughter of Athena: she had been so sure that she had been destined for greater things than marriage and children.

How foolish she had been.

Wives and mothers won wars in ways that Athena herself could not even conceive of. When she considered motherhood now, she thought of Mary, her father’s wife, moving money and bodies on a chessboard of titanic proportions. She thought of Sarah, who had labored every day beneath the notice of the men around her to provide and care for her son, to teach him what he would need to know to defeat the titan lord.

Now she better understood why Hera, queen of the heavens, had also been the patroness of mothers.

Annabeth would do everything in her power, she swore, to shore up influence around their little family, to ensure that they were safe and secure and comfortable in all ways, both seen and unforeseen. And, well, if Percy would not accept her affection, as was his right, then at the very least, she would be able to give it to their son.

***

He was perfect. By all the gods above, he was absolutely perfect.

Her son. Their son. Little Alexandros.

She had so wanted to name him ‘Perseus,’ not after the slayer of the gorgon, but instead the hero of Olympus. No matter her personal feelings, for all that he had done, Percy deserved to be immortalized with the best of the heroes, for he was the best of the heroes--no, the better of all of them--and he deserved to have his name and his legacy passed on.

But, alas, it was not meant to be. Percy, gentle as could be, rejected the name for their son, and so they had settled on Alexandros.

He had been right, to her great surprise. Alexandros, the name, was perfect.

“The ship’s crew are in a tizzy,” was Nico’s greeting the day after her son’s birth, and nearly three years since they had last seen him.

Glibly, she said, “I had not meant to give birth aboard.”

“That is not the issue,” he said, his eyes locked on Percy. “They have noticed we are, apparently, traveling at a much faster pace than we should be.”

“Do they not wish to reach Venice in a timely manner?” Percy asked, before busying himself with her shawl, though she had assured him she was warm enough.

Nico’s eyes had not left him, piercing. “They are wondering if it is an ill omen.”

“They should be happy that the new mother and her child will be in safety soon,” was her husband’s only response.

“Yes,” Nico nodded, “about that…” He trailed off, eyes boring into her now, brimming with so many questions.

“You promised you would not pester them so soon,” Will scolded, though he had a smile in his voice.

“Well you cannot expect me not to wonder at such extraordinary circumstances.”

Annabeth did not remember Nico and Will being particularly friendly during their days at camp; in fact, she distinctly recalled Nico running away from any sort of friendship at the first chance he could. He had been a surly, combative young man, with his stony glare and frightening aura. That he had attracted a friend as sunny and cheerful as Will was nothing short of a minor miracle, and that they tolerated each other enough for light teasing was quite the achievement.

In her memory, Niccolo di Angelo was still a skinny little thing, carrying an ancient, profane sword too big for his body, following Percy about like a lost puppy. She would confess to not knowing much about the young man, but she was certain she would have remembered if he had been a noble--yet somehow, the revelation that he was a count had completely blindsided her, with a fortune fit for the son of the god of wealth.

“Well, what of your story?” she asked, adjusting her position to better support her sleeping child. “We have not seen you for nearly three years.”

He raised a brow, familiar disdain on his face. “I reside in the city.”

Oh. Well, then. Annabeth had sort of been under the impression that he lived in the Underworld, with his father. “Truly?”

“My mother was a countess,” he said, “many years ago, and, with some light forgeries, I was able to access her estate, as her sole living descendent.”

Many, many years ago, on their very first quest, Percy and Annabeth had sought to take refuge in a large tavern, only to discover it to be the den of the Lotus-Eaters, whose power stole time away from one’s perception, seducing them with food and wine and cards and dice to trap them there completely. Though they had not realized it at the time, Nico and his sister had been trapped in the same establishment, stashed there by an Underworldian associate some seventy or so years prior. How strange it must have been for him, to emerge into a world he could no longer recognize, and all his family long since perished.

But Nico would not be moved. “Our tale is long and tedious by comparison, but yours--now that has piqued my interest. I understand you and your husband were still in the city on the eve of its fall?”

“We fled as the walls were overrun,” she said. “We had thought to make straight for the agoge, but when we arrived, it had vanished, as if it had never been there at all.”

He frowned. “Yes, it had gone by the time we had arrived as well. Afterwards, then, Will and I traveled to Aachen, to speak to the Legion. I would have thought you would have gone as well.” He turned his eyes to Percy. “Iason sends his greetings, by the way.”

Clenching her teeth, she busied herself with something on Alexandro’s blanket, so she would not open her mouth and say something particularly foolish.

“We traveled to Thera, and to Athens, first, to try and contact our divine parents” said Percy. Annabeth did not think she could detect any changes in his voice, any hints of longing or the like, but she heard nothing--though that, in itself, did not necessarily indicate much. “Once we were unable to reach them, we decided to travel to Annabeth’s homeland in the North, to return her to her father.”

“A successful journey, I take it?”

Lightly, Will swatted him.

“After our marriage, then,” Percy went on, “we thought it best to return to the South.”

“And Venice?” he asked. “Have you any family here?”

Percy cast her a sideways glance, one she could not quite parse. “We… wondered if, perhaps, the gods had landed here,” he admitted, in a low voice, “after they fled the city of Constantine.”

“We have not seen hide nor hair of them,” said Will. “Nico has not even been able to contact his father."

Percy’s eyes widened. “Lord Hades has gone, too?”

“It seems so,” Nico said, looking pensive. “The ancient doorways have moved as well: the River Styx, the Door of Orpheus, and others.”

“The only clue we have is a message imparted to us in dreams from our parents,” said Percy, “the city of old soldiers.”

Will straightened in his seat. “I, too, have had such a dream.”

“As well, there also was a vision from my mother. In this city, she said there is a church, green and white with a red dome. Have you ever heard of such a place?”

Nico hummed, thoughtful. “Possibly. I was delivered a different clue, it seems: Zagreus and Thanatos, blood and death, appeared to me in a dream, and bade me to seek the birthplace of fire itself.”

As one, they frowned, turning over their words as though they had been handed one of Rachael’s prophecies. As one, they all came up empty. “Well,” said Will, after some time, “I do not believe we shall divine an answer today. There is another riddle I have in mind, one quite simpler: Percy, Annabeth, have you a place to stay in the city?”

With little persuasion, Nico had been insistent that they stay with him for the time being, in his large palazzo. When Annabeth was feeling better, he swore, Nico would show them all his available properties--for, of course, he had several--and that they would discuss rent at that time. Quickly and expediently on their arrival, he arranged for his staff to move their things, and granted them use of his beautifully appointed rooms, a separate one for each of them, down the hall from each other. In an uncharacteristic stroke of compassion, she thought, he had even located a wet nurse for Alexandros. Though Annabeth was loath to part with him during the day, she found it to be a godsent at night, even after only a week, allowing her the sleep she so desperately needed.

Percy proclaimed the procurement right and good, but it took her several days to realize he wanted to relieve her of her son. “Let Nico handle it,” he said, fussing over her, “you should rest.”

Days turned to months, and he let Nico handle a great many things. He spent hours holed up in Nico’s study, discussing matters of economics, travel, and management, as the Conte di Angelo poured his resources into a new business venture--a shipping company, financed by Nico and overseen by Percy.

The months stretched on into a year, and predictably, Percy had already seen great growth and investment from some other bankers and merchants in the city, what with his ability to not only turn the seas in his favor and outrun any marauding raiders, but also to simply discern the best days to sail, to predict weather patterns and wave directions.

She always knew he’d be superbly successful at this line of work--even without his father’s blessings.

Annabeth, meanwhile, had not been sitting idly by. Once again, with Nico’s assistance, she had entered the expatriate community of Constantinople, rubbing elbows with certain persons who would not have even deigned to look her way, had they known her before, in the fallen city itself. Now that she was moneyed and married to a very important shipping contractor, a whole world of politics had opened itself to her strategic ways, though she largely tried to avoid the thorniest problems. Even now, there were whispers of what to do with the poor princess Zoe, how they might set her up in marriage with a Roman prince or Northern lord, and grow their strength and finances until they had mustered enough of a force to retake the city of Constantine.

Even with all her newfound money and influence, unfortunately the men of the community did not often take her thoughts into consideration--unsurprisingly.

Besides, she was a mother now. She had a child, and a new sympathy for Zoe’s plight. Were it her decision, she would recommend that they leave the young lady alone.

Annabeth could not say that she liked her new friends. They were pleasant enough people, and provided ample stimulating conversation, but many had never known the feel of a weapon in their hands or had tasted their own blood, never mind that they were all, of course, Christian. Oh, there were a few children of the gods here and there, one or two legacies of the Legion, but they were few and far between.

Percy was not always working, but he was not one to be confined to the home. He adored the city, and the city adored him right back, filling him with a kind of life and energy she had not seen since those few, halcyon months after the second Titanomachy. He was thriving in Venice, not just financially, but emotionally--and physically. Somehow, in the year since they had arrived, he had grown even more handsome, merry and always flushed with laughter after he returned from Nico’s residence.

A part of it pained her to see him thrive among the Latins where he had only shriveled up in her own homeland. He had not looked poorly in Svealand, of course--Percy could not ever look poorly--but there he had been so sour and withdrawn and cold, and here he very nearly burst with life. After weighing the differences between there and here, she could only conclude that the greatest changes in his life had been the lack of snow, and the presence of a companion he liked better.

Not her, of course.

When she was feeling less charitable, it seemed to her as though her husband spent every waking moment with the count. They were an odd trio, Percy, Nico, and his doctor friend Will. At the beginning, she had thought Percy was exercising some latent protective tendencies over the count. She knew he still harbored no small amount of guilt over the death of his sister, many years past; the man of noble character that he was, of course he would want to see that Nico was well taken care of. It was one of the things she loved most about him.

Then they became business partners, a sound financial move. Then they began to spend the bulk of their time together. Then, during the Carnival season, Annabeth had heard them stumbling into her house together, no doubt having just come from the raucous festivities which had captured the whole city, tittering like a couple of young girls.

Things began to piece themselves together after that.

“The next time we travel to Aachen, you and Percy should accompany us,” Will said, extending an invitation for which she had a distinct feeling only came from him, at supper one night, while Percy and Nico were out overseeing some new contract or other. “I know Iason and Franko always ask after Percy; I suspect they would be very pleased to meet you.”

Franko, perhaps, she thought to herself, but certainly not Iason. Annabeth very much doubted he would be pleased to make his acquaintance with the woman who had stolen his great love from him, trapping him with a phony marriage and an unplanned child.

The children of the elder gods had a kind of undeniable sway; Annabeth had felt it for herself. How darkly amusing, she thought, that not even Percy was immune to its influence, having attached himself not only to the son of Jupiter, but the son of Hades as well.

“I should be very pleased to meet them as well,” she replied, sipping on a cup of tea.

She would not, but she had no real recourse to refuse.

Annabeth had made her deal with the devil, and now she reaped the rewards: her son’s love, her friends’ affections, her social standing, and her husband’s indifference. If she had to meet another of her romantic rivals, she would do so with all the grace and poise her station required of her.

Even if she would rather die.

***

Venice, 1455

The distance from Conte di Angelo’s residence was a little farther than she would have liked. Most days, she would have taken a gondola all the way from the palazzo to their little house, but today, she needed time to think. What better way to do so, she supposed, than by strolling through the Piasa San Marco.

Annabeth adored the square: the red stone with its straight, white lines, the beautiful arches on the surrounding buildings, and of course, the church which dominated the eastern end. Mammoth and blocky it was, yet it reminded her so strongly of the old St. Sophia, from the golden walls which shone in the morning sun to the grand domes which rose above it. The domes still had their weight borne by expertly decorated pendentives, each surface layered with gold and portraits in the style of Eastern Romans, hideous, of course, yet comforting in its familiarity. Whenever she walked around inside the building, pretending as though she were observing the rites of the Christians and ignoring the scandalous gazes of older women as she went about with her hair only lightly covered, a complex crown of braids piled upon her head, she felt as though she were inside of a great, golden jewelry box, fit for an empress. It was not, she thought, the church of Sarah’s dream, but it was beautiful nonetheless.

She did not enter the church today, but stayed outside of it, settling herself in one of the arches of the surrounding buildings, observing the strange procession of Christian men as they passed, their steps and their songs hypnotic, in their own way. Annabeth was no expert in the rituals of the trinity, but even to her untrained eyes and ears, the differences between such displays of piety on the part of the fathers, and the rituals and regimens of the eastern patriarchs were stark, almost exaggerated.

Some days, she missed Constantinople and the agoge so much it ached. The good St. Mark, despite its Latin trappings, helped her to feel a little less lonely.

And her son, of course.

Even thinking of her son, she could not help but smile. Little Alexandros. Already he took so much after his father, his same dark hair and green eyes and large nose. He would grow up to be very, very handsome, she could already tell. To her great delight, he was just as attached to her as she was to him, eschewing the nursemaids and nannies for Annabeth instead. He was her great comfort while Percy was out conducting business on the water, the little piece of him that he had left with her.

Annabeth loved her son, more than nearly anything else in the world. All of her immediate peers, however, they had large, sprawling, enormous families. Annabeth, with her single child, simply could not compete, and she so hated to lose. Was she merely lonely? Jealous, of the family ideal? Perhaps.

But even besides… she still loved Percy. Even though he had barely so much as looked on her ever since they arrived. He was a decent husband and a magnificent father, and she wanted to give him more. She wanted more for herself.

And selfishly, she wanted him to touch her once again. She could no longer satisfy herself, not when the sense memory of his fingers inside of her still haunted her dreams.

So, she had gone to the count in order to petition him for the use of her husband.

Nico had only stared at her, flabbergasted.

“...Come again?” he had asked.

In her finest dress to prop up her ego, she had once again repeated her request. “I know you and my husband are involved,” she had said, her head raised high, “but one child is not enough for a family of our class. He will need an heir, of course, as well as daughters for dowries and sons to carry on the business. I can provide those for him.”

Yes, Annabeth could--and not Nico. This was the keystone of her strategic brilliance, a body which could bear children.

Still, he had stared at her, more confused than ever. “I… Signora, I do not understand.”

What was so confusing? “Your excellency,” she had said, ready to try again, “I have come to you today to--”

“No, no, I understand that,” he had said. “You have made your request quite clear. My confusion is thus: why do you feel the need to petition me for children, when you could very easily ask your husband?”

“Because…” Was he being deliberately foolish in order to mock her? “Well--because, you two are…”

He had raised an eyebrow. “We are what?”

Gods above, was he going to force her to say it?

“I think, perhaps, you may have misunderstood the nature of our relationship, Anna Elisabetta,” he had said, dryly.

“With respect, sir,” she had replied, “do not mistake me for one of the trinity zealots of this city. I know what heroes do when they keep company with each other.”

He had frowned, befuddled. “You… are you implying that your husband and I--”

“I, too, have kept company with women,” she had said, quickly, suddenly worried he would take her words as an insult, “and I would never seek to cast judgement.”

Then, he had done something she never expected.

He had laughed.

“I beg your pardon?”

He only laughed harder.

So uncivilized, she had thought, her irritation growing by the second.

“I can certainly say,” he finally said, when he regained his wits, though stray chuckles still escaped every now and then, “that this was not what I was expecting.”

It had been odd to see him laugh. Odd, but not unpleasant. Truly, he had a lovely laugh, the dourness falling from his countenance. It was not difficult to see why Percy might be so taken with him.

“Oh, Annabeth,” said the count, “I do not know what mist has deceived you, for it can only be through magical means that you do not recognize just how deeply Percy loves you.”

He had sent her away shortly thereafter, to seek out her husband, and ponder on his words, which was how she found herself at the church of St. Mark, lingering as the day stretched on into evening.

Did… did Percy love her?

She thought he had, once. In their youth she had sought his affections and thought she had been making progress. She had spent several long months waiting for him to ask for her hand.

She had destroyed all hope of them, then, and then he had found the legion, and the beauty of men… or so she thought.

Had he not gone around the world with her? Had he not agreed to marry her, to stay with her and build a family with her? Had they not shared intimate moment after intimate moment, exchanging secret words and heated touches?

But he had also avoided her as best he could, eschewing her companionship for that of his friends. He had only lain with her once, at her insistence. He had had to be convinced into the truth of his marriage, that they were a union, and not two people unhappily bound together. And those same, maddening words, the ones which had haunted her for months, ever since they had made camp in the ruins of Olbia, they rang so clearly in her ears: no mortal woman. The implication there was clear. Whatever interest he may have had, he had not acted on it.

However…

Perhaps she had been… mistaken.

A different sort of fear took over her then. Had she been mistaken? Had she missed such an obvious clue, and thus doomed herself to a life without love, all because of a silly misunderstanding?

She could not think on it for too long, lest she become consumed by the hurricane of her own fears and misgivings.

Rather than take the river road, she chose to walk the rest of the way to their apartments in the eastern end of the city, the neighborhood they called Castello, hoping beyond hope that her heart would have calmed itself by the time she made it back.

It hadn’t.

Entering her home, she was first greeted, as always, by Freya the cat, who had, in the intervening years, grown even softer and furrier than she had been as a kitten, the tiny little puffball. Trotting up to Annabeth, her tail held high, she gave her mistress a perfunctory sniff, and a sweet little bump of her head, before darting off to commit untold amounts of feline mischief, as was her wont. Following her inside, then, her heart already softened, the next thing she saw was him.

Percy must have taken off work early; she had assumed he would still be at the port for another few hours at least. He had Alexandros with him, as well. They made such a wonderful picture together, father and son. When she next had a stretch of uninterrupted time, she would go about having this moment captured in perpetuity in a tapestry, a moment trapped in time and memory, just to make her smile. He had not yet noticed her, so taken with their son was he.

Then she saw what he was doing.

“There you are,” he said, popping another olive into Alexandros’ mouth. “Yes, they are your favorite, are they not?”

In response, Alexandros gurgled, happily. He had spoken a few words already--”mamma” and the like--but he did not need words to express his joy at being given his favorite food.

“Indeed?” he asked, as though he were truly carrying on a conversation with his son. “Another?” He held out another olive to him, but Alexandros would not accept it, clumsily smacking his hand away. “Oh no? You are finished, then?”

He shook his head, indicating Percy with his thick, chubby hand.

“What,” Percy gasped in delight, “you wish me to eat with you? Yes?” he asked, bringing the olive to his mouth in order to test his hypothesis.

Alexandros giggled, clapping.

“Oh, very well,” said Percy, his bright, beautiful smile like the glint of the sun off the water. “Since you insist, and since I love you very very much, I shall share this with you. Not a word of this to your grandfather, however--understand?”

Then he popped it into his mouth, and swallowed. Alexandros giggled again, smacking his hands together.

“And here I thought,” Annabeth said, unable to keep her silence any longer, “you hated the fruit.”

To his credit, he did not jump at her presence. His smile did not fall either. “I think our son is more important than my father’s disdain for olives, no? Say ‘hello’ to mamma!” he bade his son, hoisting him up on one hip.

Alexandros reached for her, his sea green eyes wide and wanting, and she took him into her arms, kissing his forehead. “Hello to you, too, angele mou,” she said, falling in love all over again. “I apologize for being gone so long.”

“It was no trouble,” said her husband. “We were able to keep ourselves entertained well enough.”

She recognized the look on his face well enough. It was the one he wore whenever he was overcome with love for Alexandros, a silly little grin crossing his face, his eyes soft and shining, his whole being exuding warmth and comfort.

But he was not looking at their son. He was looking at her.

She swallowed.

Many months ago, she had asked Percy how he knew that his mother had reached safety, and he had responded thusly: that it was a matter of faith.

Pressing another kiss to Alexandros, enjoying the way his face scrunched up at the odd feeling of her lips, she passed him off to the nanny who had been observing the scene from a respectable distance, whispering, though he could not understand at so young an age, that she would be with him shortly.

Then she turned back to Percy. Still did he look on her with that same expression, softness and affection, care and comfort, home and serenity.

A matter of faith.

Stepping up to him, she slid her arms about his neck, and pressed her mouth to his.

He responded in kind.

His hands immediately went to her hair, tangling his fingers in the free-flowing strands. He tugged on them, just a touch, but enough that as her mouth opened in a gasp, he was able to slide his tongue inside, and there she tasted all of him, felt the firmness of his body as he pressed up against her.

Yes, she thought, her senses full of the sea. Yes.

Pulling back, he chased her lips with his, whining a little as she did not let him continue, and oh, how she wished to continue, but words had to be exchanged first. She could not be wrong again. She refused it.

“I love you, Percy,” she murmured, gazing deep into the waters of the ocean. “I love you, most ardently.”

Those eyes crinkled in the corners, joy crossing his face in thick lines, like the faces of the saints on the walls of St. Mark. “I love you, Anja,” he whispered back, bringing her hands to his mouth, kissing the knuckles. “I have always loved you.”

Then, without further ado, he kissed her again, and she melted into the warm embrace of the waves.

***

The first thing she felt in the morning was soreness.

She felt it everywhere, but she felt it most keenly in her stomach, pulsing out from the core of her into every muscle and sinew and bone.

No, not her stomach--lower.

She flushed.

Ah.

With a groan, she rolled over, only to be met with the smiling face of her husband. “Oh,” she mumbled, still half asleep. “Good morning.”

“Good morning, Annabeth,” he said. “How was your rest?”

Deep and fulfilling, for she had been pushed to the very brink of exhaustion by their activities the previous night, a fact which he most certainly already knew. “Well enough,” she replied, with an air of disaffection, and he chuckled. She could feel it against her chest, realizing, belatedly, that he wore no night shirt, cuddled so close together they were. “And yourself?”

“Wonderful,” he said, and he kissed her cheek. “Marvelous.” He kissed her nose. “Absolutely divine.” He kissed her mouth, running one hand gently over the bare skin of her side, and she shivered.

“Mmph, Percy--” The force of his kisses stoked the fire within her, and as much as she desired to give into it, she felt that there were a few things which required a brief discussion. “A moment, please.”

At her request, he pulled back, though he kept a hand loosely curled at the juncture of her shoulder. His fingers brushed against her, as though he could not stop himself from touching her the way he wished to, the way she wished him to. “Yes?”

“We…” By the gods, she could not focus when he looked on her like that, dark and arresting and wanting. “I--”

But she could not help herself, breaking down into giggles and laughter. Percy joined her, until the two of them were as children again, laughing at nothing and everything.

“Oh, perdono, perdono,” she said, breathless with humor. “There were things I wished to say, I swear.”

“There will be time later for discussion,” he replied, a familiar heat overtaking his gaze. “Now there are different sounds I would have you make.”

Rolling her on top of him, he kissed her once again, his mouth hot and insistent against hers, crushing her to his chest, the currents of his hands running through her hair and buffeting her body. With great, great regret, she lifted herself up, pulling herself away from him, even as he rose up after her, eyes gleaming with such affection that she could not even fathom, as boundless as the sea that was his lifeblood and his birthright--she drowned in him, and she would be more than happy to die with him once again.

“Percy, wait,” she said, firmly. She could not let this go on a moment further without saying her piece.

Obedient, attentive, loyal to a fault, he sat up with her on his lap, his fingers curled about her hips, tapping lightly, waiting for her. She touched him in kind, her hands about his shoulders, rocking back and forth on his lap as she tried to settle her nerves.

“I…” She swallowed, raising her eyes heavenward. Old shame caused her cheeks to heat, mistakes long since made rising from the fog of the past, like mountains. “There is… something I must say to you. Please, allow me to say it in totality, and without interruption.”

Frowning slightly, nevertheless, he nodded.

To ground herself, she squeezed his shoulders, focusing on the swell of his bare chest as it rose and fell with each breath, indisputable, irrefutable proof of his life, of his life with her. “What I said to you,” she began, haltingly, “all those years ago--please, you must know I never truly wished you dead.”

“Annabeth--”

She squeezed again, more firmly. “I beg you, allow me my space to speak.”

Mouth twisting, he acquiesced.

“When you disappeared,” she said, casting her mind back to that horrible, terrible time, “I--I thought I had left you to your death. You, the person whom I loved most in the world, I thought I had left you to tender mercies of some monster, and that in my moment of weakness, I had abandoned all that I had been taught by Chiron, Thalia, you, to never leave a friend in peril. For over a year, I lived in my shame and my weakness, and when you did return, miracle of miracles, know that I was happy. I was so happy to know you were safe.” She could not count the hours she had lost to tears and sleeplessness and self-hatred. The year had passed as though in a terrible dream, in bursts of meaningless activity which she could not recall and had only served to render her even more miserable. To see him home once more had felt like the passing of a sea storm, or the healing of a wound, but then--”But when I saw the mark of the Legion upon you, I--I was so angry with myself, to think that I had spent all those months worrying myself sick for nothing, when you were as hale and healthy as one of our kind can reasonably consider to be… but that feeling, in itself, was childish and immature. I should never have thought those things, or treated you thus, yet I let my baser instincts take over until I pushed you away in the most vile manner, and for that, know that I am deeply, deeply sorry. I do not beg your forgiveness, nor do I deserve your love.” Then, taking his hands in hers, she kissed the knuckles there, as he had done to hers many times before, and closed her eyes against his face.

It was not graceful, but it was the truth. She had never been so skilled with words, but she could not let another moment pass her by without her great confession.

Percy was, by nature, not a vengeful person. In that way, his mother’s influence far outweighed his father’s, so she was not surprised when he pulled her forward, and kissed her forehead. Opening her eyes, she saw Percy looking up at her, his beautiful gaze shining like the glass of Murano. “Of course you are forgiven,” he whispered. “Of course you are loved.”

“You forgive too easily, kærasti.”

“I most certainly do not,” he said. “But we were young and misguided in many things, and we deserve a little grace between us.” He kissed one cheek and then the other.

“I do not want there to be anything between us,” Annabeth said. “no ambiguity or animosity. You must understand how much I adore you and always, have.”

“I love you.” Even at such simple words, she felt her face grow hot, felt her mouth curl up in a smile. “I have loved you for so long, certainly since before we arrived at your father’s house, but, truly, for much, much longer than that--ever since I was a child.”

“You have?” she whispered, afraid to even voice the question, lest the fantastical words be ripped from her.

“Do you remember,” he said, twirling a stray curl about his finger, “the night of the Solstice festival upon Olympus? When we danced in the hall of the gods?”

Of course she did. She had been taller than him then, bless him, but they had danced together well into the small hours of the morning, to a song both sorrowful yet bursting with hope.

“That was the moment I realized that I loved you, and I have never, never stopped--not even during my time with the Legion.” His countenance changed, then, frowning lightly. “My only regret is that I did not tell you before I went with them. I should have said something on our way to Aachen, but, you must understand, I had nothing: no money, no employment, no--”

She placed her finger on his lips, silencing the stream of dour truths. “I know,” she said. “Of course I understand.”

“Never did I think that I could have this,” he said, around her finger, kissing the tip of it. “The gods saw fit to bless me with your hand and your child, and I would have been happy with no further.”

“But now you have me, too,” she responded--perhaps a little cheeky.

Percy liked a little cheek, she knew.

He grinned. “Oh yes,” he said, sweeping her close once more. “Now I have you, too.”

And if it were up to him, she knew, he would have her, again and again and again, a series of events to which she was not unopposed. Yet, he had given her so much, his life and his love and his loyalty, and so he deserved something in return. Something she had never done for anything else. Something she never imagined she would do at all.

His arms crossed the bare skin of her back, one high, one dangerously low. It was almost difficult to move, to shimmy herself out of his embrace and down, and not only because Percy was stronger than she. He must have made a valiant effort to control himself during their little heart-to-heart, for she could feel the hard press of his cock up against her, no doubt having been awakened by such a warm, friendly presence, rocking back and forth upon it. As he had done the previous night to her, so she did to him this morning, kissing her way down the planes of his chest, his stomach, his hips--a body worthy of Phidias, of the greatest marble-men and bronze-workers of the ages.

“Where are you going?” he pleaded, petulant. “I have not had my fill of kisses.”

“Worry not--you shall have all the kisses you desire, and more.” Truly, he must have been a man of particular restraint and discipline, to have gone all those years without kissing her, so demandingly, so full of passion. To think that such a romantic had been lurking beneath the surface of the sulky, downtrodden boy who had stumbled into their camp! Certainly, she had never imagined that they two would be in this position, until one day, when she could no longer imagine being in this position with anyone else.

Both in the literal sense and the metaphorical.

Lukas’ betrayal and Percy’s disappearance had made things… somewhat difficult for Annabeth, in the realm of romance, and without Silena, her closest confidant, to help her make sense of her feelings, she was left to the whims of her own imaginations. Though she never acted on any of them, her imagination had provided her with many, many scenarios to dwell upon, most, if not all of them, featuring the man before her--and being pregnant had only made them even more intense. To have known his attentions so intimately, to bear the proof of it so obviously, made her dreams even more vivid and agonizing than usual, particularly since he was so physically close, yet so maddeningly far away.

She had not had a chance to perform this on her wedding night, too burdened with hesitation and dread. Now that she had him as he had her, she would not hesitate.

A student of art and architecture, Annabeth was no stranger to male anatomy--beyond the simple study of marble and body, she had grown up with a number of young men and women in very tight corners, which did not allow for much privacy. She was even no longer unfamiliar with Percy’s anatomy, having studied it quite extensively the previous night.

Upon seeing it again, she could not help but flush, biting her lip.

Percy was a proper man, with a proper man’s cock--small and perfectly sized, unlike the large, boorish, sex-crazed animals in the poems and drinking songs. He wielded it as skillfully as he wielded his sword, bringing her to greater and greater heights with each thrust.

She should thank it for giving her a son, no?

Annabeth then wetted her lips, and kissed the very tip of him. Percy nearly jumped out of his skin, his knees knocking into her shoulders. “Anja!” he gasped, “what--”

But she would not let him answer, taking the whole of him in her mouth.

For some time, she had him prisoner there, hypothesizing and experimenting and committing to memory everything he enjoyed, which twist of the tongue or pull of the lips brought the most broken, wrecked sounds from his mouth. At his sides, his hands flexed and unflexed, hypnotic like the tides, grasping at nothing but air. “Anja, Anja, Anja,” he babbled, breathless and writhing, and Annabeth found she was quite enjoying this. The taste was not so pleasant, but the sight of his head tilted back, his chin pointed to the sky, the strain in his muscles as he struggled not to thrust in her mouth so that she would not be so rudely interrupted, the control and the power--she liked that very, very much.

It was not long before he was pawing, clumsily at her head. “Anja,” he groaned, “I cannot--I cannot--”

Even this, too, was becoming more and more familiar, the state of him as he neared that point. She must have miscalculated, however, for it was not a moment later that she was forced to pull her head away, her mouth suddenly very ill-tasting.

Unable to grasp any sort of control, he spent himself in her hand right there and then, so forceful it even landed on her face, and in her hair.

“Cazzo, cazzo, merda, Anja,” he sighed, twitching and moaning as he fell once more to earth. “Oh, Anja.” His chest heaved as he gasped for his breath, his limbs boneless and lax. On his face was a smile, sleepy and silly, his eyes closed.

She gave him one more lasting caress, and he shuddered, whimpering.

Climbing back up the expanse of his body, she returned much the way she came, kissing each exposed inch, from stomach to chest to shoulders to neck, then meeting him once more at his lips. He groaned, his face twisting quite adorably at the taste of himself in her mouth. “If I must taste it, love,” she said with a smile, “then you must too.”

His eyes popped open, then. “No,” he said, “no, no, you mustn’t do anything which you do not like.” With some effort, he craned his neck to see her, his hands coming up to cup at her face. “Neither something to me, nor with me, nor for me. I will only see you brought perfect pleasure in our bed.”

“You misunderstand me,” she said, raising a brow. “I did not dislike it. I did not dislike it quite a bit.”

A moment, then he blushed, divining her true meaning, and flopping his head back down. “I see.”

She tittered, feeling once more a girl of sixteen years old, in love with a boy and with the funny feeling in her stomach whenever he smiled at her.

“As well, I felt as though I had a debt to pay for all the pleasures you performed upon me last night. I must say,” she said, nestling into the space of his shoulder, drawing her finger up the planes of his chest, “that was very well done for one who has never known a woman.”

He frowned, though she more felt it than saw it. “How do you mean?”

“What you said to me, all those years ago--that you had lain with ‘no mortal woman.’” It had been a phrase which had haunted her waking dreams, ringing in her ears like the bells of the churches on every street corner, frightening her into withholding the truth of her heart for far too long.

An odd smile crossed his face, then, something far more smug and self-confident than she had ever seen him before. Percy lightly stroking the skin of her neck, she shivered, pressing into him. “No mortal woman, yes.”

The implication of emphasis was clear.

She leaned up on an elbow, incredulous. “An… immortal one?”

Strange little smile, he nodded.

Her heart thudded in his chest. An immortal woman. The pool of potential partners had just expanded considerably. “Well,” she said, perhaps a little shakily. “Look at you.”

Look at me, she wished to say. Look at me, so plain and mortal. Look at me, who spurned and rejected you, whose beauty shall fade in time, who will one day leave you, through no will of my own.

Curiosity overcame the greater part of her fear. “With whom?”

But Percy, sensing her turmoil, raised himself up on his elbow to look her in the eyes. “One day,” he said, soft and low, “I shall tell you the truth of it. I shall divulge every moment of that time, and how each one paled in comparison to the long, cold, lonely nights beside the Danapris. For now, however,” he reached out to tuck a stray curl behind the swell of her ear. “Now, let us have peace. There will be time later for talk--a whole life’s worth of it, and one I look forward to sharing with you.”

“A whole life’s worth,” she agreed, settling down beside him. Instantly, he turned his body towards her, his arm coming up once more to pull her close. “I cannot think of anything better.”

“Nothing?” he teased.

“Well,” she said, stretching her neck up towards his face, matching smiles adorning their faces, “not quite nothing.”

In truth, there was nothing more she required of him than this, his body beside hers, their fingers intertwined, and their hearts finally, finally, finally together.

But she would never say no to another kiss.

It took them the better part of the morning, but they did eventually find the strength to pull themselves out of each other’s arms in order to get dressed and rejoin the household. The feel of Percy pulling the laces of her stays made her wonder if perhaps her maidservant would find herself relieved of that duty. When he was done, he pushed her hair aside and kissed her neck, the feeling of his chapped lips against her skin inspiring yet another surge of heat inside of her which nearly forced her to rip her clothing right back off, but the dual promises of food and her son kept her from pulling him back to her bed.

The bed they would now share, she was sure.

She found one of her veils, a white one detailed in blue that she had hoped her husband would like, and began wrapping it around her head. “Must you torture me so, my love,” he said, face set in an adorable pout.

“How do you mean?”

“Why do you insist on covering even more of yourself?” As he spoke, he reached under it before she pinned it in place, and pulled several of her curls out of it.

She giggled at his expression, strikingly reminiscent of the one which Alexandros wore when he did not wish to eat his sprouts. “You wish everyone to see me?”

“Well, perhaps not all of you,” Percy admitted, his hand curling around her waist. “Some parts of you are mine alone.” He brushed his hand over the space where her feminine center lay, and even through her gown, it was nearly too much. “Yet, if it meant I never had to have it shielded from my view, I would not mind everyone seeing your hair.”

Pausing, she considered his eager, wide-eyed look. It was a little scandalous, but… there was not much work to be done outside of the household today. What was the harm?

She stripped her veil away running a hand through her hair. Unexpectedly, it caught on something hard and crusty resting in her curls. Frowning, she pulled on her hair, confused--then when she realized what it was, she felt her entire face heat.

“If you insist on spending your seed in my hair, love,” she said, dryly, “then I will not be able to walk around with it uncovered.”

He flushed, too, dark and red, turning and retrieving one of her combs from her table. “Allow me then to rectify my mistake.”

“Oh, no, no.” She waved him off. “As your punishment, I am going to keep it this way. But, as I am a respectable, married woman, and respectable married women tend hot to keep their husbands seed in their hair, it will be covered, for now, to teach you a lesson regarding aim and husbandly manners.”

Thoroughly chastised, yet still smiling, he set down the comb. “Might I… plait it, before you cover it, then?”

Once he promised he would not attempt to remove his dried seed, she acquiesced.

It was not her boldest fantasy about the man sitting beside her, but she had long dreamed of the feeling of his hands through her hair. The only time she had experienced the feeling before had been the day he had cut all of it off. It had been quite the experience, certainly, and convenient in many many ways, but given his affection now, she vastly preferred this.

He made quick work, weaving her hair into a rope, not as delicate or intricate as she might have done, but still, the fact that it was Percy doing the weaving, Percy tracing his fingers about the shape of the curls, Percy performing the act, made all the difference.

When he had finished, he tied it off with a leather strap, kissing at her hairline. “Please,” he murmured, “do not ever think that you are not the picture of wifely virtue in my eyes.”

A flattery, for Annabeth could not quite imagine what about her was the picture of wifely virtue--she had just insisted on wearing her husband's seed, for gods’ sake. She was neither deferential nor demure. She had broken his heart, and forced his hand, ripping him away from his life to deliver her halfway across the world, and then once more. Certainly he loved her. She knew that now, and could see it through their long years together. But to see her that way, when she felt so much like she failed as a wife, and could only now make it up to him with the full force of her devotion, was almost more than she could take.

“When I have the best husband in the world,” she said, “to be a good wife is no great difficulty.”

He paused and took her hand in his once again, kissing at her knuckles and then the palm, along a very old, once very deep scar. Then, her hand still in his, he led them out of the bedroom, and into their house.

In some corner of her mind, she had expected just a little bit more of a reaction from the other members of the house. She thought the servants would have given them a suspicious look or two, or, at the very least, for Alexandros’ nurse to raise an eyebrow, yet neither strange word was spoken, nor odd look thrown their way as they walked their apartments, or sat down for their luncheon. In that state of utter normalcy, then, when they were done, they went to visit Alexandros.

Usually, Percy and Annabeth had often spent much of their time with their son alone, without their partner, as Percy was often at sea, and on his return, Annabeth rather felt she needed to leave them be, so that they could bond without any external influence on her part. Today, Alexandros sat between them, trading smiles with his father. They looked so alike, it warmed her heart.

It always had, from his first moments, and even before, as she had been eager for her son to look like his papa, yet for the past year, there had been something of a painful edge to it, to the heavy knowledge that, while she had the love of her son, she did not have that of his father. It had been sweet and pure and perfect, yet bitter and cold as well. Now, however, as a family, real and whole and complete, she could not help but be overwhelmed with them both, with how much she loved them, and with the knowledge that they loved her in return.

After an hour or so, in which Percy entertained her son with his menagerie of little animal toys, Alexandros turned to her, wide-eyed and innocent. “Mamma,” he said, grasping at her breast. “Mamma.”

“Are you hungry, my darling?” she asked, picking him up and taking him onto her lap, as she had dismissed his nurse when they’d come into the nursery. Now that he was on solid foods, he required less nursing on the whole, but his nursemaid also knew that Annabeth vastly preferred to do the deed herself, in something of a break with convention. She had not done so in the presence of Percy since Alexandros had been the smallest of newborns, on that ship, in the tightest, most unavoidable of quarters, and when they had reached Venice, and Nico had set them up at his house while they waited to find their own, Percy had left her alone to it. No longer bashful, she undid her lacings, and pulled down her chemise, and with very little effort, began to feed her son.

Percy swept several of the toys aside, and came and sat with her on the little bench she held him on.

“I am so happy,” he said, in a quiet voice, “that you have such a wonderful mamma, Alexandros. You deserve only the best--and you have received it.”

She looked at him, and there were tears forming in his eyes. One like a crystal rolled down his cheek, and he made no move to hide it, or pretend it was not there. Percy was not usually one to weep--that was more her own purview, to her great chagrin--but she was pleased to see how he presented no shame at the thought of revealing his emotions. Good, bad, towering, subtle, a crashing wave or a gentle tide, after years of being deprived of his feelings through her own foolish actions, at last, she had them once again.

“I love you,” she said again, unthinkingly, though she must have repeated the sentiment a thousand times before in the last few hours. She had wasted many a year by denying them both the truth, and so, she vowed, she would never withhold it again.

He smiled, face wet like the morning mist off the shore, moving closer, shoulder to shoulder, hand in hand, kiss to her brow. “And I, you.”

The day proceeded as naturally as possible from there, though they did not return Alexandros to the care of his nanny until the hour had grown quite late. Watching Percy hold him, as their little boy drifted to sleep in his arms, she was loath to part with such a wonderful picture.

They laid him in his bed together, then, as soon as they had closed the door behind them, Percy picked her up, clear off the ground. She shrieked as she suddenly found herself in his clutches, though she knew it to be the safest of all possible places. “What are you doing?” she gasped, breathless with laughter.

“Holding what I cherish as close as I can,” he said, a touch dramatic, and swept her off to her bedroom.

“You lovesick fool!” she cried, giggling as he practically bounded through the halls.

The moment the door had closed behind him, he dropped her on their bed, nearly ripping her veil right off of her head.

“Please, take care--I happen to quite like the stitching on that one,” but he stopped her chiding in its tracks as he wound his fingers through her hair, dislodging handfuls of it from its braid, and pulling her mouth to his.

“You have punished me long enough, I think,” he smirked, “and now I shall have my revenge.”

His revenge was the sweetest kind.

With a gentle hand, much lighter than she had expected, he unwound her hair, and, picking up her comb from where he had set it down earlier, went about brushing it out, the slow, sweet process of removing his leavings from their earlier intimacies.

She winced as he pulled on a particularly knotty section. Of the many pains and indignities she’d suffered, her hair being tugged by her husband was not terribly high on any sort of list, though she was a bit theatrical about it.

“A thousand pardons, my love,” Percy said.

Oh, Annabeth could hear him say it a hundred times, and she did not think she would ever tire of those words. She had no wish to abandon their old, childish names for each other, but adorations such as these filled her with a lightness she had never known.

“I shall need a thousand more” she said, “as you should not have spread your seed so liberally. Going forward, we shall have to clean it more quickly.”

“I will endeavor not to pain you so,” he replied as he moved all her hair aside, planting a hot string of kisses along her neck that caused her to question the sincerity of such statements. Then, taking up a jug, he poured a bit more water on the hardened curls, reapplying the comb.

“See that you do,” she said, “and that, in the future, you shall place your seed where it belongs.”

“And where, pray tell, would that be?”

He leaned in again to suck at the junction of her neck and shoulder and she moaned at the feeling, bringing her own hand to her center, rubbing lightly, before it grew to be too much, and she pulled away from him turning around to face him properly.

Lifting her skirts to sit astride his lap, she said, “It belongs inside of me.”

Wrapping one hand around the curve of his shoulder, she snaked the other between them, down to his breeches. And squeezed.

“Yes.” he breathed, hot and heavy.

“Oh, yes,” she agreed, short and clipped, trying to force her own breathless desire down for just a moment longer, “for if you do not spill inside of me, how am I to give you more sons?”

She leaned in to kiss him again, but he pulled back.

Not far, not out of her arms, but away. All lust faded from her, replaced with concern.

“You do not have to give me a single thing,” he said earnestly, raising a hand, and tracing her cheek with a sword-callused finger.

“What?”

Sincerely, far more sincerely than his earlier promise of decorum, he brushed a stray curl from her face. “You have given me more than any man deserves--yourself, and our son. Please, please, my love, my dearest dearest Ana Zabeta, do not ever think I would ask any more of you.”

His words took a moment to sink in, but when they did, they strung with the bitter bite of a poison dagger. “You… do not want any other children, then?” she asked, attempting to keep her voice level, her face calm, her pulse slow.

“Do not think me to be so greedy,” he said. “My love, do not think I would put you through such pain and fear again. I have our son, and I have you. My only desire is for your health and happiness.”

“But…” She knew not what to say, how to argue against this. If he truly wanted no more children, if Alexandros was to be their only one--

He went on, beseeching. “Yet do not despair, for I can love and pleasure you in a hundred ways which shall carry no risk. I can give you everything you desire, and you shall never want for my affection and my care.”

“But I do desire more children.” It sounded petulant to her own ears, but, there was no other way to express the force of her wants. “Alexandros is perfect, his father is perfect--how can I not wish for more? Faced with such perfection, how can I not dream of growing our family, our home, our love?”

He looked at her, his handsome features marred by hesitation and fear. “I… could not bear to lose you, Anja,” he said, softly, achingly gentle. “I only just got you. I almost lost you so many times before, either to monsters or to years of silly arguments and pointless squabbling. I almost lost you to pregnancy last time.” His voice shook as he spoke. “I, too, would love more children, but not if it carries any risk to you. You are too precious to me,” he breathed, tracing his fingers over her skin, so careful. So wonderful. “I could not bear it if anything happened to you.”

She leaned over, kissing his cheek, small, quiet tears at the corner of her vision. His pains were so clearly evident, for her and caused by her, all at once. “It will not be so dangerous as you imagine,” she said, hoping to put him at some kind of ease. “By some great fortune, Will is here. Not only is he the greatest healer in the world, he has magic: ambrosia and nectar and all sorts of potions and pastes.”

But she could not dismiss his concerns entirely. Bringing Alexandros into this world had been a frightening experience, her fear and terror lingering even for months afterwards, slow to fade.

“I will freely admit it is not without any risk,” she said, after a moment, “but we have taken so many risks together, for us and for others. We have faced only the greatest of dangers, dangers that our mortal peers could never even dream of in their darkest, most terrible thoughts. Let us face this smaller danger together, with all the comfort of our house, and all the safety of the good doctor. And,” she grasped the hand that still rested on her face, and pulled it away, bringing it to rest on her belly, “think of the reward.”

He swallowed, casting his gaze downward. “It would be great,” he murmured, reverent, speaking before an altar.

“The greatest,” she promised. “I can give you more sons, each one greater than the last.”

“And daughters?”

She blinked. “Excuse me?”

“I--” He flushed. “Well--if I am permitted, then, to indulge in greed…” He pulled his hand off her belly, taking hers and bringing it to his lips, kissing it, just as he had over two years ago in Athens, when they had sworn an end to their hostilities, speaking faster, and with greater intent. “Whenever I thought of a family for us, I always dreamt of a daughter, of your daughter, a little girl with all of her mother’s spirit, intelligence, and cunning, her strength of heart and her wickedness with a dagger.”

“I see.” It had not even occurred to her. A daughter, yes, in passing, those things happened, but that Percy might wish it so strongly… “Yes,” she nodded. “We can work towards that, as well.”

He slid a hand around her back, bringing her even closer, her chest flush against his clavicle, desire and worship in equal measure in the heat of his eyes. “Then let me give you as many sons and daughters as you wish, my love,” he whispered, a rumble in his chest she could better feel, rather than hear. “Let me see as many legacies of Athena as I can provide take Venice by storm.”

And with that, he pulled her down onto the bed with him.

***

“I hate the lost years,” he whispered into her skin, “but the truth of the matter is that I could not have made you a good husband when we were young.”

“Of course you would have,” she said, breathless, her mind mostly on his hands as they combed up her flanks. His skill with his tongue, his hands, his cock, it all had to be innate.

Still stroking her tender, he said, apologetic. “I had no means to support a wife. I still have no means to support a wife. It is only due to a sheer stroke of luck that you possess enough means for the both of us.”

“I have looked at the accounts,” she pointed out. “In just two voyages you have earned back nearly all of our investment. Within a year, you and Nico will be clear and settled. You support your wife and your child quite well.”

She’d almost said ‘children,’ but she did not wish to curry his excitement just yet. The midwife had not been so sure, and given Annabeth a whole host of other potential maladies.

Will had said it was not any of those things, but told her to feel for the quickening, and then they might all know for sure.

"You support us,” Percy said, “I merely work to make sure your money goes far. I do not mind,” he sat up, assuring, “It is not a question of some manly pride on my part. I am so very happy that you and Alexandros are so well cared for, and that you care for me, as well. That it must all fall to you, however, and that without our journey to Svealand, I would not be able to see you taken care of as you deserve, is what irks me so.”

“But I am,” she said, “I am well taken care of by you.”

His smile was too small and sad for such a happy conversation. “I love you with more passion than I believe some know to be possible,” he said, simply, “and I hope I take care of you in many ways. I pray that I am a worthy steward of your money, and that I represent you well when I use it on both of our behalf. Yet I must never forget it was you who brought such an asset into our marriage. We would have had nothing after the war with the titans, and I would have hated that.”

"I would have had you,” she told him, equally as simply.

What a sweet thought! How they might have grown together in that time! How many children mind they have, now, if they had not gotten in their own way!

“I would have worked my hardest to be worthy of you,” he said, all the earnestness of youth clear on his face, “but I fear you would have only ended up with the least eligible man in all of Constantinople.”

She laughed at his little jest.

He did not laugh with her.

Her laughter trailed off at his confused look.

By the gods, he was serious.

“Need I remind you,” she said, “that you were the most eligible man in all of the agoge.”

“I was no such thing,” he said. “When my lack of any kind of material advantages showed, all women but you were rightfully scared away.”

Annabeth stared at him. This man. Her husband, father of her son, love of her life. A great hero, a brilliant strategist, the person she’d want with her in battle over all else.

And, she sometimes remembered, the occasional fool.

“Do you know how much effort I spent, Percy, seducing women away from you?”

He blinked. “What?”

“Oh yes.” And what a time that had been. “Most of the girls of our little village had their own money, you know. Katya had some truly wonderful land, I was told, and Tora’s father was simply dripping in silks and spices.”

“You… seduced them?”

“I did indeed,” Annabeth said, easy and straightforward. “I distracted them, made them think that a man would not be worth their troubles compared to the passion I could provide.”

It had not, precisely, been much of a chore. They had been beautiful women, all, vivacious and full of life. Clarice and Silena had been her own choices, of course, sweet childhood romances while she’d mulled over her feelings for Percy, but the women whom she’d engaged so they might direct their attentions away from the man she loved had proven to be sweetly entertaining nonetheless.

“You romanced Katya and Tora to get them away from me?” His eyes were wide, the blush in his cheeks winding its way down his chest, roses in bloom.

“Not just them,” she said. “Between our journey through the labyrinth and the great war, I must have bedded… oh, half the children of Aphrodite--save Silena, of course, who was too enraptured by Carlo by then. And then a few others.” It was truly a wonder she had not garnered something of a terrible reputation. Truly, the children of the gods were an enlightened few, unburdened by arbitrary rules. “You were quite the catch.”

He blinked again, his gaze very far off. “You must have been… very distracting.”

His voice hitched, and she realized he might have been picturing it.

“Oh yes,” she nodded. “I was quite the distraction.” Leaning in close, she trailed a line of kisses from his jaw up to his ear. She liked the rough stubble against her lips, a feeling she’d only ever known from Percy. She’d long loved women, their smooth skin and sweet faces and musical voices, as friends and partners both, but she loved Percy, too. “Would you like to hear about it, my love? Would you like the stories of the women I seduced, so I could have you all to myself?” she whispered into his ear.

He whined, marvelously, his breath shuddering in his chest.

She would not give him all the stories today, as she had many to share. Before he went back out to sea, however, she would give him a few.

***

“Do not think,” Annabeth said, attempting crossness even as she lounged on their bed, “that I shall allow you to continue to put off your voyage this way.”

“Think you so little of me?” She could sense him attempting crossness as well, though he was far less accomplished at it than she was. “Which one of us can control the waves, again?”

“And which one of us has put off the extraordinarily lucrative Genoese shipment for the last two months?” she countered.

Percy shrugged one shoulder, jostling the bowl of olives awkwardly held in the crook of his arm, though he had remained in that position for at least an hour, now. “Giovanni does not require my assistance to move a few silks and spices ‘round the country. L’Imperatrice is in good hands, I promise you,” he said, plucking a fruit from the bowl and feeding it to her.

L’Imperatrice--the Empress. That he had named his flagship after the little canoe which had carried them together through to the ends of the earth, which had taken her name from Percy’s private little fantasy, it sent her heart on a strange little dance.

Annabeth should have been cross with him, truly. In all considerations of the situation, to defer and delegate such an important shipment to his mortal second-in-command who did not possess even a tenth of Percy’s skill with the waves in order to spend time with his pregnant wife, rubbing her feet and hand-feeding her olives, was a poor business decision. She should have been cross, yet, doted upon and loved and with a belly full of his children, she simply could not bring herself to feel anything less than perfect bliss, neither anger, nor irritation, nor even a passing annoyance.

Yes, children. Will, the poor man whom they kept poaching away from the Conte di Angelo, suspected it to be two. Her treasures were many, and multiplying.

She moved her body, just a little, repositioning herself on the soft bed. Though her pregnancy had been rather a dull affair, all things considered, as compared to the previous one, some things, unfortunately, had remained constant.

“Still,” she said, as she refused to give up quite so easily, “please do promise me that you shall go down to the docks to at least speak with the man before he departs.”

“I suppose I could,” he tilted his head, considering.

She narrowed her eyes. Having seen and catalogued all possible configurations of his handsome face by now, there was virtually no possible way to construe this one as sincere.

“Or,” he said, a lascivious grin crossing his face, his free slowly, agonizingly slowly, tracing random patterns on her shift and her skin, sauntering ever so vaguely downwards. “Or, I could spend the afternoon doing something infinitely more… appetizing, shall we say, than speaking to Giovanni.”

Percy, the absolute rapscallion, even had the audacity to lick his lips.

Damn him. Her sense memory was far too strong to resist.

It was only a matter of time before she gave in. She knew it, he knew it--to argue otherwise would only be prolonging the inevitable, driving their lusts higher and higher with impatience and anticipation.

So, then, she decided to prolong it a little.

She hummed, tapping her chin with a finger. “Allow me to think on it for a moment or two.”

“Of course, my love,” he murmured, his voice already deep and warm, the quality it only took on during activities such as these. His fingers had transported themselves from her collarbone and clavicle to the skin of her shin, dancing and tapping at the edge of her shift, occasionally crossing underneath the hem. “You shall have all the time you require.”

Tap, tap, tap, a maddening little dance he played on the bumps and ridges of her knee, so distracting she could not even focus on pretending to be uninterested, her hips moving of their own accord, ever so slightly.

As it happened, she did not require nearly as much time to decide as she had thought she would.

And she did not even mind terribly when the bowl of olives, overturned and spilled in haste, ended up on the floor.

***

For weeks, Annabeth had been dreading the birth. Twice the children, twice the trouble, she had thought, and given just how dangerous the last one had been, she had been wracked with nerves for days. Not even Percy’s presence, warm and soothing and solid, could chase away her fears.

Though, at the very least, there was no danger of Percy accidentally raising another typhoon.

“Much simpler than last time, no?” Will had commented in Greek, attending to Annabeth while he had his assistant wrap the babies. “I was, at the very least, expecting some sort of earthquake to send the city plunging into the lagoon.”

Percy chuckled at the good-natured jest, far past the point of chagrin. “To have you here the whole time has put me much at ease, Dottore,” he said. “If you are certain there is nothing more I can do for you as repayment--”

But he waved Percy off, wiping down an instrument. “Think nothing of it. I am always glad to assist old friends.”

“Scusatemi, signora,” said his assistant, timidly, holding the newest members of their family in her arms. She had been somewhat scandalized when Percy had not made himself scarce during the birthing process, as was customary for menfolk, and though she had not been outwardly cold to him, or anything less than professional, Annabeth could sense she was still in something of a state of shock. “I tuoi infanti--un bambinetto e una bambinetta.”

Having already assisted Annabeth into a sitting position, Percy relieved her of one child, passing it to his wife, then took for himself the other. She had received the bambinetto, the little boy, curly wisps of blond hair nearly invisible against his skin. Just as Alexandros had been, he was beautiful, tiny and wrinkled, yet sublime in his smallness, in the little hands which curled into fists, in the slow, sleepy blink of his gray eyes as he first ever beheld the light, beheld his mother’s face.

Loving Percy had been an unexpected surprise, something for which she had neither predicted nor planned. Loving Alexandros had been something of a foregone conclusion, a soothing balm to her then-broken heart, and she had feared she would not have enough room in her soul for her son, so taken was she with his father, unwilling to exchange one for the other. Loving this little boy, however, and his sister, would be the simplest thing in the world.

She turned to her husband, pleased to see the look of awe and delight on his face. “Well, kærasti? How fares you now, now that I have given you a daughter?”

So enraptured, it was as if he had not heard her.

The door opened then, with a creak, a small, dark-haired shape toddling his way in, past the reaching hand of his caretaker. “Mamma!” he cried. “Mamma!”

“Accidenti,” muttered the Conte di Angelo, standing in the doorway. “A thousand apologies, Annabeth, but your little… child… could not be contained.”

She laughed. “Worry not--I have heard more than a few similar such sentiments from his nanny.”

Clumsily, lacking all grace, Alexandros clambered up onto the bed, making to crawl towards his mother, until he was stopped by the nigh impassable barrier of Percy’s outstretched leg. “Careful, careful,” Percy said, sweetly. “Your mamma is resting.”

All wide eyes and curiosity, he crept even closer, his mouth hanging open in a child’s confusion, as doctor, midwife, and count exited the room, in the periphery of her vision.

“Angele mou,” she murmured, “would you like to meet your brother?”

He did not respond, not so old yet that he possessed the gift of uninhibited communication, but he did peer, curiously, at the small thing in his mother’s arms.

If she cast her mind back, Annabeth could not quite recall the first time she had ever met her brothers. Buried beneath the dirt and rubble of time and more pressing matters, she tried to remember if she had been excited to become an older sibling, to have some sort of sororal responsibility for her father’s new wife. Her situation had been quite different, of course; she had been old enough to comprehend what was taking place, and too clever by far for her to not feel some resentment, and in a fit of terror and rage, had taken flight into the unknown.

Alexandros, perhaps, did not yet understand the matter, could not quite understand that these two little things were now his family, that his mama’s love and his papa’s attention would no longer be solely focused upon him.

“This is your brother, Lukas,” she told him, the name she and Percy had agreed upon, a bygone memory of a friend and brother who had taken care of them both, and risen above all his failures in the end. “Can you say hello?”

“Loo-kas,” he said, reaching out a pudgy hand.

“Very good!” She was charmed far too easily by her children, but she simply could not help herself--it was far too sweet an image. “And that,” she said, indicating her husband beside her, “is your sister.”

If Percy could even conceive of a world outside of his daughter, now, he showed no indication of it, barely even moving when Alexandros made his way over to him, grasping onto his shoulder for balance.

Hushed, she asked him, “Percy? Have you chosen a name for her?”

They had spent weeks agonizing over names for their newborns. Names had power, they knew intimately, and had to be chosen with great care. When it was determined she would be having twins, they had each agreed to choose one child’s name, to be shared with their partner, or kept a surprise. Percy knew the names for which she had a distinct distaste, and so she was not concerned he would choose something she truly hated, but she was quite curious.

His gaze, green and glassy, was fixed on his daughter, a single tear falling down his cheek, his throat working as he summoned the will to speak. “Anja,” he murmured.

“Yes, my love?”

He turned to her then, his mouth trembling, the sunrise of his joy breaking on his face, warm and brilliant. “Her name is Anja.”

If her heart were any more full, it would burst right out of her chest.

“Then, if you are able to part with her, I believe Anja,” her voice hitched as she spoke the name aloud, the name of the little girl with blonde hair and gray eyes and all of her father’s love, “is in need of a little food.”

Percy nodded, bringing his little Anja to his lips, and laying a soft kiss on her blonde head.

Carefully, then, he passed her to Annabeth, making sure she was well situated in her mother’s arms, then he brushed a hand over Lukas’s head, as softly and tenderly as he could. This man could fight and kill, lead armies and win wars. His blood was that of the earth-shaker, the vengeful, the violent, who cursed and doomed any who would harm his children. Yet here he was, the absolute gentlest of fathers.

Little Alexandros, sweet thing, was drooping, sleepiness over taking his frame. Plucking him up, Percy transferred him to his other arm, so that he could be even closer to her, tucking Alexandros beneath one arm, and Annabeth beneath the other, his fingers playing with the ends of a curl or two.

The lord of the sea could never be so soft, cradling Sarah and a baby Percy, nor the lady of war so affectionate, cuddling with Fredrik while they looked on their little Anja. All children of the gods emulated their parents, in ways both great and small, proliferated year after year, generation after generation, all their mistakes reborn alongside the heroes and the monsters and the stories. Yet, sometimes, they could break free of it. A daughter of Athena and a son of Poseidon could learn to trust each other, to love each other, to end the mighty rivalry of the heavens--and thus, in this way, they were already better than their parents, like the words of the old poet.

Yes, she thought, as Anja and Lukas took their food, as Alexandros fell asleep in the crook of his father’s arm, as Percy stroked her hair, the thump of his heartbeat beneath her shoulder, beautifully, breathlessly mortal. Yes, they were better, by far.

#this is a very very long one #the marble king #darkmagk #perseannabeth #pataytayo #my fic #pjo #percabeth #IT'S DONE WTF #ao3 chapter will be posted tomorrow but i am posting it tonight bc it is DONE #🎺🎺🎺🎺🎺 WOOO WTF

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depressedacadamia · 3 years

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Daisies and Distress

Summary: Hazel loves flowers and plants but poor Frank is allergic. What happens when these two get into an arguement about Hazel's precious plants?

A/N: I HAD WRITERS BLOCK BUT I’M BACK BITCHESSS

Read on AO3

If there was one thing that Frank had to say he didn’t like about Hazel, he would say nothing.

But if there was one thing that Hazel owned that Frank hated, it would be the magnitudes of flowers and plants that she owned. Frank could tolerate the plants- after all, they weren’t harming him but when it came to the flowers and in particular, the daisies, he drew the line. Daisies had pollen. A lot of pollen and with one gentle breeze of air, that pollen could be up his nose and the next thing he nose, he’s sent into sneezing fits.

Hazel told him to simply stay out of her cabin. If he didn’t come in, he wouldn’t have to deal with the flowers. However, Frank seemed to object to the idea on the basis that it would mean they couldn’t have their secret kissing sessions. It wasn’t that everyone didn’t know they were dating, for it was almost as obvious as Percy and Annabeth's relationship, it was simply Hazel was raised in a very traditional time. She couldn’t feel comfortable if she knew everyone was watching them together- at most, she could tolerate them holding hands in public or a peck on the cheek.

So here the dilemma settled- either Frank would stop visiting Hazel (something that would never happen in his eyes) or Hazel would get rid of the flowers (something that would never happen in her eyes). Hazel loved her plants. To her, they were a source of beauty that she could create that wouldn’t curse everyone around her- unlike her precious metals.

“I am not getting rid of any of my plants nor flowers for you Frank!” Hazel called out.

“How about just half of the flowers? The really pollen-y ones? Like…” He turned around and pointed at the vast collection of daisies. “All of these?”

“But those are my favourite ones!”

“You could always replace them with another yellow plant right?”

“Daisies are white,” Hazel deadpanned, turning around to face her boyfriend with her hands on her hips. To anyone else, this encounter may seem quite humorous- considering the height difference, a very much petit Hazel whom Frank was almost towering over. That said, Frank did not underestimate her might due to her height- he knew that if she wanted, he could be flat on his back, with her spartha under his throat.

“But they’re yellow in the middle,” He argued.

“The petals of the flower itself are white.”

“But I’m allergic to pollen Hazel! I start sneezing like crazy and my eyes go all red and itchy!”

She shrugged her shoulders and hummed. “So don’t come to my cabin. Simple.”

“But...but….”

Hazel smiled wickedly, her innocence disappearing for a second. “ But what?”

Frank grumbled something unintelligible and Hazel knew she had checkmated him- fair and square. Frank felt hopeless- why was Hazel so relentless on this! As a couple, they spent most of their time in Hazel’s cabin, doing coupley things. Was she trying to tell him something? Frank swore he remembered someone telling him that in a relationship, the other partner always hints what they want. Was this what Hazel was doing now? And if so, what exactly was she trying to say?

Was she trying to tell him that she didn’t want to see him anymore? Was that why she refused to get rid of daisies? Just as Frank was about to raise the question, he looked back up and saw that Hazel was nowhere to be found.

Hazel thought the daisies were starting to look weedy. She did not want to just get rid of them because they had started out gorgeous and beautiful and she loved that they’d close up at night and open in the day but by now, they looked quite… un-aesthetically pleasing.

“What are you doing?” A blonde figure by the door asked. Jason stood there, his eyebrows creasing and his forehead sparkled with perspiration.

“Just trying to get rid of these daisies. I picked them a while ago but now they’re just getting weedy.”

Jason sighed happily. “ Oh thank goodness. I was going crazy from how much Frank ranted about those flowers. I’m sure he’ll be happy to know tha-”

“-Don’t tell Frank anything… for now of course. I don’t plan on letting them be gone for long,” She smiled.

Jason frowned. “ Hazel, what exactly are you on about?”

Hazel gave a heavy sigh, as if she were slightly irritated by the lack of intelligence around her. “Just because I'm getting rid of these flowers does not mean I’m not going to replace them.”

Jason’s mouth opened and then closed and then opened and then closed.

“You look like a goldfish.”

“I don’t like you,” Jason huffed, slightly offended. He happened to think he looked quite handsome. Hazel gave him a sugar like smile before ushering him out of her cabin and letting the soft candle light combined with the setting sun give light to her place.

Hazel had managed to find new daisies, fresh ones that wouldn’t weed up for at least a week or two- if she put fertiliser pellets in their water (she was running low on those). The sun was rising and Frank had not come by her cabin the previous night- which Hazel would have dictated as strange had the recent argument not occurred.

“Can I come in?” A voice echoed along with a gentle knock on the door. Hazel, ready to win, opened the door swiftly; only for the figure to not be Frank. She frowned, confused as to why Leo was even at Camp Jupiter- After all, he wasn’t very welcome considering his first impression on them.

“Uh.. sure?”

Leo, messy as usual, walked in. His hair was in its regular curly state (although Hazel could have sworn that she saw some ends that had clearly been set on fire) and his smile was bright. But Hazel knew Leo and she knew Sammy- when they had that certain innocence to their smile, nothing good could come out of it.

“You look...suspicious,” She started, her hands resting on her hips and her eyes never leaving Leo.

“What?” Leo shrugged. “Just because I’m being nice, you're assuming I have an ulterior motive?”

“I never said you were nice. Nice try though.”

“Offended. Anyway, I’m here because my baby Festus needed to stretch their legs so we went for a ride. Thought I’d say hello before we hopped back to Long Island.”

Hazel frowned. “You came all the way here from Long Island? That’s quite far, isn’t it?”

Leo stayed silent, his back to Hazel; the only sounds being his fingers stretching and his knuckles cracking.

“You said hello to Jason? I know he’d be mad if he knew you came without giving him a heads up.”

“Oh thanks for the reminder.” He paused and turned around. “ How long have you had those flowers? They certainly don’t look like they’ve been here for ages.”

She raised an eyebrow and her arms went to cross over her chest. Something was up. She knew Leo was smart, genius even. Despite that, when it came to plants and flowers, he was as clueless as it gets.

She had seen Calypso’s attempts to teach him nature care but it was clear that Leo was not very good at plants. As a child of Hephaestus, they just didn’t speak to him well, unlike Festus.

“That’s because they haven’t been here for ages. Freshly picked as of yesterday evening,” She informed him.

“How’s Frank?”

“What’s with all the topic hopping?”

Hazel’s eyes shot to Leo fingers fiddling. Yes, it was normal for Leo to fidget, in fact, it would be considered strange if he didn’t but the way he was fiddling now was odd. Hazel knew that Leo would make small contraptions- like pistons or mini electromagnets. But he wasn’t making anything, he was just folding his fingers back and forth anxiously.

“Which one of them sent you?”

“Who! People? Send me? Why would anyone send me here? I came here all on my own accord because they- I mean I, uh, I wanted to say hi!” Leo blurted. She narrowed her eyes. Just as she was to give a response, the door opened.

There was no knock. No warning. It just opened. No one asked for permission. That's what told Hazel that it was Frank. She remembered how she had told him that for him, her door was always open. From that day, Frank had simply walked into Hazel’s cabin as no knock was required.

“What is he doing here?” Frank asked immediately. They both seemed quite startled in his eyes. Leo couldn’t have looked more suspicious with his nervous, fiddling hands and Hazel, well Frank couldn’t even read Hazel if he tried at this point.

“Leo came t-”

“Why is he in your cabin so early in the morning? Did he stay the night? Is that why you kept the flowers? What, to ward me off like I’m some miasma?”

Frustratedly, Hazel facepalmed. “What are you on about?”

“This!” Frank exploded, his hands and arms flying everywhere. He felt like shit, in fact, he hated feeling like this. It made him feel dark- useless and pathetic. Here he was accusing his girlfriend of going behind his back with a guy whom he could trust with all his life because of what? Jealousy? Anger?

“I kept the flowers because I wanted them. Leo visited because the others made him and no! He didn’t stay the night and besides, I was out picking flowers in the evening- you can even ask Jason!”

“I..I…” But Frank had no words. He couldn’t believe he had acted so stupidly all over a couple of flowers but he wasn’t prepared to set aside his ego and accept all the blame- after all, shouldn’t Hazel’s boyfriend mean more to her than a couple of flowers?

Awkwardly, Leo shuffled from foot to foot. “ Ah.. so it seems my job here is done.”

“So they did send you!” Hazel whipped her head towards Leo. He quickly wiggled his way between her and Frank.

“Sorrygottogobye!”

Folding her arms, Hazel snorted, slightly amused. “He really thinks he can get away- doesn’t he.”

“He was always a little more clueless than us all. It’s why Calypso is good for him,” Frank agreed.

“Don’t think you’ve been let off so easily, mister!” Hazel turned on Frank. “ What was that back then? Are you really getting so worked up over some flowers?”

Frank mumbled something inaudible.

“Huh?”

He took a deep breath. “ I said, I don’t wanna have to stop seeing you at night but those flowers are the work of Pluto.”

“Proserpina actually, but close enough.”

“Really? She always seemed so nice,” Frank mused. Hazel cringed.

“You clearly haven’t been to one of our family reunions.”

“It can’t be that bad?” Frank offered. Hazel shook her head.

“Nico has spent more time in the underworld as a dandelion than he has spent as a demigod.”

“Well,” Frank sighed, slightly alarmed. “Now I know to always decline an invite from Proserpina, thanks.”

“Frank, come on! They’re just flowers!” Hazel tried to reason. What if he actually didn’t mind the flowers? What if this was his way of telling her that he didn’t want to be in a relationship anymore? Is that what he was doing? Using the flowers as an excuse?

“Okay. Do you want to break up?” Frank asked bluntly. Hazel could feel her heart drop. Her mouth felt dry.

“Why? Do you?”

Frank could feel his chest spike in pain. Why wasn’t she answering the question? “ No.Of course not! But with the way you’re being so stubborn, I assumed that you wanted to end things and I-”

“-Well I assumed that you wanted to end things with how you’ve been avoiding me like the plague,” Hazel mumbled. Her heart felt so fluttery that she could have sworn that in that moment it became a butterfly and she had to do everything in her power to prevent it from flying away.

“No!” Frank cried, walking towards Hazel. His arms slipped around her and he rested his chin on the crown of her head. He could smell her shampoo and he closed his eyes, relishing in the moment. He could feel his heart but it was no longer racing but instead steady. He felt at peace.

Hazel’s arms wrapped around Frank's waist as she nuzzled her head into his chest. She rested her head there, listening to his frantic heartbeat calm down. She broke the hug reluctantly and looked up at Frank, her eyes wide- innocent like a puppy.

“You’re warm,” She smiled. Frank stared at her lips as they parted into a smile, her entire face brightening. He wanted to melt at the very sight. He leant down and gently pressed his lips against hers. She let out a small squeak of surprise before melting into the kiss against him. Her hands were firmly planted against his chest as his hand brushed against her cheek. She could feel the small calluses on his fingertips from wielding his bow and arrows.

“Does this mean you’ll get rid of the flowers?” Frank whispered.

“No way.” Hazel winked.

#hazel levesque #frank zhang #frazel fanfic #hazel levesque fanfic #frank zhang fanfic #jason grace #leo valdez #percy jackson #pjo #hoo #toa #hoo fanfic #hazel x frank #frank x hazel #frank x hazel fanfic #pjo fluff #hoo fluff #frazel fluff

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gatesofember · 4 years

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The Ballad of Ladon Creek

Chapter 1

Wild West au | Pairing: Solangelo | Rating: T | Read it on AO3 | Next Chapter

Summary: Doctor Will Solace had lived in the secluded Oregon town of Ladon Creek for a year when a mysterious stranger arrived and turned his world upside down.

For @solangeloweek’s auctober

In the years after the Civil War, a young woman by the name of Hazel Levesque discovered a massive supply of gold in the hills near Ladon Creek. With the help of a few close friends, she established her own mine—something that she should not have been able to do, because Miss Levesque was not only female, but black, as well. At the time, blacks had been prohibited from entering the state of Oregon at all; they certainly weren’t granted the right to own property. It had taken some clever manipulation and sneaking around to have the land registered in her name.

The mine brought so many settlers in its first year of operation that one of Miss Levesque’s friends—Miss Annabeth Chase—designed a town named Ladon Creek after the nearby river. It was the largest town for miles but not far from Grande Ronde and it sat largely undisturbed by the county marshal and outside lawmen. That, and the fact that it had been founded by a black woman and her friends, was why Ladon Creek had attracted all manner of social outcasts and “undesirables” in the years since the mine’s opening—one of whom being Dr. William Solace.

Dr. Solace had kept to himself since arriving in Ladon Creek the year before. While his mother, Mrs. Naomi Solace, was a pleasant and sociable woman, Will never sought out companionship. Even when invited, he listened more than he spoke and hardly ever stayed long.

Still, Will remained well-liked in Ladon Creek. Something about him made people feel safe and comfortable. He was of average height and his posture was unthreatening. His face was handsome and smooth, his voice sounded pleasantly melodic, and his demeanor was gentle and calming. His hands felt soft like he’d never worked a day in his life, yet he labored over his patients so arduously that you might have thought they were his own kin. Every touch was careful and every word was warm.

On one bright summer afternoon, a stranger rode into Ladon Creek slouched on the back of a bay-coated horse. He was clothed almost entirely in black and his face was hidden in shadow under the brim of his dark hat. When he stopped a couple on the street and asked where he could find the doctor, they pointed him in the direction of Will’s clinic.

Will looked up when he heard the rustling outside his office and saw the black-clad stranger tying up his horse outside the windows. He noted a limp to the man’s gait and clicked his tongue. Wounded travelers came into his office too often for Will’s liking—out west, people were far too careless and the terrain was far too dangerous.

Will folded his hands on the desk in front of him as the man opened the door and walked inside. “You’re the doctor?” asked the stranger.

“Yes,” said Will. “How may I help you?”

The man took off his hat, revealing a head of unkempt black hair and a pair of bottomless dark eyes that reminded Will of staring into a well. There was a sheen of sweat on his brow and dark circles under his eyes, and Will almost feared the man might pass out right in the doorway of his clinic. But despite his obvious exhaustion, he was handsome in a rough kind of way—the dangerous sort of handsome that was best admired from afar.

“I’m looking to buy some bandages,” the man said.

Will glanced down at the leg the man had been favoring. “You have a name, stranger?” he asked.

“Di Angelo—Nico di Angelo,” the man replied.

“Well, then, Mr. di Angelo,” Will said, rising from his desk. “If you let me examine that leg, the bandages are free.”

To Will’s surprise, the man hesitated before nodding and taking off his duster, revealing the brown-stained bandage wrapped around his left thigh.

“Sit down,” Will said, gesturing to the exam table hidden from the view of the windows by a privacy curtain. He took Nico’s coat and hat and hung them by the door before joining him. Nico had already started unwrapping his bandages. The wound was messy, caked with dried blood and slowly oozing a cloudy yellow fluid. Will could tell it was at least a day or two old and that an infection was setting in.

“You must have gotten in quite a fight,” Will said, standing to fetch supplies to clean the wound. “Run into some trouble?”

Nico didn’t answer. Will hadn’t expected him to.

“I already got the bullet out and cleaned it,” Nico said.

“Good,” Will replied. “You probably held the infection off long enough to make it here, but you’re lucky I asked to see it—otherwise, you might’ve lost your leg.”

Will poured alcohol on a cleaning cloth and Nico tensed when it touched his wound, but held still and didn’t make a sound until Will had finished and applied a healing ointment. “You’ll need to stay in town a few days so I can keep an eye on your progress and care for your wound properly,” Will said. “Mrs. Jackson owns an inn a little ways down the road where you can rent a room. She’ll make sure you eat well and her son will take good care of your horse.”

Nico was quiet and for a moment, Will worried that he’d argue. But then he sighed and said, “I suppose there’s no helping it. Where can I find her?”

Will tried not to feel insulted by Nico’s obvious disappointment. “Only a few buildings down the road—I’ll take you there,” he said as he finished changing Nico’s bandages. “Wait here a moment.”

Will went into the back room of the clinic and retrieved a wooden crutch from his supplies, then returned and offered it to Nico. “You’ll need to use this to walk for a while,” he said. “Try to keep your weight off that leg as much as you can.”

Nico looked at Will with tired incredulity, like he couldn’t believe Will was forcing him to do all this, but he got to his feet and tested the crutch without complaining. Will handed Nico his hat and coat and brought him outside to where his mare was waiting. Will offered to lead her while Nico got used to his crutch, and Nico shrugged like he didn’t care one way or the other.

The Jacksons’ inn was a two-story building just a short walk away with blue painted siding and windows of natural pine. If he walked by at the wrong time, Will would smell a wonderful meal being prepared, which always left him hungry and jealous. He had been invited to join them for supper a handful of times, and each time he swore it was the best meal he’d ever had.

Mrs. Sally Jackson sat on a rocking chair on the front porch as Will and Nico approached, humming softly and holding her sleeping six-month-old baby against her chest. She looked tired, with a few brown and gray hairs out of place, but relaxed and happy.

“Afternoon, Mrs. Jackson,” called Will.

“Dr. Solace!” Mrs. Jackson said. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”

“I have a patient in need of a room,” Will answered, nodding to Nico. “This is Mr. di Angelo. He’ll be staying here until his leg heals.”

“Poor thing,” Mrs. Jackson tutted as she rose from her chair, careful to not wake the baby. “Take a seat while I bring your horse to the stable out back, Mr. di Angelo. Doctor, I’m sorry to trouble you, but would you mind holding Estelle? Paul’s at the schoolhouse, Percy’s on the ranch, and poor Estelle has barely napped all day.”

“No trouble at all, Mrs. Jackson,” Will answered. Estelle stirred when Will took her, but she quickly fell asleep again in his arms.

“Thank you, Doctor,” Sally said before leading the horse around to the back of the building.

When Will glanced back at Nico, half expecting to find him passed out in the rocking chair, he was surprised to instead see Nico watching him with a curious, unnerving expression that made Will’s hair stand on end. He felt like he was being picked apart, dissected and examined like a dead animal. Will cleared his throat, but Nico kept staring—perhaps not even realizing what he was doing or not understanding that Will was trying to get him to stop.

“Your horse is lovely,” Will said, attempting to distract him instead. “What’s her name?”

Nico finally blinked and he looked thoughtful for a moment, like he’d never considered giving her a name. Then he said, “Cavala.”

“Cavala,” Will repeated, rubbing soft circles into Estelle’s back. “A beautiful name for a beautiful horse.”

Nico smiled, but it seemed more like he was enjoying a private joke than appreciating Will’s compliment. Still, the smile made Will’s heart rate pick up for a second and he almost worried the hammering would wake the baby sleeping against his chest. He glanced away and was glad to see Mrs. Jackson returning.

“Thank you for holding her,” she said when Will passed Estelle back.

“You’re very welcome,” Will said. “Don’t let her nap too much longer or she won’t want to sleep tonight.”

“I know, Doctor—this isn’t my first baby, it’s just been a while since my last,” said Mrs. Jackson. “I’ll set you up in a room on the ground floor so that you don’t have to bother with the stairs, Mr. di Angelo. My husband and my son should be home soon and Percy will look after your horse while Paul helps me with supper. Are you hungry?”

Nico looked at her blankly for a second before nodding, like it took a moment for his tired brain to comprehend what she was asking. “Yes, ma’am,” he said.

“I ought to head back to the clinic,” Will said, before the idea of a Jackson supper made him start to drool. “Come by tomorrow morning so I can check on your leg, Mr. di Angelo.”

Nico turned back to Will, once again fixing him with that unnerving stare, and slowly nodded.

When Will walked back to his clinic, he could still feel the stare on his back.

#Wild West au #solangelo #Nico di Angelo #Will Solace #solangelo fanfiction #solangelo fanfic #my fic

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voleurdesoleil-archive · 3 years

Text

Rub a dub

Fandom: The Wayhaven Chronicles

Pairing: Nate x gender neutral detective

word count: 4.6k

read on ao3

It was late afternoon, judging by the warm rays of sunlight still coming through the high windows of the library where I had spent the whole day with Nate. The sunrays were creating halos in which dust was slowly floating around, as if Time had slowed dramatically in the library to let us enjoy each other’s presence a bit longer.

This book-filled day had started with me telling the vampire about wanting to improve my Spanish, which we did at first. And to be fair, he was an excellent teacher. I could now see why Farah was so proud of him. But we had stopped long ago, favoring reading instead, although Nate had insisted on me reading a Spanish book. It will help you with your vocabulary, he said, flashing me a soft smile.

But Spanish was far from our minds in this instant.

At some point during our reading, Nate had switched positions and was now lying comfortably in my laps. I had discarded my book to the side as I couldn’t focus on what I was reading with him in such close proximity. So I listened to his gentle voice as he was reading some Spanish novel, the words flowing out like a river of the sweetest honey. I watched his face closely, looking at every micro expressions he would make, such as the slight twitch of his mouth when something amusing came on in the book or the gentle frown that would settle in between his eyebrows as something not as loving was happening.

The sunlight made his eyes come alive, and the emotions he held in them were much more visible. Their color reminded me of the dark, varnished, most definitely antique furniture he had here, in his small sanctuary. His glossy hair was a little messy from moving around in my lap and I just couldn’t help myself but start gently playing with it, which I could notice awoke an immediate reaction within him.

Nate’s whole body relaxed as I raked my fingers through his beautiful hair. His reading came to a stop but I only noticed because his previously closed eyes were now peering into my own, curiously, studying my features, just like I did with him a moment before, in silent wonder. His deep gaze swept over my face slowly, like he was memorizing every feature of my face in fear that I would disappear.

My body reacted before my mind could comprehend what it was doing. I reached out a hand towards his face slowly, careful not to burst the bubble we had put ourselves into. With a breath stuck in my throat, I leaned closer and followed closely what they were doing. His skin was so incredibly soft and warm making my lips tingle at the thought of kissing him there. I enjoyed how he seemed to melt into my touch, his expression so open and welcome, making me wonder about confessing my feelings for him. Surely he would know already but there’s something about actually saying those words out loud that makes it much more real.

I was pulled out of my thoughts when a warm hand took mine and the softest pair of lips kissed my palm. My train of thought crashed through the front of my head and disappeared outside and suddenly any rational thought looked like a far away dream. The mischievous glint in his eyes tells me he knows exactly how this affected me and that he is very much pleased with it, like he was counting on it.

In a futile attempt to regain my composure I spoke up, my voice almost cracking with every word. “Rebecca said most of these books belong to you, do you have any favorites?”

Nate’s eyes lit up, our bubble bursting as he immediately stood up. “I do! I have a lot of favorites actually!” The vampire started walking around the room excitedly, like a kid in a toy shop during Christmas season, meticulously pulling out books of the many shelves as if he knew exactly where each one would be. Disappearing for a moment, he kept on rambling, his voice sometimes barely audible as he was moving away through the rows of bookshelves. “Being able to read in multiple languages is an absolute gift when it comes to books, first of all, it just gives me more books to read, because a lot of foreign books aren’t being translated into English, except for classics, but mostly because those translations are awful!” When he reappeared, he was holding a pile of books taller than him, and I couldn’t help but let out a small chuckle at how cute and overjoyed Nate looked. He carefully set the wobbling pile down on the coffee table before sitting back on the sofa next to me.

The pile was composed of mostly classics; Songs of Innocence, Leaves of Grass, Songs and Sonnets and a couple more collections of poetry. Authors such as Jane Austen, Edgar Allan Poe or Ernest Hemingway. The Catcher in the Rye, Wuthering Heights, The picture of Dorian Grey, A Midsummer Night’s Dream and many more, but one in particular caught my attention.

“A book about burning books, really?” I said, holding up Fahrenheit 451. I could understand why it was one of his favorites as it was also one of mines but, seeing how much he cared for his books, I couldn’t help but tease him.

To my utmost surprise, I could spot a few more contemporary books in there too.

“Percy Jackson?”

He started scratching the back of his neck, as I was pulling the series towards me. He owned the most beautiful edition I had ever seen. “Well I wouldn’t say it’s a favorite quite yet, but if I had to be completely honest, I’ve really enjoyed them and the whole universe, and this guy is actually one of the few to get his myths right, so it’s really close to being a favorite if that makes sense.” He gave me a sheepish smile.

“I can’t really blame you on that. I’ve read them way too many times not to have them as part of my own favorites.” I admitted with a laugh.

He was now sorting the books by languages in different piles. One pile in particular caught my eye and I leaned forward to read the spines. Les faux-monnayeurs, L’Oeuvre, La Peste, Parle-leur de batailles, de rois et d’éléphants, or Les Contemplations. I had to admit that seeing some of those titles had stirred in me a feeling I would have never expected: Nostalgia. Some of those books were part of my own collection, although mines did look a bit more worn out, as I had studied them back in High school, whereas Nate’s were in pristine condition, but some of them also held a special place in my heart. Just like the French language did.

“French books,” Nate said as he noticed where my focus had shifted.

His voice took me out of my trance. “You speak French?” I blurted out. “I mean, I shouldn’t be surprised because Farah did say you knew a lot of languages, but I never would’ve guessed French would be one of them.”

“Well…” his voice trailed off as he was pulling the pile closer to him. “French is actually one of my favorite languages…” He admitted almost in a whisper.

On hearing that, my mind quickly drifted away again and, ignoring the romantic thoughts that immediately started blinking in there like neon signs outside of a bar, I wondered if Farah had told him I was French.

I spent a couple minutes thinking of a way I could figure out if Farah had told him or not. A sheepish smile grew on my face as the answer was making its way into my mind. I was either the stupidest idiot or a genius.

“Will you teach me French?” I asked.

He looked at me, with a confused look. “You want me to teach you French?”

Oh god, Farah told him, I thought, but I still tried to play along with it and my smile turned into a smirk. “Of course! I’ve wanted to learn French for so long, and I bet you would be the perfect teacher!”

He seemed to think about it for a while and I couldn’t tell if it was because Farah had told him and he was wondering why I was lying, or if it was because he really didn’t know and was actually considering it. I chose to go with the latter when he agreed to teach me and asked if I knew any French words already.

“Well I do know some basic ones like ‘bonjour’, ‘mon ami’, ‘baguette’ and ‘croissant’” I was trying so hard to fake my worst French accent, and Nate’s amused chuckle told me I was doing a good job. I tried to push my luck a bit more with my next move.

Trying to keep my voice as naive as possible, I asked: “There’s that one song I know that has some French in it but I don’t know what it means…”

“Tell me what it is and I’ll tell you!”

Trying to suppress a smile, I took a short breath. “Voulez-vous coucher avec moi?”

Nate instantly choked on the tea he was sipping, almost spilling the whole cup on himself. He slowly put down the cup, his eyes wide and his cheeks beet red as I was trying to keep my lips tight not to let out a chuckle, but that didn’t quite work as I couldn’t help but smile at his expression.

The vampire cleared his throat “Well, it simply means that hmm…” He stopped for a bit, not sure where to look. Then his embarrassed gaze landed on me, and he managed to turn an even brighter shade of red. That’s when I bursted out laughing.

“Oh honey…” I let out in between giggles. “I know what it means already, I’m just messing with you!”

“You knew!? You knew and you didn’t tell me?!” He pointed an accusing finger in my direction which made me giggle even more. “You just sat there and basked in my embarrassment! You’re evil!"

My smile fell a bit as I saw a pout forming on his lips. “I know another word in French…” my voice trailed off as I tried to think of a way to comfort him. Once again faking my worst accent, I said: “Tu es très beau.”

His long lashes flickered quickly as he processed what I had just said. "Wh-what did you just say?” he stuttered.

I reached out to gently cup his cheek in my hand. “Oh Natey, French really does put you in one hell of a state…” I stated jokingly, but I had to admit that the effect French had on him was quite impressive, if all it took me to break him was a simple compliment. I took my hand off Nate’s cheek, the tips of my fingers slowly brushing against his jaw as I did.

But before I could fully pull away, Nate grabbed my hand and intertwined our fingers together. “You’re very pretty too.”

My heart skipped a beat at his words, his voice sending a pleasant shiver down my spine. The way his eyes slowly glided over my face before finally setting onto mine. My breath hitched and immediately I was sucked into his deep gaze. It felt like I was drowning in the endless pool of brown that were his eyes, the warmth in them strangely making me feel at ease, like I had finally found my long lost home.

I slowly leaned closer and his gaze now rested on my lips. Giving him a small smile I brushed our noses together and leaned my forehead onto his. I heard him sigh in relief, almost as if me being away was physically painful for him. We stayed like that for a while, basking into each other’s presence and enjoying the quiet bubble we wrapped ourselves in.

___

A few hours later, after a heavy dinner that Nate had prepared for us, we were laying in the peaceful quiet of his room. The silence rarely broken by the other vampires living at the warehouse. I was laying in Nate’s arms, his usual dazzling smile plastered on his face as he was stroking my hair.

“Why do you love French so much?” The words came out of my mouth before I could stop them. “I mean, it’s a rather difficult language to learn.”

“I know, but it’s still a beautiful language. I could talk for hours about how harmonious French sounds, but I’ll spare you that discussion.” He rolled over a little to face me. “It’s one of the first languages I’ve learned, and ever since, it has always had that resonance in me that most languages don’t have. It may sound a little silly, but I feel like it carries way more feelings than any other language I speak, and I’m not gonna lie…” A smirk had replaced his warm smile. He leaned closer, his breath tingling on my neck, to eventually whisper: “French is sexy.”

I almost choked on hearing that, rolling on my back and faking a cough to hide my mortified expression, but judging by the grin that Nate was giving me, my reaction was far from unnoticed. I couldn’t have possibly decipher if he was serious or just teasing me.

To spare myself further embarrassment, I quickly changed the subject and Nate was nothing less than eager to comply. Looked like he decided to have mercy on my poor soul. We talked until a word couldn’t come out of my mouth due to my tiredness and I fell asleep to the rhythm of Nate’s beating heart.

___

Nate was on his knees, crying for help as a blurred figure struck another blow. He barely had strength to lift his arms to protect his face. The chill of the rain was burning my face and seeping through my clothes as I tried to run towards him, but my legs gave in and I fell on my knees.

“Please stop! Stop hurting him!” I tried to yell but only a deformed wail came out of mouth. It was as if I was trapped in my own body. Unable to move. Unable to save him. My throat clenched as I tried to suppress a sob, but that didn’t keep the tears from rolling down my cheeks.

Nate took another punch, but this one seemed to be the last his bloody figure could take and I watched helpless as he collapsed on the floor. The aggressor was on him before he could even try to get up.

Now that the other vampire had slowed down, I could distinguish his features a bit more and a shiver ran down my spine as I managed to recognize Murphy.

I tried to get to Nate once again as he took a syringe out of his coat.

“Leave him alone!” Although desperate the words managed to come out of my mouth properly this time, but it barely got me a glance from Murphy whose sole focus was on Nate.

“It’s me you want! Take me! I’ll do whatever you want!” I pleaded. “But let him go… You don’t need him!”

This time it seemed like I had managed to catch the vampire’s attention. “You’re right detective… I don’t need him.” He said as he plunged the needle in Nate’s neck.

___

“Agh!” I woke with a start and immediately rolled over to search for Nate, but I was only met with cold sheets on the other side of the bed.

Panic seizing me, I fought to get out of the tangled sheets. “Nate?” I called in a whisper, afraid something would come out of the dark to attack me. I flinched with a shriek as the plushed rabbit from the Carnival fell at my feet, a folded piece of paper next to it.

Crouching on my knees, I grabbed both of the items. Immediately calming down as I recognized Nate’s fancy handwriting spread on the paper. “Went on a mission, will be back soon”, I read out loud. Clutching the little rabbit in my arms, I was surprised to notice that it smelled like Nate and without noticing it, I held it a bit tighter against my chest. A smile grew on my face as I read what was written inside the note.

“Nineteen Eighty-Four, page 124”. The vampire had drawn a little heart next to that sentence and I knew the exact line he was referring to.

“I love you too” I whispered. The plushed rabbit being the only witness of that sudden confession.

Our discussion from earlier this afternoon came back to my mind and the idea of confessing my love to him resurfaced.

I settled behind Nate’s mahogany desk, set the note and rabbit before me and grabbed some paper to finally put down in words how I felt towards the vampire.

___

After a couple of hours, the sun was slowly rising on the horizon, peaking weakly through the tree crown. I stretched as I contemplated my finished love declaration.

I folded the sheet of paper and slid it along with Nate’s note in the pocket of my coat. “Time to go back to sleep” I mumbled to myself as I grabbed the plushy.

___

It felt like a couple of minutes had passed when I was woken up again by my phone buzzing manically on the bedside table.

Thinking it was a phone call, I brought the phone to my ear, my eyes still half closed. “Hello?” The only answer I got was a buzz. Bringing the phone back in front of my face, blinking painfully at the bright light, I managed to decipher the last text Farah had sent me, lost in a sea of question marks and my name in caps.

“Didn’t you say you were French?”

“I am”

“Then why did Nate say he taught you French yesterday?”

Fear gripped me as I threw off the bed sheets and jolted up out of bed. Furiously typing, I ran out of the room, barely managing to stop myself from bumping into Adam.

“Detective? Is there something wrong?” He asked, actual worry in his voice.

“Not yet!” I answered already running away. Halfway through the corridor I came to a stop and turned around. Adam was still standing in front of Nate’s door, looking at me with a confused look on his face. “Adam?”

The leader slightly shook his head. “Yes?”

“Do you happen to know where Nate and Farah are?”

“The kitchen I think. Nate said he would cook breakfast for you, before you woke up.” He threw me a grin. “I guess his plan kind of failed.”

“Thanks Adam!” I answered, running off. I waved at him when I turned at the corner.

When I finally made it to the kitchen, I stopped before the door, taking a moment to catch my breath. I ran my hand over my hair and lifted my phone to check myself in the reflection on my screen. I plastered a calm smile of my face before pushing open the door to the kitchen.

Farah was sprawled over a chair, as was her habit, and Nate was cooking, his back turned to me. He hadn’t noticed my entrance yet. Glaring at Farah, I mouthed the words: “Did you tell him?” to which she answered with a shake of her head. I let out a sigh of relief and that’s when Nate turned around.

His smile immediately grew. I walked to him and casually grabbed a cup in the cupboard above his shoulder, reducing the space between us to almost nothing.

“Comment va l’homme le plus sexy du monde?” I asked, turning away to hide the grin on my face as he dropped the spoon he was holding. I didn’t give him time to reply and kissed his cheek.

[ How’s the sexiest man in the world doing? ]

Grabbing the kettle and pouring water in my cup as if nothing happened, I tried to remember what I had written down during the night. “Tu sais, il y a ce garçon, tu devrais le voir, il ressemble à un dieu Grec, qui a ce sourire magnifique et à qui je pense énormément ces derniers temps. D’ailleurs, ça fait plusieurs jours que j’essaie de trouver comment lui avouer ce que je ressens.”

[ You know, there is that guy, you should see him he looks like a Greek God, who has that dazzling smile and whom I’ve been thinking about a lot lately. As a matter of fact, I’ve been trying to find a way to tell him how I feel for a few days now. ]

I leaned against the counter now facing Farah. The young vampire was sitting on the edge of her seat, almost gripping the table so hard that I was afraid she might break it from excitement. She was staring at me with her mouth wide open. Morgan was also now sitting beside her, caring enough to have forgotten to lit up her cigarette and Adam was entering the room.

I returned my attention to Nate. “Et hier, comme par miracle, il m’annonce qu’il parle français. Alors depuis j’ai bien réfléchi à ce que je pourrais bien lui dire; j’y ai même passé toute la nuit. Maintenant, je pense avoir trouvé.”

[ And yesterday, miraculously, he announces that he speaks French. So, ever since, I’ve thought a lot about what I could possibly say to him; I’ve even thought about it all night. Now, I think I’ve finally found the answer. ]

I could hear Farah gasp and say something along the lines of “I love foreign movies, Morgan please grab the popcorn and Adam do the subtitles.” Glancing at them, I could see Adam rolling his eyes, but he still, reluctantly sat next to Farah, still trying to understand what was happening.

Nate was now a confused mess, his usual smile had been replaced by tomato red cheeks and the food in his pan was starting to burn. I turned off the gas and sat on the counter, pulling Nate in front of me to be face to face with him.

“Alors voilà, je pensais lui dire à quel point je le trouve mignon, et qu’à chaque fois qu’il sourit, mon coeur se met à battre la chamade; mais ça, je pense qu’il le sait déjà.” I smiled to the vampire.

[ So here goes, I was thinking of telling him how cute I think he is, and that every time he smiles, my heart starts to pound wildly; but I think he already knows that. ]

In the corner of my eye, I could see Adam, finally understanding what was happening, standing up and grabbing both Morgan and Farah by their collar and dragging them out of the kitchen. Adam had the biggest smile I’d ever seen him with plastered on his face as he closed the door.

I knew from the noise outside that the stern vampire was probably guarding the door as Farah was trying to listen through it.

Putting my hands on the waist of a still speechless Nate. I softened my voice, making my confession more intimate as the words flowed out of my mouth. “Je voulais aussi lui dire que depuis que j’étais enfant, j’avais toujours rêvé d’apprendre à danser la valse avec mon âme soeur et que s’il voulait bien, on pourrait peut-être apprendre à la danser tout les deux. Que j’aimerais beaucoup passer mes après-midi avec lui dans son endroit préféré, la bibliothèque à l’étage du dessous, et qu’on pourrait lire nos bouquins préférés ensemble.

[ I also wanted to tell him that ever since I was a kid, I had always dreamt of learning how to waltz with my soulmate and that if he was willing to, maybe we could learn how to waltz together. That I’d very much like to spend all my afternoons with him in his favorite place, the library downstairs, and that we could read our favorite books together. ]

My hand reached up to cup Nate’s cheek. Still a flustered mess, his confusion had gone away and a wide smile started to grow on his soft face. He leaned in the touch.

“Et je voulais aussi qu’il sache que s’il le fallait, pour gagner son coeur, je lui dédierai tous mes écrits. Que chacun des mots que j’écrirai, à partir d’aujourd’hui et jusqu’à la fin de ma vie, seraient pour lui, et lui seul. Maintenant, je sais très bien qu’il pourrait trouver mieux que moi, mais que s’il le voulait on pourrait se lancer. Parce que moi je pense que ça peut donner quelque chose de beau, parce qu’après tout…” I leaned closer, to whisper in his ear. “Je l’aime…” My voice trailed off as Nate’s hands to came to rest on my waist and that his head came to rest in the crook of my neck. I could feel his tears crashing on my skin.

[ And I also wanted him to know that if it was necessary, to win his heart, I’d dedicate all of my writings to him. That every single word I would write, from today until the day I die, would be dedicated to him, and him only. Now, I know fairly well that he could find someone better than me, but that if he was willing to we could try. Because I think it could end up being something beautiful, because after all… I love him. ]

“And what’s the name of this guy?” he eventually whispered.

“His name is Nathaniel Sewell, but he prefers Nate.”

After a few moments that actually felt like an eternity, Nate lifted me off the counter to pull me in a tight embrace, my arms instinctively wrapping around his neck. “Did you fake not knowing French?”

I nodded. “I’m French silly…”

“You are?!” He almost dropped me. “Sorry…” he said as he let me down on the counter again.

“I am. I was surprised to discover Farah hadn’t told you as soon as I told her to be honest.”

“Farah knew?”

“Yes, it came up when she visited me at the station last time. Sorry I didn’t tell you.” I gave him a sheepish smile “And I’m sorry I lied to you yesterday, but when I realized you had no idea, I thought it would perhaps be a good idea to confess like that…” I glance around the kitchen and let out a chuckle. “Well that’s not exactly how I had planned it, but I panicked when Farah texted me this morning, I was hoping it would be more romantic… Gosh I’m rambling…”

“I don’t mind…” he said as he leaned closer. Our lips were a couple centimeters apart, but he didn’t move closer, as if he was waiting for the permission to kiss me. I leaned forward and captured his lips and it seemed that right in this moment, time itself stopped. The kiss was everything I have hoped it would be. It set my whole being on fire, making my body tingle all over with happiness. His lips were the sweetest thing I had ever tasted in this world, making me addicted and never wanting to let go of him.

I pulled him closer by his belt loops, wanting, needing him to be closer. The kiss was so soft it made me feel like I was floating to the sky to gently lay on those fluffy clouds. It made me feel whole and happy. Nate made me happy.

And I hoped I made him happy too.

#twc nate #nate sewell #nate x detective #twc fanfic #the wayhaven chronicles #twc detective #ali's writing #y'all can ignore that i'm just reposting stuff from my other account

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mertronus · 3 years

Text

Secret Mission

Chapter 2

Read it on AO3 or FFN

Oh! M for language.... This is Ron we're talking about.

----

Harry found Ron later that evening looking out over the makeshift pitch at the Burrow deep in thought. Dinner was over and Ron knew that soon his siblings would begin to head to their homes. Sundays at the Burrow were a treat, but Mondays meant back to lives and work. Bill at Gringotts, Harry, Percy, Audrey, and Arthur at the Ministry, Fred and George at their famous joke shop, Katie to school (she was training to become a healer Ron learned earlier that afternoon) and Ginny and Angelina to practice with their team, the Holyhead Harpies. Ron was chuffed to find out that while he was away, Ginny joined Angelina as starting chasers for the team.

For now, everyone was enjoying the last joyful moments of a relaxed Sunday evening.

As they stood together overlooking the pitch, Harry asked Ron more about the extended mission he was on.

"I can't tell you much yet, not until it's conclusion anyway, but I can say thus far it's been a success. Almost all the suspects for the case have been caught, and no aurors on my team were too injured."

"You were injured at one point, right?"

"Yeah, but it was a minor injury. I had to sit out a couple days...no biggie."

Harry nodded. "Yes the report noted it was extremely minor so I didn't say anything to the family. Didn't see the point in worrying them unnecessarily."

"Thanks for that."

"Were you leading?" Harry asked. He always egged Ron on about his leadership skills. Ron, however, still felt them mediocre at best.

"I was, yeah, for most of it. Captain Ledwig had the final say for all decisions but he pretty much let me call the shots."

"That's amazing Ron."

"Yeah...I mean, we had help. Amazing help." A small wistful smile appeared on his lips and he looked away just enough so Harry wouldn't see it.

"Right," Harry said in a way that told the tall redhead that he wasn't fooled. "So...staying with the team tonight huh?"

Arse, Ron thought to himself. "Oh, erm..."

"Where are you really staying?"

Ron blew out his exhale and groaned. "At the Leaky. I have a room there for a bit." Harry opened his mouth to say something but Ron cut him off. "I just need some space, y'know? To come back from a mission and stay here is just...I just...well, at least for now - a couple days maybe - "

"Ron," the dark-haired wizard said putting his hand on his shoulder. "You don't have to explain. I know."

Panic shot through Ron as he turned to him. "Y-you know?"

"Yeah, of course you need space. We see and deal with a lot out on these missions, and I don't even know half of what you dealt with wherever you were in France. Take a few days and decompress, definitely." Ron sighed in relief, thankful that his brilliant best mate could also be extremely daft. "Just don't be a stranger. Your mum will want to see plenty of you. Gin too." Ron nodded, telling himself he would at the least come to the burrow each day for breakfast or dinner...and not just for the food. "And feel free to pop by Grimmauld too. You're always welcome. You can still apparate right in, that hasn't changed. And your room is always ready. Sirius saw to that before he handed it over and I definitely didn't change it."

A smile grew on Ron's face as he thought about Harry's godfather, who gifted his London home to Harry upon his engagement opting to live in a small flat of his own just a few blocks away. He was always extremely generous to his best friend's son and once Harry and Ron met on the train to Hogwarts all those years ago, Sirius practically adopted Ron as his second godson much like Harry's parents adopted Ron and Ron's parents adopted Harry. As Ron didn't officially have a godfather of his own - none of his siblings did to his knowledge - he developed his own special relationship with the eccentric and carefree older man. He would absolutely have to get to London to see Sirius Black.

After a short silence, Ron finally spoke up. "Harry? What if I didn't come back?" he asked softly.

"What?"

"What if I didn't come back? Or the mission took longer than we thought? You and Ginny love each other. Why wait for me? It's been a year and a half since you proposed."

Harry shrugged. "I just...I can't picture my wedding day without you there. Gin feels the same. We're happy to wait. Pretty sure we would have had a longer engagement anyway. But..I don't think we'll be waiting much longer."

"Oh?" Ron raised an eyebrow turning to Harry.

"Your brothers and I slipped out of the kitchen as the witches we all love started on wedding talk. From the looks of it, Molly is ready to pull a wedding together very, very soon, in case you get sent off again." Harry ran his hand through his hair making it stick out on all ends. "I think I'm getting married Ron. Will you stand beside me?"

"I wouldn't stand anywhere else mate."

As Harry head down the hill leaving Ron after his promise to follow him in a minute, Ron watched with trepidation.

Guilt. Complete and all consuming guilt. "Shit," Ron cursed to himself. "Bloody fucking fuck." He rubbed the back of his neck. "M'sorry Hermione," he said out loud. "I'm so sorry. I can't tell them today." He took a deep breath then started the walk back to his family to bid them goodnight so he could apparate back to the Leaky...back to the bollocking he'd no doubt receive...from his new wife.

----

Hermione Granger-Weasley paced room 14 at the Leaky Cauldron, just on the boundaries of muggle London and Diagon Alley, which she learned was Wizarding London. Ron should have been back by now.

She knew that his return to his family would be an all day affair, and truth be told she was excited to explore Diagon Alley a bit on her own. Being a muggleborn witch, she was not privy to England's wizarding community before her parents moved her to Paris, France shortly before she turned 11. On her eleventh birthday, she received the news that she was a witch ("That explains so much!", her parents had both exclaimed.) and two letters - one inviting her to study at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, and one to study at Beauxbatons Academy of Magic. Her desires to both stay close to her parents - her only family - and to become fluent in French drove her to accept the invitation to Beauxbatons. She often wondered, however, how different her life would have been had she chosen Hogwarts, and was thrilled to finally get acquainted with London as a witch.

And so, she spent Sunday, her first day in years back in London, busying herself by exploring the shops of Diagon Alley, and was delighted to discover Flourish & Botts. She spent a better part of the day perusing the wide array of books the store had to offer before finally heading back to the Leaky Cauldron with her purchases for a quiet dinner in the room.

She expected Ron shortly after dinner, but now it was nearing half nine and he still had not returned.

As she sat up in bed with one of her newest purchases open in front of her, she found herself unable to focus on reading for once. She closed the book softly and ran her small ink-stained fingers along the books cover. When she stumbled upon "Hogwarts: A History" in Flourish & Botts, she knew she had to have it. Having read "L'Histoire Complète de L'Académie de Magie Beauxbatons" (The Complete History of Beauxbatons Academy of Magic) several times during her attendance, she was happy to find a similar book about Hogwarts. She would be able to learn all she could about the school she turned down...the school Ron attended and talked so much about.

When she told Ron that she was in the house Bellefuille at Beauxbaton and explained what that meant, he told her she very well may have been in Gryffindor with him and his best mate Harry. "Either that or Ravenclaw," Ron had laughed that evening as they stole away to the back gardens of Le Chateau Cache, which had become their favorite spot to be alone. "Given your obsession with reading everything under the sun you very well may have been."

Hermione and Ron would have been in the same year. And if she was sorted into Gryffindor...

Would they have been friends? she wondered. Unlikely. I was such a bossy know-it-all as a child. Ron is so laid-back.

It wasn't until she befriended Luc deBlanc and Isabelle L'Amet that she began to settle and relax. I would have driven Ron mad if he knew the eleven year old me. He would have called me a nightmare.

Hermione's thoughts drifted to the first time she met Ronald Weasley, just 15 months ago at the start of their mission just outside of Paris.

A team of British Aurors had just portkeyed in to a secret location in the French Ministry. They were met by head of the French aurors, Mathieu Besson and herself. As an intern for the Office of Magical Law Enforcement in Paris, she was to serve as a translator and guide for the team. She was instructed to be with them every step of the way and even required special combat & protective training as she would be considered part of the team on the mission.

As the team filed into the conference room where they would meet and debrief, the tallest of them all immediately caught her eye. Perhaps it was his formidable height, or his blazing red hair. When he glanced her way from across the room, she thought maybe it was his piercing blue eyes. And when he smiled at the crude joke of one of his team, she noticed the sweetest lopsided grin. As he grinned he glanced at her again and she couldn't help notice the way his ears turned the most adorable shade of red. Her cheeks responded with their own pink tint.

It was more than just his looks for Hermione though. After all, Hermione was surrounded by very good looking French wizards (and muggles for that matter thanks to her parentage) on a daily basis and, if she was being completely honest, the team of nine or so British aurors included seven wizards who were all quite stunning in their own way. If she was being honest, however, she never took a considerable notice in men. She dated extremely sparingly and none of those dates went on to be anything significant...she just was not interested. But there was something about this one auror...Auror Ronald Weasley, she soon learned he was called. She also quickly gathered that among the British aurors, he was considered one of the best.

Hermione Granger quite liked the best.

In the coming days she began to work closely with the team. They were brought in to gather up a gang of French wizards who were once aurors and thus, knew the inner workings of the French Auror Department, as well as the identities and secret identities of those that remained. That's when the Ministry decided to bring in fresh faces from the outside to get the job done, with their secret weapon being the unknown, quiet, plain-jane intern who knew the inner workings of the French Ministry, the country - both wizarding and muggle - and the language, and would guide the outsiders to their targets.

The British Aurors' Captain, a stocky wizard named Captain Ledwig, seemed to give auror Weasley the reigns for the mission, so Hermione found herself working with him directly, much to her excitement. After several days the excitement drained from her.

Auror Ronald Weasley was the most insufferable, crude, ill-mannered, insensitive prat Hermione had ever met.

----

I won't keep y'all waiting... Chapter 3 will post tomorrow! How does Ron change Hermione's opinion of him? Thanks for reading 😁

#Ron Weasley #auror ron weasley #ron and hermione #ROMIONE #romione fanfic #hermione granger #au harry potter #auror harry potter

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chameleonwritess · 4 years

Text

Feels Like Home (Ch3)

Myriad of Stars

Not-So-Secretly in Love

Feels Like Home (Ch1 | Ch2 | Ch3)

Forever Starts Today (Epilogue)

Extras:

Infirmary Duties

Fandom: Percy Jackson

Pairing: Nico di Angelo/Will Solace

Winter is upon Camp Halfblood and Nico is panicking. What in Hades is he supposed to get his boyfriend for Christmas?

Word Count: 6300

Read the whole Myriad of Stars series on AO3

To put it simply, Nico was panicking. Will was due to return later that day and Cecil had very unpleasantly reminded him of a Christmas tradition just that morning. Considering all of Nico’s previous Christmases had been spent rather separated from the festivities, he had almost completely forgotten about it altogether.

“So, what are you getting Will for Christmas?” Cecil had asked casually as the two made their way to the canoe lake for a session with the Aphrodite and other Hermes kids.

Nico stopped walking.

“Dude, please tell me you remembered to get your boyfriend a gift,” Cecil said, noticing his shock at the statement.

“I, uh,” Nico began, wondering how he could phrase this without seeming like a terrible person, “I sort of forgot that people gave gifts?”

“You what? Nico it’s Christmas!” Cecil practically yelled.

“I’ve not exactly had the best experiences of Christmas over the years,” Nico snapped back as a means of defence, but as soon as he noticed Cecil stumble backwards at his abrupt tone, he relented. “I’m sorry. I’ve not really been around anyone else at Christmas before and now I have to get Will a gift or he’s going to think I’m a terrible boyfriend. What do you even give people on Christmas? How am I going to get something?”

“Do I hear relationship problems?” a girl’s chipper voice piped up from behind Cecil and a panicking Nico. Nico turned around to see Lacy and Mitchell from the Aphrodite cabin, also headed down to the canoe lake.

“Not really,” Nico huffed. He refused to resort to advice from the children of the goddess of love.

“Yes,” Cecil butted in, “Nico hasn’t got Will a Christmas present yet. He arrives back at Camp today.”

“Oh, that’s bad,” Lacy sighed.

“Not that bad,” Mitchell added helpfully, “Christmas is still a couple of weeks away.”

“I’m going to Camp Jupiter next week, though,” Nico pointed out, “I promised my sister. And Frank, Reyna, Piper and Jason.”

“Hey, maybe they can help you find something over there!” Lacy grinned cheerfully. Nico raised an eyebrow.

“Have you been to New Rome? It’s hardly a place I can find a Christmas gift.”

“I can always steal something for you,” Cecil added helpfully. Nico sent him a quick glare that shut him up in seconds.

“What sort of thing do I even get him?” Nico asked exasperatedly. Lacy and Mitchell looked at each other thoughtfully and before Nico knew it, he was spending the day floating on the canoe lake with Cecil, Lacy and Mitchell, deciding what he could possibly get Will for Christmas that wasn’t too expensive, too cheesy, something Will would dislike or something Nico would never get him.

“This is impossible!” Lacy huffed two hours later as the four made their way back to the Mess Hall, “why can’t I think of anything that’s just right?”

“What’s impossible?” an all too familiar voice asked from behind them. Nico spun around faster than lightning and before he could even consider what he was doing, his arms were thrown around Will Solace’s neck as his boyfriend picked him up and spun him around.

“You’re back,” Nico stated very obviously, not even attempting to hide the grin on his face at Will’s return.

“Miss me?” Will asked, leaning his face down towards Nico. Nico didn’t even bother to respond, taking Will’s actions as invitation enough to place his hands on either side of Will’s face and kiss him.

Will made a contented hum that had Nico’s heart skipping a beat before he drew back, keeping his hands firmly on Nico’s waist.

“‘I’ll take that as a yes,” Will smirked. Nico rolled his eyes when a short cough interrupted the moment between the two.

“Nico, if you wanna drop by our cabin later you can do. I guess you two probably want to… catch up,” Mitchell offered. Nico had the decency to at least blush red at the act of affection he’d so openly displayed in front of the others.

“Yeah, uh, sorry. I’ll probably drop by,” he said.

“Please go to the Hades cabin or something before you start making out, though. I don’t want to see my two bros swapping saliva again,” Cecil begged as an afterthought just as the three began to leave.

“Shut up, Cecil,” Nico huffed, his cheeks still glowing red. Cecil chuckled and waved.

“Have fun, lovebirds.”

“So do you want to heed Cecil’s advice, or-?” Will started, tilting his head endearingly with a mischievous smile gracing his lips. Nico looked at him properly for the first time since his return.

If Nico didn’t know better, he’d think Will had grown again which was completely unfair considering he already had several inches on Nico. His skin also seemed slightly less tanned than it had in the summer. Nico supposed the sun was out less at the moment, though, so it was only natural.

Will’s hair also seemed a bit longer, falling into his eyes a little more than it had in summer. Nico fought the urge to run his fingers through it. He could do that later. For now, he wanted nothing more than to indeed follow Cecil’s suggestion.

“Holy Hera, you’re infuriating,” Nico commented as Will continued to look down at Nico with a bemused expression, “now get to my cabin and kiss me, Solace.”

Will didn’t need telling twice. Nico supposed they could properly catch up with words later. Right now, all he wanted was to feel Will’s lips against his own again. He’d missed Will a lot, after all.

Nico didn’t remember to drop by the Aphrodite cabin later that evening. Lacy and Mitchell weren’t exactly surprised, though. They’d suspected Nico might have some more important catching up to do, after all.

Nico didn’t really want to go to New Rome. Especially now that Will was back, but a promise was a promise and he still really needed help on what to get Will for Christmas. Still, now he could wake up to blond hair tickling his face, curled up in Will’s arms in the Hades cabin again, Nico really didn’t want to leave for a week.

That’s why he did a very stupid thing.

“Will,” he said softly, poking Will’s cheek as an attempt to wake him. It was usually never difficult to get Will up in a morning, especially with his father being the sun god, but with it being winter, it was still too dark outside for Will to have received the memo that it was indeed morning.

“Ten more minutes,” Will groaned in response, rolling over to bury his face in the pillow. Nico resisted the urge to allow his boyfriend those ten more minutes purely because he was adorable in the morning and Nico could stare at him forever.

“Absolutely not,” Nico forced himself to say, “I need to ask you something.”

“If you want to get married, my answer’s yes,” Will mumbled into the pillow, still not getting up. Nico spluttered and pushed Will off the bed. He had definitely not been about to ask that. Now his heart was racing at a ridiculous pace and the only thought running through his head was an older Will in a tux.

“Nico!” Will complained as he fell onto the floor from Nico’s push.

“Don’t say stuff like that!” Nico justified. Will rolled his eyes and sat cross legged on the floor, staring up at Nico with a small pout. Nico had never been a morning person but whenever Will was around, he found himself growing to really love them. Not that Will would ever know.

“Do you want to go to Camp Jupiter with me tomorrow?” Nico finally asked. Will’s eyes lit up.

“Yes!” he grinned, “will it be decorated for Christmas? Oh, I’ll finally get to meet your sister properly.”

Nico chuckled at Will’s enthusiasm, ignoring the reprimands from his head that he had no chance of getting a Christmas gift for Will if Will was there.

Still, with Will’s excitement that the two would be together for a week longer than they’d thought, Nico couldn’t bring himself to regret the decision.

Camp Jupiter, just as Will had hoped, was decorated for Christmas. Nico couldn’t help but laugh at the sight of Reyna sat in a throne decorated with tinsel, scowling at the snowflakes on the table next to a grinning Frank wearing a party hat from a cracker.

“Nico!” Hazel exclaimed as soon as she spotted him, throwing her arms around her older brother. Nico hugged her back, relieved that Hazel was still shorter than him. He was pretty sure she was the only person who was.

“Hey, Nico! Will!” another familiar voice called out. Piper and Jason had been sat with Hazel at Fifth Cohort’s table. Piper ran up to Nico and also threw her arms around him. Luckily for Nico, she hadn’t grown and was still about the same height as him.

The same could not be said for Jason who ruffled Nico’s hair affectionately before pulling him into a bone crushing hug.

“We missed you, man,” he said, “how’ve you been?”

Nico glanced back at Will and gave Jason a wry smile.

“Pretty good,” he said, “Camp rebuilding went well. We’re still working on new statues and cabins thanks to your stupid promise, though.”

Jason rubbed the back of his neck guiltily.

“Sorry,” he apologised, “you’re looking good from all the building, though!”

Nico heard Will clear his throat behind Nico before his hand intertwined with Nico’s own.

“Jealousy, thy name is Will,” Nico muttered, nudging his boyfriend with his hip.

“Shut up, di Angelo,” Will retorted, pushing Nico back.

“So,” Hazel cooed, “this is the elusive ‘Will Solace’ I’ve been hearing all about.”

“I wasn’t going to bring him,” Nico shrugged, “but he insisted.”

“That is not how it happened at all!” Will replied indignantly, “you asked me because you couldn’t bear being without me for a week.”

“Well someone’s developed an ego,” Nico retorted.

“Please,” Will rolled his eyes, “like you don’t get all soft for me in the morning.”

Nico noticed Hazel turn to Piper and Jason with a look of concern on her face. Piper just laughed.

“Don’t worry, they’re always like this. It’s adorable,” she said.

“Will’s helped Nico a lot. Loads more than the rest of us could,” Jason promised. Hazel turned back to her brother and smiled at him.

“Good,” she nodded, “I approve.”

“I don’t need your approval,” Nico grumbled but he was smiling all the same.

“I had to get my siblings’ approval!” Will complained. Nico snorted and turned to Will with a raised eyebrow.

“Kayla approved?” he asked. Will shrugged.

“Not quite. If I remember correctly, and I do, her exact words were ‘For Zeus’s sake, Will, if you don’t stop waxing poetry about Nico and snog him, I’ll snog him myself!’” he said. Nico snorted with laughter.

“You two need to come and sit at our table instead of just standing in the middle of nowhere,” Hazel decided.

“Yeah, quit flirting where everyone can see and save those eyes for the bedroom,” Piper rolled her eyes with a mischievous grin.

“Piper!” Will, Nico and Jason spluttered indignantly.

“Before you do sit down, though,” Jason added, “I think there’s a couple more people who might be interested in saying hello.”

Nico glanced up to the Praetor’s table where Reyna and Frank were looking in his direction with bemused smirks. Nico let a small smile tug at the corners of his mouth as he pulled Will’s hand in the direction of the Praetors.

He could already tell this would be the best Christmas of his life.

Nico’s trip to Camp Jupiter ended far too soon for his liking. Whilst it had been great to catch up with Hazel, Reyna, Frank, Piper and Jason, he knew he was running out of time to get a gift for Will, especially when Nico spent nearly every waking moment with him.

Lacy and Mitchell were not best pleased when Nico returned.

“Nico, it’s like you don’t want to get him anything,” Lacy huffed, “why did you take him with you?”

“You’re a child of Aphrodite, figure it out,” Nico muttered, his cheeks flushing pink. Mitchell patted him on the back which didn’t really feel all that comforting.

“It’s okay. Have you asked Chiron about going out into town? Maybe you could buy him something there,” he suggested.

“I’d spend hours wandering around not knowing what to do,” Nico pointed out, “plus after the trick I pulled with getting a ‘doctor’s note’ to sit with Will at mealtimes, I’m pretty sure he wouldn’t let me go without Will.”

“Why don’t you ask his mom?” Lacy suggested. Nico shook his head. The thought of asking Naomi Solace what he should get for her son was far too embarrassing.

“Oh please,” a voice that had not previously been in the conversation drawled, “just ask Percy Jackson and Annabeth Chase. They arrived at Camp for Christmas yesterday and they always seem to have the answer to everything.”

Nico whipped his head around to find that the voice had belonged to Drew Tanaka. Nico had never really gotten on with Drew, not that he’d tried, and after Piper’s complaints he wasn’t sure he wanted to. Strangely, Drew’s advice didn’t seem all that bad.

“Um, thanks?” Nico responded awkwardly. Drew shrugged her shoulders and continued filing her nails.

“It’s no biggie,” she said, “I do have some idea about relationships. Percy’s at the Mess Hall if you want to catch him.”

Nico got to his feet.

“Thanks, Lacy, Mitchell. I think it might help to at least ask them,” he agreed. The two Aphrodite kids nodded and Nico made his way to the door.

“Oh, and Nico, sweetie?” Drew added. Nico turned hesitantly towards her again, “don’t break Will’s heart. Gods know we need some good things in our lives.”

Nico nodded his head.

“Right, I won’t.”

Drew’s usual tune was that you had to break a heart. Nico couldn’t help but wonder what exactly had brought about Drew’s change of mind but he wasn’t about to ask. He wondered if it had anything to do with the striped pink flag he’d noticed on her mirror. It looked like something he should recognise but couldn’t put a name to.

Pushing thoughts of the Aphrodite cabin out of his head, Nico approached the Big Three table, occupied only by Percy Jackson, just as Drew had promised.

Nico slid into the seat opposite him.

“How’s college going?” Nico asked. Percy grinned.

“Nico! Good to see you again,” he declared, “college is hard. I feel stupid. Reading just takes so long.”

Nico knew his struggle. Most demigods had dyslexia, Nico included, and reading English was often quite a nightmare.

“You’ve got Annabeth there, though. You can do anything,” Nico promised. Percy smiled.

“I suppose you’re right. How’ve you been?” he asked.

Nico sighed, “I actually came to ask your help on something,” he admitted. Percy leaned closer and raised an eyebrow, motioning for Nico to continue.

“I don’t know what to get Will for Christmas. I don’t want it to be some generic gift but I don’t want it to be too big of a deal because it’s just a Christmas gift and I can’t seem to think of anything in between,” Nico spluttered.

Percy didn’t respond immediately. Instead, his eyes darkened and his eyebrows furrowed. Nico knew why monsters shied away as soon as they met Percy. If the son of Hades hadn’t known him for as long as he had, the look Percy was giving him would have terrified him. Nico often thought Percy didn’t know how intimidating he could look when he was deep in thought.

His eyes represented a sea in more than just their colour. They could easily become dark and mysterious, a reflection of the terrors Percy himself had witnessed.

“How do you feel about sentimentality?” Percy finally responded, his expression changing in the blink of an eye.

“Oh, uh, it depends what you’re thinking,” Nico spluttered, having been lost in thought, himself.

“I mean, Will’s helped you to escape the ghosts of your past a lot, right?” Percy asked. Nico nodded. “What about something that showed him how grateful you were for that. Something that means a lot to you and your past.”

“I- don’t really know what you mean,” Nico shook his head in confusion.

“The Hades Statue,” Percy clarified at last. Nico looked at Percy with wide eyes. For a time, Nico had hated the statue. It had been the last gift his sister had ever given him but it was a reminder of the fact that Percy had broken his promise. Now Nico was older, he realised just how much Percy had been trying to tell him that Bianca might not have been safe.

Young Nico wouldn’t listen, though, and then he’d had his heart broken.

Sometimes Nico forgot how intelligent Percy was, especially because he was dating Annabeth. His intelligence wasn’t the same as Annabeth’s analytical, strategic intelligence, though- Percy’s intelligence was impulsive and, in a way Nico didn’t think Percy realised himself, manipulative.

Percy’s suggestion was actually incredible. Will had helped Nico talk about his feelings, something that if Nico had done at the time he found out about Bianca, would have saved a lot of hurt and heartbreak. Will had promised to always be there for Nico just as the statue was a reminder for Nico that Bianca was always watching over him, too, even in death.

Giving the statue to Will would be Nico’s way of telling Will that he truly trusted him. That he wasn’t going to ever leave Will behind. That he wanted Will in his life. Nico’s mind couldn’t help but flicker to the marriage comment Will had made about a week ago. Demigods often died young and many didn’t make it to marriage age. Nico supposed that this was his own sort of promise to Will of ’Til death us do part’, despite how young they both were.

Strangely, it wasn’t an idea that even scared Nico in the slightest.

“Thank you, Percy,” Nico smiled, “that’s actually a really good idea.”

Percy nodded, “glad I could help. Don’t tell Annabeth you came to me first, though- she’ll be salty for weeks.”

Nico grinned, “I suppose I’d better go and say hello to her, too.”

“Hey, Nico,” Percy stopped Nico from standing up by placing a hand on his shoulder, “it’s good to see you so happy.”

Nico nodded, “it’s good to see you alive and uninjured.”

With a small chuckle, Percy released Nico to go and find Annabeth.

Nico woke up to an empty cabin on Christmas morning (Will’s siblings had forced him to stay at his own cabin so they could open presents) and was surprised to find it feeling chillier than normal.

Nico sleepily dragged himself over to the log fire and started lighting a spark. Before he managed to get it started, though, there was a loud knock on his door. Nico grumbled to himself as he got to his feet and stumbled over to it, hoping it was at least Will.

Much to his disappointment, it was not, in fact, Will. Instead, Percy and Annabeth stood in his doorway.

“Merry Christmas, Nico!” Percy grinned. Annabeth stepped forwards and gave him a hug which Nico awkwardly returned.

“We brought you gifts. Can we come in?” Annabeth asked as she released Nico. Nico shrugged.

“Yeah, sure. Just let me get dressed. I only just got up,” he huffed, excusing himself to the bathroom whilst Percy and Annabeth disposed of their coats.

Nico only realised once he was in the bathroom getting dressed that their coats had been coated in white specs. It didn’t rain in camp unless Mr D and Chiron wanted it to. Nico wondered if perhaps Chiron had allowed it to snow purely because it was Christmas. If so, Nico was sort of looking forward to it. He didn’t really have any memory of snow from before.

When Nico returned, nothing looked different but Percy was smirking and looking as if he’d done something. Nico gave him a wary look as he perched down on his bed, opposite where Annabeth and Percy had sat. He supposed there was nothing he could do even if Percy was up to mischief.

“Here’s your present from me, Nico,” Annabeth announced, placing a cuboidal shaped parcel wrapped in penguin paper in Nico’s lap. He picked it up and smirked at Annabeth. It was so obviously a book.

When he opened it, he was surprised to find that it was a mathematics book.

“I know it seems a bit random,” Annabeth explained, “but I just thought since Percy and I are going to school now that if you ever wanted to do the same, you’d need to learn some basic math and English. Of course, you don’t have to go to school but if you wanted to, I’d be happy to help you study.”

Nico had never really considered going to school before. He’d always thought he’d just stay at Camp. Admittedly, Will’s stories of school and now Annabeth’s gift had him curious. Nico did sort of like the idea of learning new things.

“Thanks Annabeth,” he said, finding that he genuinely meant it, “that was a really thoughtful gift.”

“Mine’s a little more fun,” Percy added, handing Nico a more oddly shaped parcel, “Jason gave me the idea and I thought it was great.”

Nico warily accepted the parcel. Whatever Percy and Jason had conspired about together automatically made Nico apprehensive.

Still, he opened the parcel and was surprised to find a plush fall out. Not just any plush, though- it was an Umbreon plush. Nico snorted a small laugh at it.

“When I arrived at Camp Jupiter without memories, I’d been carrying around a panda pillow pet,” Percy launched into an explanation, “it really helped with the nightmares. I know it’s a bit silly but we all need something a little daft in our lives.”

Nico smiled down at the Umbreon. For some reason, the rings of yellow on its coat reminded him of Will.

“It’s really great, Percy. Thank you,” he replied. Percy smiled contentedly as Nico reached over onto his bedside table and grabbed the two parcels for Percy and Annabeth. He hadn’t bought Christmas gifts for many people but he’d already delivered most of them when in New Rome. Percy, Annabeth and Will were the only people he had gifts left for.

“I know it’s not much,” Nico shrugged, “but Merry Christmas or whatever.”

To his surprise, Annabeth grinned down at the owl patterned scarf and Percy was laughing at his pack of Blackjack sweets.

“Oh, Blackjack is gonna love these,” Percy giggled, “thanks, man.”

Nico shrugged again. He’d never been great at giving gifts but Annabeth and Percy didn’t seem too disappointed.

“This is really lovely,” Annabeth smiled, “I must say, considering your cabin interior design I didn’t trust your sense of style too much but you’ve redeemed yourself.”

“Don’t mention the cabin,” Nico rolled his eyes, huffing a laugh all the same. Percy and Annabeth looked into each other’s eyes for a second before they engulfed Nico in a hug.

“Have a good Christmas, Nico. We’ll see you later, yeah?” Percy checked. Nico nodded.

“Yeah. It’s snowing out there, right? I want to see what that’s like,” he admitted. Annabeth’s grey eyes sparkled.

“We’re having a snowball fight,” she declared.

“Woah, Wise Girl, I don’t want to die today,” Percy stuttered.

“Tough,” Annabeth smirked and before Nico could ask what was going on, Annabeth had grabbed Percy’s hand and dragged the two of them out of his cabin.

As the door was flung open, though, another face was revealed in the entrance.

“Do I even want to know?” Will Solace asked. Nico rolled his eyes and walked over to the door with a smile on his face.

“Probably not,” he admitted. Will was dressed in a large navy coat, his blond hair hidden by a ridiculous red bobble hat. Nico thought he looked adorable.

Nico was about to open his mouth to wish Will a Merry Christmas when Will’s eyes wandered up to the doorframe. Nico raised an eyebrow and lifted his gaze too, his mouth falling open when he noticed what was there.

A sprig of mistletoe was hanging from his doorframe.

“Wow, Nico, who knew the holiday spirit would turn you into such a flirt?” Will smirked. Nico furrowed his eyebrows.

“Wait, it wasn’t you who put it there?” he asked. Will shook his head.

“It wasn’t you either?” he asked. Nico shook his head when realisation dawned on him as to why Percy had looked so smug earlier.

“Jackson,” Nico hissed. Will laughed and stepped closer, wrapping an arm around Nico’s waist. His coat was cold from being outside and Nico shivered at the contact, not wearing more than a grey knitted jumper.

“I hope you don’t intend to ignore Christmas tradition,” Will whispered, his breath forming visible vapour right in front of Nico’s own mouth.

“Of course not,” Nico muttered, bringing his arms up to clutch the edge of the ruff on Will’s hood. He tugged the son of Apollo forward slightly and connected their lips, surprised at the warmth of Will’s considering the cold air around them.

Will gave a soft hum as he melted against Nico’s warmth, sending a warm trickle of affection through Nico’s own chest. Nico leaned up into the kiss when a whooping sound behind Will caused him to immediately pull back.

“Percy!” Nico yelled as he caught the sight of dark hair hidden behind one of the trees behind Nico’s cabin.

“Is that Annabeth’s phone in his hand?” Will murmured quietly to Nico. Nico glared at Percy before grabbing Will’s hand and tugging him into the cabin.

“I’m ignoring them. Get in here,” he ordered. Will chuckled and closed the door behind him.

“Wow, eager much,” he smirked. Nico glared at him too.

“Shut up before I kick you out, Solace. I just want to give you your Christmas present,” he rolled his eyes. Will chuckled again before peeling off his coat and hat, revealing a ridiculous Christmas jumper underneath, covered in cartoon reindeers. Nico snorted at the design.

“You’re such a dork,” he said.

“At least I don’t dress like the Grinch personally designed my Christmas jumper,” Will retorted. Nico furrowed his eyebrows.

“Who?”

“I forget you weren’t born in this generation. You’ve missed so much, di Angelo,” Will sighed, flopping down on Nico’s bed way more dramatically than was necessary.

“I doubt that,” Nico commented as he grabbed Will’s present and shuffled up to Will on his bed, hoping the son of Apollo would keep him warm. He’d grown quite cold thanks to the prolonged opening of his door, “Merry Christmas,” he added, handing the gift to Will.

Will looked at it curiously with a smile on his face. Nico wondered if Will could hear how loudly his heart was thumping against his chest. He didn’t think he’d ever been so nervous about giving someone a gift before.

“Nico,” Will gasped softly, “is this-“

“I know it’s probably a stupid idea,” Nico blushed, “but I wanted you to have it. You’ve helped me to move on from the darkness I carried with me after Bianca’s death so much and I wanted to give you something to show you how grateful I was for that. It’s a silly gift. Maybe it wasn’t a good idea after all-“

Nico was cut off from his fast ramble by a pair of warm lips briefly pressing against his. Nico noticed that Will had tears in his eyes when he drew away.

“I love it,” Will said, “and it isn’t silly or stupid or anything. I understand how important this statue is to you and the fact that you would give it me,” Will choked up for a second, “it means so much. Nico, I really love you.”

“I know,” Nico smiled as Will clutched the statue against his chest and buried his face in Nico’s neck. Nico could feel the dampness of Will’s tears against his neck. “I love you too.”

The two remained there for a moment or two, quietly enjoying the other’s company before Will sat up abruptly.

“I need to give you your gift,” he realised before thrusting a parcel towards Nico, “I don’t think I could ever top your gift but I tried.”

The present was quite bulky but didn’t feel overly heavy. Intrigued, Nico tore into the wrapping paper.

Inside the paper sat a black fur lined corduroy jacket. Nico smiled at it. It was just his kind of thing.

“Open it out,” Will leaned over to whisper in Nico’s ear. Nico heeded his advice and laughed out loud when he spotted the sun stitched onto the top pocket.

“I wanted to sew the patch slightly more to the right so that it would be closer to where your actual heart lies but Austin told me that was stupid and most people think the heart is further to the left anyway so you wouldn’t mind,” Will started to ramble. Nico laughed again and leaned his head on Will’s shoulder.

“You’re such a medical dork,” he snickered, “you really sewed this on yourself?”

Will nodded, “I’ve got the band-aids to prove it,” he said, wiggling his fingers to show Nico. Nico noticed that there were, indeed, three band-aids plastered over the ends of his fingers.

“I love it,” Nico said, “thank you.”

Will gave Nico a watery smile before swooping down and kissing him quickly yet again.

“What do you think about going outside and joining Percy and Annabeth’s snowball fight?” Will suggested. Nico’s eyes lit up at the suggestion.

“You’re on, Solace,” he smirked, tugging on his new jacket to race his boyfriend to the door.

When Nico returned to his cabin half an hour later, dripping wet with residual snow and dragging an equally as soaked Will into the Hades cabin with him, kissing him fiercely as soon as the door was closed, Nico couldn’t help but think that it had to be his best Christmas so far.

All the other campers that had returned for Christmas were back at school by the start of February. Will, however, had happily informed Nico that he was actually staying until March as the cold winds of late winter and early spring tended to bring about the most climbing wall and canoe lake injuries.

That’s when the disappearances started. Nico tried to ignore them- he could still sense their auras and knew they weren’t dead, but any attempts of searching for them had failed. Will was at least reassured to hear they were alive, even if Nico could tell he was blaming himself for somehow not being able to take care of them.

Nico didn’t know why Will felt the need to take responsibility for anything that could be slightly related to his healing so he advised the son of Apollo to take a day away from the infirmary to actually relax for once. He hadn’t quite expected their peaceful afternoon to be interrupted by Kayla knocking at the Hades cabin door.

“Will, are you in there?” she yelled. Nico rolled his eyes. Way to greet the owner of the cabin first.

“I’ll tell her to get lost,” Nico assured Will as he stood up from the bed they had been playing Pokémon on and opened the cabin door.

“Can’t it wait, Kayla? Will’s on his break from infirmary duties,” Nico asked. Kayla’s face looked exceptionally pale, though and the worried look in her eyes had Nico anxious that it really wasn’t something that could wait.

“I don’t think it can. There’s been… an incident,” she muttered, chewing her lip.

Nico turned around and shrugged his shoulders at Will who mustered a smile and came to join the pair at the door.

“Well, what am waiting for? Let’s see what’s happened now,” he said cheerily before turning to Nico. “I’ll be back soon,” he promised kissing Nico’s cheek. He turned around so that Kayla wouldn’t see his blush.

“Yeah, good luck,” Nico muttered as the two children of Apollo left his cabin.

It was about an hour until Will returned, bringing news Nico was certainly not ready for. Apollo was at Camp Half-Blood. And he was mortal.

When Will brought Nico to visit him, he also discovered that Apollo happened to be surrounded by a strong aura of death.

Nico voiced his concerns aloud and Will scolded him, elbowing him gently in the side.

“I apologise for my boyfriend,” he said as Nico’s cheeks flushed red. That was Will’s father and he had just announced they were dating to him like it was no big deal.

“Could you not,” Nico complained. Will’s grin only grew.

“Would you prefer ‘Special guy’ or ‘Significant Other’?” he teased. Nico huffed.

“Significant annoyance in your case,” he grumbled. He didn’t get chance to argue more as Chiron drew their attention back to the unfortunately more pressing issue. Apollo was at Camp Halfblood. Mortal. And apparently bound to some demigod named Meg who was already causing havoc. Nico suspected she’d fit in well.

Still, with the disappearances followed by Apollo’s arrival, Nico was getting slightly concerned about their safety. He really didn’t feel like fighting in another war, especially when he’d just started to settle into Camp.

When Will and Nico were excused from the conversation, Nico dragged Will to their favourite spot amongst the trees behind the Hades cabin.

“So,” he started, “your dad’s at Camp. How do you feel?”

Nico knew Will sometimes got mad at his father. Pretty much every halfblood got mad at their godly parent at least once a month and despite Nico’s frequent visits to the Underworld to see his father, he himself was no exception.

“Confused,” Will sighed, “scared. Slightly angry?”

“That’s understandable. I’d be furious if it were me. Your dad shows no sign of even being alive since summer and suddenly he shows up at Camp and begs for our help,” Nico agreed. Will nodded and placed his hand over Nico’s on the ground.

“I want to be really mad at Apollo. The thing is, I know I’m going to help him. I can’t not help him. He’s my father, after all and I just want to be able to heal everyone anyway,” Will exclaimed, an expression of frustration growing on his face, “I just want to tell him to help himself for once, though. When was he ever there for me when I needed his assistance? Where was he when I cried myself to sleep at night, wishing I had archery skill or musical ability or something other than lousy healing?”

“Hey,” Nico said softly, “your healing is anything but lousy and nearly everyone here at Camp owes you their life at least once. I know exactly why you’re mad but I also think we should help him, too. I mean, if the fate of the world ends up lying on Apollo in mortal form, we’re pretty much screwed.”

Will huffed a laugh and squeezed Nico’s hand a bit tighter.

“And for what it’s worth,” Nico continued, “I think you’re the strongest Apollo camper there is. You’re the best healer Camp has seen in years, you have one of the fiercest and yet most caring personalities I’ve ever known, your sword fighting has improved so much lately and I’m pretty sure I’ve literally seen you emit sunlight when sparring before now.”

“That last one’s a lie,” Will snorted, nudging his shoulder into Nico. Nico smirked back.

“Don’t believe me, then,” he shrugged, “don’t think you haven’t been blessed by Apollo, though. You really have. And if not, then I guess we can place responsibility for your personality on your mum.”

“She also takes credit for my ‘devilishly handsome looks’,” Will added with a grin. Nico rolled his eyes and laughed, leaning into Will’s side.

“She’s not wrong,” he commented. Will didn’t respond, simply smiling as he wrapped an arm around Nico’s back and leant against the tree behind him to support both of their weights.

“I feel like the world’s about to end again,” Nico admitted quietly. Apollo’s return had sent Nico into quiet panic since he first saw him.

“I know,” Will agreed, “but do you know what’s different this time?”

Nico shifted himself in Will’s grasp to look up at him.

“What?” he asked.

“We have each other,” Will said. Nico snorted a laugh.

“You’re so cheesy,” he complained.

“You love it,” Will shrugged, “Hey, even if I die, at least you can come visit me in the Underworld.”

“Don’t even joke about it,” Nico warned, “besides, it doesn’t work like that and you’re not going to die.”

“How can you be so sure?” Will teased, although Nico noted the slightly more serious undertone to it.

“Because,” Nico began, connecting his eyes with Will’s, “I’ll be there to fight and protect you.”

Nico was pretty sure if he hadn’t had a theory that Will emitted sunlight before then, the beaming smile that lit up Will’s face at his comment would have confirmed it.

“Good job I’ll always be there to heal you if you get injured,” Will promised quietly, sending a rush of warmth through Nico’s own face.

As Nico tilted his head up to slot their lips together, he couldn’t help but smile. Never had he imagined he might find someone that balanced him out as perfectly as Will Solace did.

For the first time, Nico held hope for just what his future would hold after the battle. With Will by his side, it couldn’t be anything but bright.

#my fanfic #solangelo #my writing #fanfic #percy jackson #nico di angelo #will solace #percy jackson fanfic #fanfiction #my fanfiction #myriad of stars

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europescleverest · 3 years

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* 𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐑𝐀𝐂𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐒𝐇𝐄𝐄𝐓

𝐋𝐀𝐘𝐄𝐑 𝟶𝟶𝟷 : 𝚃𝙷𝙴 𝙾𝚄𝚃𝚂𝙸𝙳𝙴 .

NAME : lady marguerite violette blakeney, née st. just EYE COLOUR : blue HAIR STYLE / COLOUR : a dark auburn, curly. usually worn up in the most fashionable styles HEIGHT : 5′4″ CLOTHING STYLE : like her husband, she is considered one of the most fashionable people in london society and she’s often a bit ahead of the curve in terms of what the latest styles are. her taste is expensive but not over-the-top. classy and tasteful. she grew up an orphan and spent most of her formative years in a convent, so when she became an actress, she finally had the means to dress how she pleased and leaned in hard so -- eat your hearts out! PHYSICAL FEATURES : considered incredibly beautiful, which, combined with her stage career, has drawn many admirers from about the age of nineteen. slim, fine-boned, and vivacious. gives the impression of total openness even if it’s not entirely true. at the point of the first book, she’s 25 and in Peak Hot Form. and okay in the books she’s constantly described with words like ‘dainty’ and ‘childlike’ and ‘girlish’ to degree that is, frankly, kind of hilariously annoying. so we’re not fucking with all of that... she’s a grown woman, emma, ffs....

𝐋𝐀𝐘𝐄𝐑 𝟶𝟶𝟸 : 𝚃𝙷𝙴 𝙸𝙽𝚂𝙸𝙳𝙴 .

FEARS : abandonment, loneliness, isolation, loss of the people she loves -- especially armand (her only family since she was a young child) and later percy, fears about being used, collecting too many regrets in life, and never being able to atone for her mistakes (especially the betrayal of the marquis d st. cyr and his family). GUILTY PLEASURE : she doesn’t put much stock in the idea -- she’s about grabbing what enjoyment she can out of life. she’ll tease about indulging too much in this or that, but in reality, she doesn’t feel much guilt about doing what she enjoys. AMBITIONS FOR THE FUTURE : once she discovers her husband’s true identity, her ambitions are basically ‘make sure he doesn’t like....die horribly at the guillotine.’ a family of her own, one day, as well.

𝐋𝐀𝐘𝐄𝐑 𝟶𝟶𝟹 : 𝚃𝙷𝙾𝚄𝙶𝙷𝚃𝚂 .

FIRST THOUGHTS WAKING UP : she’s a deep sleeper, so it takes a couple minutes to rejoin the world of the living lol -- and from there, it really depends. if percy is in france, her first thoughts are about what he’s doing and if he’s alright. if not, it’s about what’s in store for the day and whether or not she can put it off with another hour of sleep... WHAT THEY THINK ABOUT MOST : depends on where in her timeline. once she’s a part of the league, that takes up most of her thoughts -- as well as having to balance the social expectations of someone of her status in order to maintain appearances. and also?? being married to a vigilante with a secret identity is stressful as hell okay??? WHAT THEY THINK ABOUT BEFORE BED : she’s usually exhausted, so it’s not too complicated. but did i mention the stress???? usually can fall asleep, but sometimes it will keep her awake with worry. WHAT THEY THINK THEIR BEST QUALITY IS : a romantic, uncynical heart. there are ways this has led her astray -- made her too trusting or too careless. but she wouldn’t trade it for anything. she’s learned that you can’t take anything (or any person!) for granted, so she would rather feel things and be hurt later than add to her list of old regrets.

𝐋𝐀𝐘𝐄𝐑 𝟶𝟶𝟺 : 𝚆𝙷𝙰𝚃’𝚂 𝙱𝙴𝚃𝚃𝙴𝚁 ?

SINGLE OR GROUP DATES : oh single. it’s so rare that she gets any time with percy so sorry not sorry. TO BE LOVED OR RESPECTED : to be loved. absolutely. having grown up with so little and so few people in her corner, she wants to grab onto any love she can. being a famous actress and socialite has taught her how many people’s attentions can be hollow or insincere -- what she craves is the real thing above all else. BEAUTY OR BRAINS : she values both, honestly. she’s been called ‘the cleverest woman in europe’ but she also knows how much her looks have been a means of survival and leverage for her. when it comes down to it, she’d certainly pick brains but... she’d rather not have to give up the other one either lol DOGS OR CATS : dogs. they’re warmer and friendlier. but i wouldn’t call her a dog person or a cat person tbh.

𝐋𝐀𝐘𝐄𝐑 𝟶𝟶𝟻 : 𝙳𝙾 𝚃𝙷𝙴𝚈 …

LIE : oh sure. lies of omission, lies to help the league, etc. even a nice healthy dose of lying to herself about things she doesn’t want to admit to! BELIEVE IN THEMSELVES : in her career? in her role as a social butterfly? yes. in personal matters? it’s gone one a roller coaster of doubts over the years... BELIEVE IN LOVE : god yes. she’s a big old mess of hopeless romanticism and tries to pretend she isn’t... but love is probably the thing she believes in most of all. WANT SOMEONE : ' hey remember the time percy & marguerite got married & still thought their crush didn’t like them ’ (this was knight’s answer and i’m leaving it here bc.... yep.)

𝐋𝐀𝐘𝐄𝐑 𝟶𝟶𝟼 : 𝙷𝙰𝚅𝙴 𝚃𝙷𝙴𝚈 𝙴𝚅𝙴𝚁 …

BEEN ON STAGE : countless times at the comedie francais and elsewhere in france. while she wouldn’t trade her current life for that one, she does miss it sometimes. DONE DRUGS : not really no. unless occasionally going too hard on the champagne counts... CHANGED WHO THEY WERE TO FIT IN : not really changed who she was -- rather just hid parts of herself while projecting others. playing up a carefree attitude in her public life as an actress and socialite is a means of survival and protection.

𝐋𝐀𝐘𝐄𝐑 𝟶𝟶𝟽 : 𝙵𝙰𝚅𝙾𝚄𝚁𝙸𝚃𝙴𝚂 .

FAVOURITE COLOUR : blues, golds, rose FAVOURITE ANIMAL : she’s kind to animals and enjoys riding, but she doesn’t really have a favorite. FAVOURITE BOOK : she’s not voracious reader, but she does enjoy reading novels and plays and has generally read whatever is new and popular at the moment. in her paris days, she kept abreast of the political and philosophical papers surrounding the revolution that were being published. FAVOURITE GAME : making fun of her husband in public? lbr teasing each other in front of people is foreplay

𝐋𝐀𝐘𝐄𝐑 𝟶𝟶𝟾 : 𝙰𝙶𝙴 .

DAY THEIR NEXT BIRTHDAY WILL BE : august 17.... so in terms of canon, that’d make her next birthday... a saturday ;D HOW OLD WILL THEY BE : 26

𝐋𝐀𝐘𝐄𝐑 𝟶𝟶𝟿 : 𝙵𝙸𝙽𝙸𝚂𝙷 𝚃𝙷𝙴 𝚂𝙴𝙽𝚃𝙴𝙽𝙲𝙴 .

I LOVE : my life and my family I FEEL : compelled to live fully in each moment and atone for what’s past I HIDE : more than i show, but only -- perhaps -- three people would know it I MISS : an uncomplicated life I WISH : that i no longer had to be afraid for the people i love

tagged by : @arvnsis tagging : YOU !

#⚜ i. ｢ about. ｣#long post cw

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andagii-writes · 4 years

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Oracle Calling

Hydrate me with a Ko-Fi!

Summary

(inspired by Rick Riordan’s Percy Jackson series, as well as Supergiant Games’s Hades)

Miss Levinia is the master of The Oracle Winery, a quaint yet historic operation nestled in Napa Valley for the last couple centuries. Her day staff tends to the mortal patrons, but at night, the tasting room transitions into a haven for displaced demigods, Levinia their overseer and protector, "Switzerland," by some accounts. What begins as an uncharacteristically quiet evening quickly evolves into a night of revelation, when a specter from her past crosses her threshold. (7,501 words)

Cross-posted on AO3 and WordPress.com

Glossed lips pursed in a frown, and with deliberate severity in her gaze, tall, dark Miss Levinia stood, arms crossed, behind the bar of her winery’s tasting room. Only a faint hum pervaded The Oracle Winery, as though the evening had forgotten its role in Levinia’s routine, as well as an earlier camaraderie.

But rather than making herself maudlin by recalling those regulars—twin brats of Hades and their snuffling, oversized Cerberus pups—Levinia turned her attention to administrative catch-up. With no one barging in for asylum or medical attention for the half-divine, or even for a drink, she at least had the perfect amount of peace to attend to the tasting room’s inventory. Clipboard in hand, she wove between the wicker lounge chairs and glass-top tables, pen scratching notes on a log sheet. Wheat crackers and cheeses for the main bar. More bottles of riesling and moscato for the refrigerator at the secondary dessert bar. Prepare the menus for the upcoming seasons. Oh, and inventory the grocery bags the twins had left at the end of the main bar.

The twins had, for the first time, asked about the otherworldly fare they brought for her in those bags. What exactly did she brew with the stuff?

“You’d have to drink them to know,” Levinia had responded. “But you might find yourselves on an express ferry back to your lord father if you did.”

They asked no more and finished their drinks on their way out.

Without paying, yet again.

Shoulders heaving in a deep sigh, Levinia set aside her clipboard and unrolled the long receipt detailing the twins’ tab, readying herself for the weekly recalculations. Pen rocking between two fingers, she punched numbers on her phone’s calculator while her mind added more to the to-do list. Check the stock on the venom and hallucinogenic brews. Re-apply poison to the knives hidden under the bar top. Regular protective maintenance, though she avoided altercations whenever possible. After all, unlike most of Levinia’s patrons, The Oracle afforded her a boring life of stability and routine. The day staff, a rotating roster of demigods, maintained the vineyards, the cellars, and the tasting room, while Levinia oversaw the operation at night, when she donned her waistcoat and customer service smile, and presided over what the brats called their personal Switzerland.

Though she appreciated the mystique and respect, even ancient Miss Levinia saw distress in the face of constant monotony. She enjoyed her stability, yet the quiet made her reminisce, made her memory clear away the fog over her childhood, made her consider the stars outside as she once considered the stars above the ocean spray of her old home.

Home? She scoffed at herself. The Oracle was home. She’d made this place her home. Even halfway across the world in this foreign wine country, history ensconced her, in a petrified forest further up north, neat rows of grapevines at her flanks, and splendid wineries for miles in either direction, each lot boasting more history and grandeur than the last. Among the pueblo-style bungalows, stone castles, and even a mountaintop vineyard that required an airborne cable car for access, The Oracle Winery stood proud yet modest, little more than a glorified cottage.

Levinia, sighing, rolled her shoulders. With the tasting room’s mood lights dimmed to gentle amber flares, The Oracle needed a distraction as well, lest it fell into a fitful doze with her. Music, she thought, would lift the spirits of the place. She added that note—'hire nightly entertainment’—to her list, since she, unfortunately, never inherited her father’s knack for revelry.

As she started her calculations again, a breeze swept outside, disturbing the ivy leaves and grapevines to a gentle rustle. A visitor had arrived.

Levinia re-rolled the twins’ tab and nestled it against her register. Whatever came through her doors deserved her cordial welcome as thanks for the break in the evening. Tugging her waistcoat straight, she drew back and fastened the curlicue waves of her hair with golden ivy pins: mementos, Mother once claimed, of Father.

The doors opened. Levinia curled her lip in her customary slight smile. She started, “Welcome,” then choked in surprise. As she stared wide-eyed at the silhouette on her doorstep, her smile hardened into wariness.

She knew that broad shadow. She remembered that height.

‘No,’ she told herself, shaking her head. ‘I don’t know. That’s not—My mind’s just playing tricks.’ Just a specter from her memories. Reminiscing had never been good for her. She sucked in a sharp breath and loosened her clenched hands. What an embarrassing mistake to make of a likely regular patron. Or an enemy. ‘Come on,’ Levinia scolded herself. ‘You’re working now.’

Even while eyeing her customer, Levinia kept her tone civil. “Welcome to The Oracle Winery,” she said again, then gestured to the bar stools. “’Tis the tasting room. Have a seat; tell me what you need.”

The man stooped to clear the threshold and said nothing as he closed the door behind him. Levinia curled her lip in slight offense, but swallowed her snap. After all, most of The Oracle’s first-time patrons kept to themselves, usually out of sharp distrust. The same probably held for this man. Curled hair sprung in stray sprigs from under his hood, some shade of dark color muddied by the amber lights. His shoulders filled out the corners of his thick jacket, zipped all the way up. Despite the suffocating choice, a strange gracefulness helped the man to navigate his long legs as he turned about, apparently investigating every possible corner of The Oracle.

Levinia lowered her hand to an alcove under her counter, brushing her fingers along the handles of her hidden knives. Why survey the space so? Looking for surveillance or a way out? Yet, strangely, no sign of intimidation came off his height or hooded visage. No anticipation prickled in his silence. Rather, Levinia thought as she drew her hand back, a welcoming gentleness surrounded him.

Which made Levinia offer her hand instead. “Shall I take your coat?”

He shook his head, electing instead to partially unzip his jacket. After a hesitant moment, hands firmly balled in his pockets, he finally spoke. “You’re not asking who I am?”

He used a gruff tone to mask his voice, but its familiarity echoed in Levinia’s ears. She choked down the knot tangling in her chest and replied, “You can tell me if you want, but I won’t ask or tell. That goes for anyone visiting at this time.”

“Say I tell you, and you realize you’d rather throw me out. Would you do so?”

Levinia grimaced at the poorly-veiled sentiment. “I can’t break my own rules, now can I? Just don’t make any trouble for me.” She held her breath, as the man slid into one of the barstools before her. “So, what can I get you tonight?”

“Just a glass,” he sighed, shoulders relaxing. “A black, if you please.”

She considered the hooded man, his head low. “A ‘black’ wine at The Oracle,” she murmured, hands on her hips, “is considered divine fare. So don’t disrespect me. Take your hood off.”

The man flinched and threw a glance over his shoulder, the motion freeing another curling lock of dark hair from his hood. “You speak so fearlessly,” he said, a chuckle lacing his voice. “Like a goddess of protection. Or a mother. Have you become one since I last saw you?”

He had dropped his gruff tone as well, opting for a natural mellow accent, one Levinia occasionally heard in her faded recollections of Father’s bedtime stories. He used to talk about foreign lands, waters, and adventures.

“I only ask,” the man hurriedly added, likely in response to Levinia’s lips pursing into a thin line, “since there was no one back home to tell me what had happened to you.”

“And just how long ago did you visit those ruins?” While she had stopped herself from spitting, a dangerous edge sharpened her voice. “And no, I’m neither goddess or mother, heaven forbid me. All I do is make and maintain the rules of my house, so again, no trouble past those doors.”

He folded his hands over the countertop, still refusing to meet Levinia’s eye. “I remember that. Your mother had a similar rule.”

“Oh for fuck’s sake.” Stomach roiling, Levinia covered her face and counted each long second of her breath. “Just take your damn hood off, Father.”

“I—I believe you have me mistaken.”

“Let’s not play this game. You might as well be standing before me in full regalia. Where’s your wand? Your chariot? Your attendants? What happened to excelling at disguise?”

“To protect the mortal eye, yes. But you, your mother…” He finally, sheepishly, shed his hood. The rest of his curled hair, some tied back in a half-pony, cascaded over his shoulders. “Your mother had a sharp, fearless eye. You’ve clearly inherited that.”

Levinia’s stomach, which had coiled backwards, now pitched forward, as she let the specter’s words and visage sink in. She remembered that voice. That face. She hated that she’d seen through him so quickly.

Mother called him Daeon. And he hadn’t changed, even after hundreds upon thousands of years. Levinia’s lord father Dionysus, despite his languid, unshaven features, still held traces of the young father who once cradled Levinia among the vineyards. No disguise could hide the gravitas of his divinity.

Remembrance stung in Levinia’s eyes, as she ground her palm into one. She’d prepared for everything—riots, medical emergencies, death threats, ichor hunters—but not her own father’s return. Why did this have to be her distraction for the evening?

Daeon went on, his voice wavering. “Levinia,” he said, “you’ve grown so much.”

“Time does that to a little girl,” she snapped, squaring her shoulders. “You missed Mother’s deathbed.”

“I swear to you,” he said, “Hades was to notify me as soon as she arrived at Elysium, but, nothing. I even made the journey below; I was ready to bring her back.

“But she wasn’t there. You sent her off correctly, didn’t you? An obol under the tongue?”

“Even if I hadn’t, the old attendants would have made sure of it,” Levinia spat. She laid her palms flat against the countertop and counted the seconds of her breath. In, slowly. Then out. “So let’s face the truth, shall we? You were too afraid to watch her go.”

“Not true. I knew where she was headed.”

“Then why? How hard could it have been? We lived on Olympus’s doorstep! Just a few steps outside, Father, and you could have seen Mother off yourself!”

Mother, who, after Father had disappeared that distant morning, waited upon the balcony every night and stared across the sea. She wistfully called it “The Promised Spot.” Yet that soft longing eventually hardened into bitter anger, solid until her final breaths when she begged Levinia to look after the family’s treasures.

The memories prickled into fury. Levinia stepped back from the bar top. Heaved another deep breath. Her staff called her tough, but, she reminded herself, the master of The Oracle Winery operated with far more finesse and impersonality regardless of the customer she faced. She straightened her back and cleared her throat. “Pardon me,” she said. “I’ll get you your drink.”

Taking a glass from the rack, Levinia knelt below as she guessed her father’s expression. Despairing, hopefully. Or guilty. Regretfully reminiscing. Self-pity, she told herself, she’d slap.

Above her, Daeon released a burdened sigh. “I had a theory,” he said, “that perhaps her soul had wandered elsewhere. You sent her off properly, yet she never arrived at Elysium. Never even saw Hades or Persephone to receive her decree.”

“Can’t say I care about your theories,” said Levinia, flipping a switch under her bar top. Soft amber light illuminated a cabinet below the register, as she produced a key from her pocket. “Take them to Athena or, I don’t know, Aristotle, since you’re so willing to head back down there. I’m sure Hades stashed him or some other philosopher in Elysium.”

“I’ll…consider it.” His tone deflated, yet he went on. “Your mother. Was—how angry was she?”

Levinia turned the lock on the cabinet. “She once promised to eviscerate you herself, if you came back while she was alive.” She simpered at her father’s groan and opened the glass door. Inside, mounted on its side, sat a plain, sealed amphora, a spigot retrofitted at its base. “But she never doubted your divinity.” Unpinning one of her ivy pins, Levinia felt about the patterned crest above the spigot. She turned the pin and fitted it into the crest, at the same time sliding the wine glass into place. “She never abandoned the craft you helped her master.”

“Which I see she also passed on to you.”

Holding the glass at a tilt, Levinia released the spigot. Dark red wine slipped in with hardly a bubble. “I like to think I did well by her.” She gingerly pulled the lever back, removed her hair pin from the crest, and stood, pocketing the pin as she nudged the cabinet shut. Pinky cushioned under the stem, she set the filled glass before her father. “But if she kept any secrets from me, she left them in this brew here.”

Levinia crossed her arms, as her father’s features creased with bafflement. “But why would she keep anything from you?”

Despite his confused tone, however, a strange, sharp clarity glinted in his eyes. Without realizing, her father had already, dimly, divined an answer, but needed a few moments longer to solidify his conclusion. Levinia shrugged anyway. “Experiments. Signatures. Something like that, if I had to guess. All she said was this one’s not complete ‘’til it received the blessings of Lord Dionysus.’” She gestured to the glass. “But you’ve already guessed that, right, wine being your domain? So go on. You’ve kept her waiting long enough.”

“With all of my gratitude,” Daeon replied, and picked up the glass. He tilted the wine toward the light and watched The Oracle’s amber lights flare through the deep red. His guilty remembrance softened into a fond smile as he brought the glass to his lips. He closed his eyes. “She’s created a masterpiece. I can tell already.”

Levinia rolled her eyes.

After another long moment and final deep breath, he tipped the glass back for the smallest sip.

Wonder filled his features then, his eyes practically glowing, while Levinia smirked. An old giddiness stirred in her as Daeon took another sip, longer this time. Then another. And another.

“Take your time,” she chuckled, dimly recognizing her own honest simper. Old memories stirred within her, reminding Levinia of fond memories of mother-daughter winemaking—to remind Father to come home!—until Mother had faded into a lonesome morosity some long, horrible time ago. After that and over the years, Levinia’s own love had withered into a desiccated husk of sadness, leaving her with the professional motions of winemaking, but none of the zeal.

‘Until,’ she thought, ‘now.’

“She’s mulled it well,” Daeon sighed. “There’s a bite, yet it’s kind. Soft.” He held a melancholic smile in his features. “As though she’s speaking to me. But this isn’t like her usual brews—what is that I taste? Persephone’s pomegranates?”

“As if she’d let you have the fruits of the dead. You’re tasting cherries, from what later became the Ottomans.”

“And the grapes?” Desperation strained his voice. “Did she use a blend?”

Levinia snorted. “Of only the grapes you raised. She wouldn’t agree to anything else for the private collection.” As her father put down his glass and cradled his head, Levinia swallowed the rest of her rebuke. She couldn’t berate his sincerity any longer. “I looked after what I could after you left. Still do. I’ll never be as good as you, but I did my best.” She smirked, sardonic. “Even stopped myself from burning them down, especially that ugly one with all the ivy.”

“Because Lyridice taught you to regard that one as though it was me.”

Mother had begged not only for the protection of the wine amphoras, but also, with sharp emphasis, the old grapevines in the private garden terrace. “For your father,” sighed a resigned Mother. “He’ll return to you during your long, long life. I promise.”

And now, millennia later, that promise had finally delivered.

Levinia raised a brow. “How did you figure?”

“I could never reach you through them,” Daeon reluctantly answered, “but I could still hear you. Your prayers. I heard both of you, whenever you called upon me through that grapevine.”

Levinia’s head spun, sour rage prickling again at the back of her throat. By force of habit, she had continued her one-sided conversations with the ivy-choked grapevines, increasingly so after her mother had passed. Even though passing time left her home in ruins, Levinia protected those plants with her life, taking them from the terraced gardens above the Mediterranean and across the world from new home to new home. Currently, they stood still and peaceful, enshrined in Levinia’s private garden.

And she still talked to them when she tended the garden. Through that conversation, Levinia realized, her father had found her. “I knew I should have burned that damn bush,” she hissed, every word pinched with more venom than the last. “So you really did know when Mother passed. You knew as soon as I told you and you still chose to not come home?”

“Forgive me, Levinia.” Distress mounted in Daeon’s voice. “I beg you to forgive me, but I know—I’m not—!” He sighed. “I’m not foolish either. You can’t forgive me. I heard that as well. Loud and clear.”

Levinia, remembering her wailing curses before the grapevine, bit her lip. Had her straight honesty then already done the damage she wanted? She leaned against her countertop, replying in a tight voice, “So what are you really here for? Obviously not to ask after Mother.”

“Lyridice has always been my reason—both of you have always been my reason.” Head cradled in one hand, he swirled his wine with the other. Exhaustion shadowed his features as he mockingly snorted, “Zeus advised me against coming here, ‘til I questioned him on his own children, those he left behind on this earth. He granted me some of his understanding then.” He lifted his head and met Levinia’s eye again. “Lyridice prayed that I look after you, Levinia. I’m sorry it took so long.”

“Your point?”

“I’m here to take you home with me. To Olympus.”

She stared, fighting to keep her expression of ennui while pure rage pounded harder and harder against her temple. Home? Olympus?

With Dionysus?

Her breath ran icy hot through her nose, as dumbfounded Levinia curled her fingers around the edge of the countertop. The wood groaned under her grip. Even Daeon pulled back. “So that’s it?” Her stomach lurched over and over. Her eyes, her cheeks, her ears, even her neck and throat, all burned. “This? After all these years? Do you take me for a damn child?”

“It’s for your safety—!”

“—My safety?! Where was this proposition when the pirates showed up? When they burned down our home looking for ‘divine ichor,’ answer me that!”

“I never heard—when was this?”

“Who cares when it was! They hung me—hung me, Father, do you hear me?!—draining me for my blood! Where were you then?!”

“I was looking for your mother!”

“You mean my dead mother?”

“She wasn’t—Levinia, listen to me—Lyridice’s not in the Underworld. She promised to wait for me at Elysium without drinking from Lethe, but I swear to you, she wasn’t there.”

She could have snatched up the glass on the table and smashed it into her father’s face. She could scream at the insolence, the disrespect, but she swallowed the rage scalding her throat. How had she not already vaporized or combusted? Pressing both hands to her temples, Levinia blew out a long, thin, tremulous breath. Then regarding her father with seething disappointment, she blew another breath and lowered her hands. Fists balled, she rounded the bar and stood before Dionysus.

Miss Levinia lifted one hand and pointed at the door. Her voice, icy and curt, sharpened further as she hissed through gritted teeth. “Get out.”

She snapped against his protest. “Mother was more right about you in her anger,” she pressed, “then she ever was in her love for you. You choose to smear her memory? Deflect your responsibility to her? Then I won’t listen to another second of this asinine talk, you hear me, especially in here! Get out!”

A shocked Daeon rose before her. “I never smeared or deflected—!”

“Yet you insist she’s not where she belongs?”

“Zeus forbade me from asking after Lyridice!”

“She was beneath you anyway, is that it? Leave her in peace!”

“I have been fighting, Levinia, fighting for leave this entire time—!”

“And it’s only now that Zeus is granting you this oh-so-necessary permission to see me? To look for Mother? Spit out that wine and cry me a river! Mother must have drowned herself in Lethe, just to avoid seeing you again!”

“By the Styx, child, relinquish your stubbornness for just one moment!”

“Take your patronizing and shove it, Father, because that stubbornness was all I ever had! For years, for centuries, for so goddamn long, all I ever had was that stubbornness to live! To survive!” Every nerve, every breath, every bone in Levinia’s body rattled. Yet somehow, as she regarded her father’s perturbed expression, she scoffed. Why even bother anymore? Why care so much now? Suddenly exhausted, she turned away. “So leave me to it. What’s another lost child to you or the gods, anyway?”

She tottered back behind the bar, as Daeon, shaking his head, fell back into his seat. “You were never lost to me,” he said. “Never.”

“Thanks for the nice thought,” Levinia muttered, “but you’re lying. Get out of my store.”

He lingered, however, drumming his fingers against the bar top. “Divine ichor,” he reflected. “How could anyone have figured that out about you?”

“Live just twenty years past your dead mother without looking more than a teenager, and people start wondering. And don’t try your persuasion on me. I’m of your blood.”

“But your ichor’s mixed, a far cry from that of the gods.”

Levinia rubbed her temples and squeezed her eyes shut as the dust cleared from her memories. Her mother had died, her father disappeared, and the people of that old vineyard had all passed on, leaving behind rumors of a ghost girl wandering the ruins of that once-hallowed estate. In the following lonely years, she ran pirates and treasure hunters for loops around the ruins and cackled at their bumbling expense, until they lashed her by her ankles and heated their cursed knives. “Details,” she mumbled. “Humans don’t care for them when they’re afraid of death.”

Pulling back from the counter, Levinia embraced herself, flinching as her body recalled the searing lacerations, one by one. Her breath shuddered in the icy hollow of her chest. ‘It’s all in the past,’ she told herself. ‘Just nightmares now.’

Just a nightmare. The distant memory of her mother’s voice sounded so close in Levinia’s head. But now you’re awake. And see? Mother is close to you. Father is always with you. The nightmares can’t reach you now.

“Levinia.”

She jerked back to reality—eyes wide, nose flaring, breath still shallow—to find her father offering his hand. “I thought,” Levinia snarled, albeit weakly, “I told you to leave.” Doubt and nostalgia pummeled her inside as she regarded the open palm before her. When was the last time she’d seen and held this hand?

“You spoke so many times before the vines—in joy, in anger, in sorrow—yet you never spoke of your suffering. Why?”

“Because…” Neither snark or sarcasm broke past the knot of honesty tangling in her throat. To tell, or not tell? After all, the last time she spoke to her father about her fears was the night before he disappeared. That was the last time they held hands.

What was that fear again? What had she told him? Levinia stared still at the offered hand, long fingers, knuckles somehow graceful, skin tanned by the Mediterranean sun. That same hand had given her a spoon of honey to soothe her, when she woke up screaming that night.

It was a nightmare.

Just a nightmare.

Wasn’t it?

A nightmare, of a thick black sea crashing forth from beyond an infinite horizon. Dark water coiled up her ankles and seized her wrists and throat and pitched her into the brine. The shadows flooded her nose and darkened her vision, whispered yet screamed, sang yet cried. She flailed and kicked for the surface, but the choking darkness dragged her lower and lower. Something—someone—grabbed her by the root of her soul, and she stilled, paralyzed. Ever deeper she sank, ever aware of the unending depth; she was returning somewhere, a place neither Mother or Father, a place from which her soul shrieked for escape.

She told Father this nightmare after crying against Mother.

Father left the very next morning.

“If you were listening at all after that,” Levinia finally responded, “I didn’t want to give you a reason to truly abandon me.” She laid her fingertips against her father’s. Like hers, and like she remembered, they were soft, maybe a little dry from tending the grapevines. And as she’d done so often as a child at the dinner table, she tapped her fingers against his, lightly, to escape Mother’s rebuke though she laughed eventually.

“It was never my intention—I didn’t mean to—no.” He curled their fingers together and gently gripped Levinia’s hand. “None of that matters.

“I’m sorry, Levinia.”

The apology hung thick, slowly permeating. Tears beaded in Levinia’s vision.

“I’m sorry, for leaving you so alone, so suddenly. I’m so sorry.”

She laid a hand over her eyes and turned her face askance. Biting her lip, she shook her head and swallowed in choking shudders. Miss Levinia, always stoic, never shed tears, not even for friends or close associates. Not even, she hoped, for her father.

Yet he, in silence, tightly held her hand.

“Levinia,” he then started. “As a child, you so desperately wanted to see your lord grandfather. I denied you that, but, do you remember how you tried to persuade me? The one thing you tried?”

Levinia, afraid of a habitual snap coming out instead of a question, sucked in another breath.

The one thing she tried?

The words came out before her foggy memory cleared. “I stole one of the wine amphoras,” she said. “A heavy thing of some special brew you made with Mother.” Lifting her hand, she narrowed her eyes and cocked her head, her memory’s eye following the movements of that little girl. “I… I drank some of it. And I fell asleep.”

Daeon nodded. “Then you had your nightmare. But, hear me, Levinia. It wasn’t just a nightmare.” He took her hand in both of his. “Your divinity shone when you told us about it. That wine opened your vision—your power. You had a vision with far more clarity than even some of Apollo’s oracles.”

“Talk about a stretch of the imagination.” Levinia sniffled. Still turned aside, she drew back and crossed her arms. “I’ve had no prophetic visions since then.”

“Have you had a wine blessed by your father since then?”

Her father’s smugness instilled Levinia with further disbelief. “You’re not a god associated with prophecy.”

“So let’s call it an epiphany. That you call this winery ‘The Oracle’—fate has good taste.”

Levinia wrinkled her nose. Still, the man had a right to believe whatever he pleased, so long as he provided the information she wanted. She crossed her arms. “Epiphany it is. So what did I see?”

In the ensuing silence, Daeon’s features fell again. He folded his hands together. “You’ll believe me, then?”

“I won’t guarantee it.”

“That’s fair,” he snorted. “Your unquestioning faith is certainly far more than I can ask for.” He took a deep breath. Then, despite the uncertain furrow of his brow, he began. “We took some time to decode your epiphany. We still have some disagreement about the details, but overall, we think you saw the seas of Chaos.”

That shapeless, tumultuous beginning of all? Levinia raised her brow. “What about it?”

“Them,” Daeon corrected. “They’re an entity, as well as a place. Considering what happened to you in that dream, there’s reason to believe They’re rising.”

“You’re insinuating that Chaos—which just is, and once abdicated Their supremacy—has adopted purpose and direction?”

Daeon chuckled. “And there’s the disbelief. But you’ve noticed the shift in this world, haven’t you? Humanity is slowly sliding this realm back into Chaos, as though to meet Them halfway.”

“Humans have always been a chaotic species. It’s their fate.”

“So you believe the Moirai designed the arrival of their siblings? The children of Nyx?”

“You say it like they’ve never been around.”

“Certainly, they’ve always had their governance over humanity—in dreams, in sleep, in death—but have they always been here, among the mortals? They’re becoming more and more deliberate in their duties, and the humans resist those machinations. You know what defiance of destiny invites.”

Defiance of destiny is the rejection of the gods’ order, and thus, a ticket for Chaos to emerge. The ichor hunters of Levinia’s youth demonstrated as much in their desperate resistance against death, and her network had reported even more: retribution stirring within and between countries, mass, fatal siren calls of both needles and firearms, older generations passing ill will rather than wisdom to the young. “So it was all one cohesive pattern,” Levinia muttered. “They’re goading humans to reject order.”

“Thus allowing the primordial gods even greater reign across the mortal realm. Their efforts will cloud humanity with the mists of Erebus, and so ready this world for Nyx’s sovereignty.” Daeon’s voice fell. “Once Nyx veils all in primordial night and refuses return to Tartarus, Chaos will surge forth to reclaim what They bore.”

“Unbelievable,” Levinia snorted, shaking her spinning head. “You inferred all of this from a drunken nightmare I had as a child, and you’re only now coming with a full analysis of it?”

“We had to be sure we correctly understood this particular thread of fate. Our preparations needed to be perfect.”

“And leaving lovers and demigod children behind in the meantime?”

Here, Daeon met Levinia’s eye. Guilt, and at the same time, conviction, reflected in his expression. “That was never my intention. We all had our parts to play in this matter, what with closing the gates of Olympus…”

Levinia blinked, eyes bugging out. “Come again?” she scoffed. “Zeus would have you and his family abandon this realm?”

“I’m sure,” Daeon interjected, “I’m certain, he made the decision with a heavy heart—humans have always fascinated him! Yet I hear the scale of this conflict won’t compare to the war against the Titans, or so Poseidon assures.”

Levinia pressed her fingers against her temples, her scrambled disbelief pounding a headache. Slowly, she parsed her thoughts.

One, her father sat before her at her bar. He wanted to take her home, to his home of Olympus.

Two, the children of Nyx, even Nyx herself, worked to set the humans against themselves. To invite Chaos back. And Levinia had had a dream prophesying this some long, ancient time ago.

And, according to Levinia’s up-til-then absent father, her assuredly dead mother had somehow missed the road signs and ferry to the Underworld. She never took her rightful place among the dead.

“Whew…” She lowered her hands and laid them flat on the polished bar top. Refocus, she told herself. What’s here? What’s now?

Herself, first of all. Her father and his unannounced visit. The wine between them, Mother’s “Prayer”—Ah, Levinia, I am so sorry. I’m nobody more than a winemaker’s daughter and yet I find myself wishing—though Levinia would not tell Dionysus this name.

And then The Oracle. She’d been here so long, along with others too. Others that mattered. “What about the other kids like me? You’ve all abandoned us for so long—now you have a plan?”

“We’re in disagreement there as well.” Daeon met Levinia’s sharp, accusatory glare and hurriedly added, “I will grant you protection, of course, but some would rather maintain Olympus as hallowed ground, and prepare those children for war instead. A crusade, they say, to restore order.”

Did you hear, Levinia? Your father finally has his throne among the Olympians! Apparently, bringing his mother back from Hades was the final test of his divinity. And now she’s ascended as a deity on Olympus too!

I… I wonder, if that honor could ever be extended to me?

Soft orange flares glowed in the crystal of Levinia’s neatly lined glasses. She asked, quietly, “Would you have protected Mother, were she still alive?”

“That’s why I made my way to the Underworld again.” Daeon murmured, as if their whispers could somehow reach the shade in question. “Hades was cross with me, but I had every intention of bringing Lyridice back. Only, she wasn’t in Elysium.”

Semele was beautiful—is beautiful. You see, beauty makes the difference between two mortal women. Look at me. I’ve always been cross. I’ve never been beautiful. I’ve this ugly red mark on my face that I wrapped and hid every day, yet your lord father unveiled me. Looked upon me. Embraced me and called me beautiful. I told him he’ll someday wake up from those delusions.

But now, without him? I miss him, Levinia. I miss him more every day.

I tell myself he’ll come home. Do you think the gods will forgive my vanity?

“She would have waited. You’re right about that, at least.” She waved aside Daeon’s touched, tearful look. “At least I’m still here. You’d have me head for Olympus as a refugee, then?”

Noting her father’s affirming nod, Levinia regarded the quiet winery. For sanctuary within Olympus, she’d have to give this place up. Whether this “rising” of Chaos happened tonight or within the next five hundred years, Olympus would supposedly protect her. Her father was luckily one of the kinder Olympians who reveled in celebration more than sacrifice.

But the more pragmatic gods meant to outfit their demigod children for war. With war came carnage, meaning those abandoned kids would inevitably be the first casualties. The thought soured in the back of Levinia’s throat. “Can’t you extend your protection to the rest of our kind?”

Daeon folded his shaking hands together. “It’s my word against those of older siblings and my father. Some have no kindness or wisdom, but I will continue asking them to reconsider. Demigods or not, our children shouldn’t have to suffer their parents’ whims.”

Levinia snorted. “You could say that twice and a few times more.”

“Please, Levinia.”

“I don’t think so, Father. I’m not as bitter now, but I still have a right to my anger. Rage is also part of your domain, after all.”

She smirked at her father’s exasperation, yet Levinia’s thoughts wandered again. Less fortunate kids had no divine or living parent to speak of or with. Those lost children floated about and survived, until rumor clued them into a haven nestled in the heart of some far-flung wine country. Half-disbelieving, they stumbled on, following the word of equally mistrustful kids until they fell upon the doorstep of The Oracle. Levinia gave them food, drink, a bed, a bath, no questions, and only one rule: no trouble. After a few silent days, they usually asked about their almighty parents, because surely Miss Levinia and her network would have answers, but she always gave her sobering response of, “No one knows.”

Now she knew—Chaos is coming and the gates of Olympus are closing—but then what? Absent parents never had sudden changes of heart. Even Dionysus needed a reason. So how would an answer change any of the demigods’ circumstances? If Levinia left The Oracle, where would those kids go next?

‘They’re resourceful,’ she told herself. ‘They know how to get by.’ Yet a sense of proud duty answered, that without Miss Levinia, who knew the ways of the divine children because she was one too, the kids had nowhere else to go. After all, she maintained the store’s front not only for her devotion to winemaking.

She tapped the bar top. “You’ll be returning to Olympus,” Levinia finally answered, “without me.”

“Without—wait—without?”

Levinia smiled despite the pang against her chest. “Ah, Father. Think of it like this: if I could get you to choose me over your other children, would you stay with me here among the mortals?” She noted Daeon’s alarmed, ponderous expression and waved her remark aside. “You see? Much as I would hate and appreciate my lord father’s company, either I would have to abandon this place, or you would have to stay with me in this possible war-zone.” Levinia took a dry cloth from a cabinet, wet and wrung it, and began wiping down her bar top. “I don’t think we can compromise either of our positions.”

Understanding visibly dawned in Daeon’s expression. He said nothing for a long while, only picking up his empty glass to let Levinia wipe. Then, “Tell me, Levinia,” he started, “about this place. You never spoke much about it through the grapevine.”

“Professional necessity,” Levinia replied. “I said nothing about this operation in case someone up there didn’t like the idea of a bunch of demigod children gathering in one place.”

“How long have you been doing this?”

“Since I realized humans believe immortality’s worth bleeding a kid dry.” She snickered at Daeon’s flinch. “I’ve had a lot of help, since I’m moving shop all around. This place is only a couple centuries old.”

“Why reveal this place to mortals as a winery?”

Levinia shrugged. “Tending to and establishing this network takes money, you know. I make good wine, and some of the kids want jobs. So I help them by keeping this place in operation throughout the day.

“Kids are smart, see. They rotate their own roster and keep me a secret. The humans believe the original owner’s long dead.”

Daeon, tracing the rim of his glass, finally smiled. “A compelling ruse. You truly do make a fantastic protection goddess.”

“Don’t joke like that,” said Levinia. “It’s just volunteer work. I only started this because I needed a place like this as a child. Figured there were others too.” She eyed her father’s glass, its bottom caked with the last drying drops of Lyridice’s “Prayer.” Then squaring her shoulders and straightening her waistcoat, Levinia folded her hands behind her back. “Well then. You have your answer, and assuming you’re telling the truth, I shouldn’t keep you. Thank you, Father, for finding me.”

To which Daeon regarded with a somber shake of his head, before he broke into a chuckle. “I see you’ve inherited that terrible habit of hers,” he said.

“Habit?”

“That dismissive tone. Lyridice was always cross, even as a young woman. I believed I could persuade her to soften her edges, but I never succeeded.” He snickered, low and fond. “I couldn’t. She was bright. Hardworking. Sensible and fearless. She eventually revealed her vulnerability to me, but I always found her snap quite charming.”

“And I’m her daughter,” Levinia snorted. “Notice, that while you confused me and pissed me off, you never persuaded me.”

“I stopped you from throwing me out.”

“Save your breath. That wasn’t your persuasion.”

“So you say, but I believe I can yet convince you to come with me.”

Levinia narrowed her eyes. “If you’re telling the truth, your father’s gates will close before you convince me to do anything, much less rely on your protection.”

“Is that a challenge? I do intend on returning to enjoy Lyridice’s masterpiece a few times more.”

“Then take the entire jug. I’m sure she’d like that.”

“Do you think it’ll lead us to her?” Eager hope made him breathless, as he leaned forward on the bar top. “She asked you to preserve this wine for a reason, something more than simply my blessing.”

Levinia raised a brow. “You’re overthinking it. She left no records or recipes, and told me nothing. So I doubt you’ll glean anything from this brew, let alone where she could be other than avoiding you in Elysium.”

“She was never a woman to back out of her promises.” Hands folded, Daeon stared, pensive, at the glass before him. “Zeus will leave the gates open to the very last minute. I’ll find Lyridice by then.”

Levinia, still wordlessly impressed by her father’s faith, shook her head.

Then a wind stirred outside, heralding the arrival of another visitor. Two, in fact, by the sounds of familiar motorcycle purrs and deep, soul-curdling barking. Levinia eyed the glass panes of her doors and watched as the twins’ silhouettes approached The Oracle. Sensing drawn blades should they recognize an Olympian at their favorite haunt, Levinia cleared her throat. “Consider yourself taken with a grain of salt,” she said, “but I’ll see what I can find on my end.”

The statement had her father beaming. “A grain is better than none,” he said. “Know that I’m proud of you, Levinia.”

She averted her eyes from Daeon’s smile as the flare of her own ears choked her smartest responses and left her grumbling, “Now I do.” While she snorted against the embarrassed tangle in her chest, her gaze darted across the tasting room. Setting her eyes back on her father then, she knew, spelled trouble for the still-restrained tears prickling across her face. “And, uh, if you could kindly see yourself out soon? You’ll—you’ll send the brats running for the hills.”

Daeon turned toward the doors, where the twins peered through the glass. “Well, that wouldn’t do,” he said, softening his voice. The doors swung open, revealing the twins already in their ready stances, hands clenched over the handles of their weapons. “I’ve truly overstayed my welcome, then?”

The brother’s black steel sword and the sister’s ebonywood flute shone orange under The Oracle’s amber lights. Lips pursed, Levinia eyed her returning customers and shook her head. “Truly,” she replied, flinching at her own cold civility. “Go on. Get out.”

Yet Daeon kept his steady grin. He rose from his seat and buried his hands in his pockets. “I hope you’ll allow me to come back, then.”

Heart leaping up her chest, and with little trace of her old bitterness, Miss Levinia returned Lord Dionysus’s radiant grin, albeit with a huff. “’Tis a promise,” she said, “and I’m personally holding you to that this time. Don’t come ‘til the store’s empty, you hear?”

“Loud and clear, my dear. Loud and clear.”

He lifted his hand in farewell, and bowing his head, passed the tensed twins on his way to the door. The door closed behind him, and like fading smoke, Father disappeared into the night. Levinia released her held breath in a deep exhale.

The twins, sheathing their weapons, slid into their stools. They leaned over the bar top, brows furrowed, eyes narrowed and shoulders tensed. Who was that man in that hideous purple hood? Did he seriously have leopard print down the sleeves and sides? That hoodie alone’s enough for an assassination request, Miss Levinia, and—friendly reminder—the twins had cleared their schedule for the evening. She knew, right, that if she ever were in trouble, she could ask them, and they’d do whatever necessary to return their favors. And their tab.

Levinia nodded, blankly rinsing her father’s glass. A part of her cursed the twins for their prickly mistrust. Another part applauded herself for avoiding an altercation between god and demigod. As she drew her sleeve across her wet eyes, she dimly registered another part of herself fading—the rage that once flared in the back of her throat, up into her head, and all through her body for centuries untold. And as she dried her father’s glass and set it next to the amphora in her sealed cabinet, a newly assured part steeled her new gamble: Mother’s prayer would again bring Father back home.

Now her business began. “You two—you’re alright,” Miss Levinia remarked, beckoning her customers to calm down. She wore her customary smile again, improved, she realized, from the new stretch of her lips and the crease of her eyes and cheeks. “I just got hold of new information for you and the other brats. New job too, personal this time.”

She set two glasses before the twins and retrieved a new bottle from the wall behind her. “I need you to find a missing shade in the Underworld. And relax; this round’s on me.

“We’re celebrating tonight.”

#writing #writers on tumblr #short story #one shot #original writing #fiction #fantasy #mythology #mythology inspo #greek mythology #dionysus #percy jackson inspo #andagii writes #family drama #father-daughter

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bluepjo · 5 years

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Control - Dark Percy

Summary: Percy is at his last summer at Camp Half-Blood before he goes to live in New Rome for college. His powers are growing exponentially and he struggles for control. (I just really love dark Percy okay? Also yes, this is a lowkey songfic from control - Halsey.) Beta read by @tevi-tevi

Genre: Oneshot Dark!Percy fic, no warnings

Word Count: 6617

Read on AO3

“I sat alone, in bed till the morning

I'm crying, "They're coming for me"

And I tried to hold these secrets inside me

My mind's like a deadly disease”

Percy’s sword arm hurt. He can’t remember how many monsters he’s killed. They just kept coming and coming. How did they get into camp? There were so many of them now that Percy couldn’t see his friends fighting. Suddenly the air turned humid and hot, like it was trying to choke him. As he turned around the comforting landscape of Camp Half-Blood slowly melted into an all too familiar horror. Tartarus. It can’t be. I can’t be back.

More monsters came at him. He recognized everything he’d ever fought or read about. Percy yelled out for help, calling his friends, Chiron, Poseidon, anyone. He looked back to see where they all were, but rather than seeing them fight, he saw something so much worse. A mountain of bodies, stacked up to at least a giant’s height. Blood flowed down like rivers. All the faces were familiar. His mother. Annabeth. Every friend or ally he had ever known. Percy stopped fighting.

His sword was stuck. He turned towards it and found not the Cyclopes he thought he was slaying but rather his best friend. Percy tried to pull his sword out from where it resided in Grover’s chest but somehow he pushed it in deeper. The satyr fell to his knees. Percy tried to speak, to say anything. But the words won’t come. All he can do is stare and hold his best friend’s dying form. Percy called on the water, hoping that it could help heal. The waves came swirling around their heads, but would not go towards Grover. Soon there was enough water to separate them from everything else, trapping Percy in a dome made from the ocean.

“You did this.” Grover spoke before melting into the soil.

Percy fell forward and started to yell frantically. For help or for grief, he didn’t know. The water started to close in. Percy thrust his hand out, trying to push it away, but water from the ground started to rise instead. Quickly. Percy couldn’t control it. He swam and thrashed around, desperately trying to find a way out. Soon the water was over his head.

He couldn't breathe. The water felt clean and normal but Percy couldn’t breathe. Panic filled his lungs where air should be and he prayed to his father.

A deep booming voice resonated through Percy: “You’ve gone too far. You are no longer worthy of the gifts I have given you.” His father’s voice echoed in his head, over and over again until he couldn’t hold his breath any longer.

Percy jolted up in his bed, sweat clinging to him. He took deep breaths trying to convince himself it wasn’t real. But Percy had had visions before. Is the camp under attack? He stood up and walked out of his cabin without bothering to find shoes. He ran towards the Big House where Grover was staying and walked in without knocking. Opening the door of the satyr’s room, he let out a sigh of relief. Grover was in bed, surrounded by tin canes and snoring very loudly, but definitely not dying.

He considered waking the goat to discuss the dream but decided to let him sleep. It was probably midnight. It could wait until morning. He walked back toying with his camp necklace. There were five beads, one for every summer he’d known of this world, as well as a trident pendant his father, Poseidon, gave to him after the Giant War. Once Percy got back to his cabin, he tried to go to sleep, but every time he closed his eyes, images from the dream danced around. After about an hour of restlessness, he got up and headed for the arena.

Percy didn’t know just what it was about saving the world a few times that made people act differently around you, but since the whole Gaea thing, the harpies that guarded the camp and threatened late nighters like himself didn’t really bother him anymore. He, of course, didn’t mind this as sword practice after a bad nightmare was his go-to therapy. He’d either tire himself out to the point where he had to go back to sleep, or he’d sit there practicing jabs and strokes until sunrise where he would sneak back to his cabin and pretend he got up with the rest of the camp. Tonight was the latter option. By the time the sun came rolling around and he was getting dressed for the new day, Percy’s arm was tired and the bags under his eyes were prevalent.

Annabeth met up with him after breakfast, flipping through papers as she walked. “I’m captaining capture the flag tomorrow, you’re leading offense, I’ll take defense.” Percy nodded his head and slipped his hand into hers.

“Sounds like a plan.”

“Not quite. These are the plans.” She gave Percy half of the papers she had. “Those are all my battle strategies I wanna try out, choose one soon so I can match a defensive plan.”

“Ah, great, more homework,” Annabeth laughed at him and turned towards the cabins.

“I’m on cabin check, I’ll catch you later!”

“Wait, Annabeth!” he called after her. He hadn’t seen Grover yet and he knew that if he talked to Chiron, the centaur would make into a bigger deal than it was, but he wanted to talk to someone about his dream.

“What’s up, Seaweed Brain? Is it about Rome, have you heard back?” Percy shook his head. He definitely did not want to think about college right now. It had been hard enough graduating high school that spring, what with his grades and the fact that he’d missed most of the junior year, courtesy of Hera.

“No, I just wanted--” Percy faltered. He didn’t really know how to describe his dream. Annabeth just looked at him, waiting for him to continue. As he thought about, one thing about the dream bothered him almost more than anything else.

“Is it, I don’t know, possible for a god to...take away powers?” He tried. Annabeth just raised her eyebrows in confusion. “Like, if Hephestus wanted to take away Leo’s fire ability, could he do that?”

Annabeth looked down in thought. “I don’t know, Perce, maybe? I mean I imagine if they could, they would have done it to all the demigods that supported the Titans. Why?”

She was looking at him with concern, all stormy eyes. He didn’t want her to worry so he cracked his signature lopsided smile, giving him that special Percy-Jackson-idiocy look. “Just thought about it,” It seemed to have worked as Annabeth just laughed.

“See you later, Seaweed Brain.”

Percy smiled and waved her off. He used to hate the fact that everyone, even Annabeth sometimes, took him for being the happy-go-lucky dumb one. He joked around a lot, and yeah, he didn’t do great in school, but that didn’t mean he was incapable. Lately, however, he almost appreciated the persona people had made for him. The only time his allies delved from that idea was when he was on the battlefield.

Then everyone’s ideas changed. Rachel said he looked fierce and terrifying. Frank said he fought like a demon. Everyone always wanted battle Jackson on their side and were afraid if he wasn’t. It never bothered him much at first, but now it kind of scared him. He’d take happy-go-lucky over demon-fighter any day.

“I paced around for hours on empty

I jumped at the slightest of sounds

And I couldn't stand the person inside me

I turned all the mirrors around”

A wave of demigods all strapped up in armor gathered at the entrance of the woods. It was time for capture the flag and Percy had just explained everyone’s roles, courtesy of Annabeth’s strategy.

He was readjusting his straps that he couldn’t seem to make fit right, despite having done it hundreds of times. He hoped the game would go over well, but Percy’s head just wasn’t in it.

He’d had more nightmares of drowning, and to top it off, he’d gotten a letter back from the college in New Rome. As much as they were “pleased the former Praetor” wanted to attend, his grades weren’t good enough to get into their marine biology department. He would have to write another entrance essay and pass a STEM test to be accepted. Percy knew they were being generous, they did mostly deal with preoccupied demigods, but he still felt flustered and angry.

“Focus on the game, Jackson,” he grumbled to himself as he tightened his shoulder strap. Percy uncapped Riptide and headed out into the woods to get to his post before it started.

The plan was fairly simple, but the Ares cabin was leading the other team. They didn’t have much more strategy than hit everything you see. There were two offensive teams. Percy’s team was the distraction, leading the Ares defense out to fight. The second would retrieve the flag and bring it back to base, where Annabeth’s team was defending in several groups.

The fight broke out fairly quickly and half of the other team’s defense was on Percy’s group within minutes. They would need to plow their way through these guys in order to get the others to come, making the flag vulnerable.

For Percy, going against the other campers was fairly easy. He had three on him, two bulky Ares kids and one Demeter kid. He disarmed the Demeter kid first, stunning him so he wouldn’t have the opportunity to use any plant magic, and slashed and blocked with the other two fighters. His body was on autopilot from all the battles he’d been in. Unfortunately, those battles were life or death. This wasn’t. Percy went too hard. He slashed towards the left of one and turned to hit him with the butt of his sword, knocking him to the ground. He stepped in close enough to the next one that she couldn’t use her sword and hit her jaw with his forearm. He felt bad for a moment, but the strategy was working. The rest of the offense came up to avenge their teammates.

He tried to take on the bulk to the campers to give the rest of his team a better chance. They were going one to one while Percy was in four to one. His experience didn’t fail him. At this point, he might’ve even been able to beat Luke. Campers went down left and right. Too quickly. Percy’s mind wandered to his dream, the monsters' bodies that went down only for them to be revealed as his half-blood friends. He felt the panic rise up. His movements became slow and one of the campers got a hit in on his arm. He felt one approaching from behind. Percy’s body moved before his mind. He’d lost the Curse of Achilles long ago but sometimes his body seemed to forget and his only instinct was to protect his back.

Percy summoned water from the creek to blast the three in front of him. He turned around and thrust his hand out to the camper, expecting a water wall to push her down. She fell back, but there was no water. Percy realized with a start that he’d controlled the water in her. He had pushed her back. Without even touching her.

Fear overtook him and he dropped his sword to run to her side. “Are you okay? I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean--”

“Percy, it’s okay, I just fell,” Percy looked at her furrowed brow. She didn’t know. He’d let go as soon as he realized and she didn’t know. He apologized again, or maybe it was several times all rushed together. He pushed past everyone else who had stopped fighting and ran for something.

The ocean. It always calmed him down to sit on the shoreline. It smelled so strongly of the sea and of home that once he got there, Percy almost jumped in to escape his thoughts. But something held him back. Honestly? He was afraid to. How could he have done something as violating as control another person’s body without meaning to? He could still see Annabeth’s face, in fear of him in Tartarus when the met up with Misery. He did that.

Percy could hear the hooves coming up behind him before Chiron spoke. “Percy,”

He turned towards the centaur and nodded. “I’m sorry I left, sir,”

Chiron put his hand on Percy’s shoulder and spoke evenly. “It’s alright, though I will admit I am curious as to why you did. Your team won the game and when dear Annabeth went to find you, the others said that you ran off, after knocking several members of their team unconscious.”

“I’m sorry about that really, I didn’t realize--I don’t know.” Percy sighed and looked down. Chiron had the same effect as his mom did: feeling like you disappointed them was the worst feeling in the world. And Percy was no stranger to bad feelings.

“They are all resting up in the infirmary, perfectly fine. It will serve them good motivation to spend their time in the arena wisely. Now, why don’t you tell me what’s happened?”

Percy did. As he talked, he found himself realizing things he wasn’t aware of before, at least not fully. His restlessness since returning home last summer. His struggle to separate fend-for-your-life battles and training exercises like today. He even told Chiron about his dream and his fear of drowning.

“I’m afraid that maybe one day, I’ll need to control the water to help and I won’t be able to or...or maybe I’ll control it too much.”

Chiron nodded, his face a mask. Percy guessed that after thousands of years of teaching, you could probably hide any reaction. “Percy, you have been through a lot for your young age,” Understatement, Percy thought but didn’t interrupt. “These nightmares and worries are normal from someone in your situation and even expected. However, with your abilities, you need to discover control. You have done well training, but how much time of your training has been devoted to your unique powers?”

Percy thought for a moment. Chiron had a point. His summers at camp had mostly been spent working on his swordsmanship. Sure, he’d practice every now and then, and he almost always used his water abilities in combat or during war games. However, he’d never really practice in order to strengthen those abilities.

“Percy, I recommend that you use this summer as an opportunity to make sure you know your limits before you leave for New Rome. If you would like to avoid using this...blood bending, then you need to make sure you know what your powers feel like, and what their limits are.”

Percy thanked Chiron and walked back to his cabin quietly thinking. He definitely didn’t want to go to New Rome with his powers out of control -- they already thought Neptune was bad enough. He could definitely put some more work into his training.

“Percy, wait up,”

Annabeth came running up to him just before he stepped into his cabin. “Hey, you alright?” Her wrinkled brow and stormy eyes made him smile.

“Yeah, all good, Chiron just gave me some advice.”

“Okay, I was going to head down to the fire with Piper, you wanna come? Jason will be there,” She smiled and held his hand.

“Yeah, okay,” He laughed.

They walked to the amphitheater like everything was fine because, for the moment, it was.

“I'm well acquainted with villains that live in my head

They beg me to write them so they'll never die when I'm dead

And I've grown familiar with villains that live in my head

They beg me to write them so I'll never die when I'm dead”

Percy spent almost the entire day with Annabeth. Normally, that’s not something he would complain about, however it was spent alternating between writing his essay and studying math. Not his favorite activities but at least she was there to help him. Without her, he probably would have put the essay off until the week of the deadline, and it definitely would have been less articulate. Annabeth always had a strategy, even when it came to Percy’s education. This time it was “finish as soon as possible while still being good so you’ll impress them”. If they followed her timeline, Percy would be ready to take the test, which New Rome kindly allowed Chiron to administer, in about a week.

Needless to say, Percy needed to blow off some steam. While the other campers headed to the campfire after dinner, he trudged towards the woods. He thought if everyone was together in the amphitheater, he could be alone to follow Chiron’s advice. Part of the reason he’d never focused his training on his Poseidon abilities was that no one knew how to teach him. No one knew the limit of what he could do--not even Percy.

When he got to the creek, he started with just relating to the water. He stood in the bank and just focused on its power. He could feel it rushing, sense its wildness. He always felt a connection to the water; it was reckless and strong, it refused to be controlled for long, and more than anything it wanted to be free.

Percy wanted to start simple. He willed just a small line of water to rise. It was easy, nothing he hadn’t done hundreds of times. The point, however, was discipline. He dropped the water and stepped out of the river. He concentrated on raising one side of the creek, then the other. The whole stream oscillated back and forth.

Then he started making shapes with the water. Small things, at first: A sphere, a cube, a pyramid. Then he went for intricate. He started to recreate Poseidon’s cabin. First, the basic shape, a generic house. Then the memorized details of spending summer and summer there. The shells embedded in the walls. The curve of the window planes. He was so focused, he didn’t hear it.

Something slammed into his back and threw him to the river. The falling of his cabin-sculpture was enough to startle whatever it was just long enough for Percy to turn around to face it.

Of course, it was a giant scorpion. Percy had his fair share of luck with them. He reached into his pocket but Riptide was gone. Probably floated downstream when he fell. Percy was pinned under the monster and wouldn’t be able to stall long enough for the sword to reappear. As the scorpion's pincers rushed forward to end Percy Jackson’s life, he thrust his hands towards it, trying to push it off.

The monster went flying into the nearest tree. It couldn’t move but wasn’t dead yet. Percy had done it again: controlled the water inside another being. Apparently just as the human body had 80% water, monsters had their fair share too. Unlike during capture the flag, Percy was reluctant to let go. The thing that attacked him was at his mercy. It would be so much easier to end it like this. Even as he thought about it, water started coming from inside the scorpion, swirling around them. If he could take down monsters with just his thoughts, everything could be so much easier. All of his quests, done in half the time. Right before the last of the water was gone from the monster, Percy saw Annabeth’s scared face in his mind.

He let go. He didn’t even finish the monster off with his sword; he felt too guilty for that. It crawled away back into the woods. Percy fell to the ground. He couldn’t breathe. There was panic and guilt pushing on his chest and he had no idea what was happening to him. He couldn’t breathe. The creek responded to his anxiety and pushed water against him, pulling him into the creek. The water was soothing and helped calm his breathing but he still felt the weight of the sky on his chest. Percy realized he was moving upstream. He wasn’t controlling the water, which meant something else was. He started to fight it but stopped quickly. Could it be his father?

Percy let the water take all the way to the ocean. He fell in and instantly swam under, looking for any sign of Poseiden. In the waves, a shimmering figure appeared. It solidified into a woman with dark flowing hair and a soft smile. Percy wasn’t sure how to react so he bowed. “You’re the Nereid that helped me in Santa Monica?” Despite Percy accidentally wording it as a question, the woman held her smile.

“I am, child. It has been a long time since we first me, though I have always kept an interest in you.” She brushed her hand on his cheek and Percy felt warm currents. She still sounded so much like his mother.

“Did my father send you?”

“Not this time. I come for you only; we are shielded from his gaze.” Percy furrowed his brow. Why would she not want Poseidon to know they were meeting?

“It is okay, young hero, no wrong has been done. I simply come with advice.”

“Advice for what? Why haven’t I seen you in so long?” She laughed, a soft sound that reminded Percy of swimming with his mother in the frigid waters during their trips to Montauk. His favorite memories.

“Child, you are more powerful than you know. Like Poseidon, I must keep my distance. Playing favorites among heroes is something Olympus looks down upon. But you are the favorite of the sea, Perseus, and the sea stands behind you.” For some reason, he didn’t mind that she’d called him by his full name.

“What do you mean?” Percy was confused and felt disorientated. “What can I even call you?”

“I have gone by many names throughout your history, though I was never as well known as my sisters. You, child, may call me Maera.”

“Your sisters?”

“The Fifty Nereids, you have met some of them. Amphitrite is married to your father, and I believe you know Calypso without introduction.” Percy’s face warmed. He hoped it wasn’t noticeable underwater. He would always have a soft spot where Calypso was concerned.

“As for what I meant, I think you know. You are growing stronger, but you still have more to gain. To unlock yourself, you must push the limits, Perseus, but be wary. You can do incredible deeds. One day, you may even be able to rival your father. In order to get there, you must keep focus. Do you understand, child?”

Percy slowly nodded. “I think so, but I don’t get why I need to practice. There isn’t much more than Titans and Giants and those are over with.”

Maera brushed his cheek again. “Because one day, a choice of power will come to you, and you will need to be prepared for it.”

“I don’t want power.”

“And that’s what makes you worthy of it. I must go back to Poseidon’s court.” She started to fade back into light. Percy reached out to her, not wanting her to go yet.

“Wait!”

“We will see each other again, young hero, I promise. Follow your heart!”

And just like that, she was gone. Again. Percy stayed underwater for a while, not wanting to leave the safety. He sent out a silent promise to Maera that he would do as she asked.

He walked back to the cabins and ran into Annabeth.

“Hey! Are you...you’re wet.” She stared at him like he was on fire and could only be dosed out by a puzzle.

“Yeah.”

“You’re never wet.”

“Yeah.”

“Are you okay?” He felt bad for cutting her short, but he didn’t know what to say, except about meeting Maera and something told him that he should keep that to himself. He cracked the Jackson smile.

“I’m sorry, I just started working on training, y’know Chiron’s advice, and I’m pretty tired.”

She gave him a worried smile and kissed his cheek. “Okay, well, get some rest and we’ll work on your essay tomorrow?”

He nodded and kissed her goodnight before heading back into his nightmare filled bed.

“I'm bigger than my body

I'm colder than this home

I'm meaner than my demons

I'm bigger than these bones”

Not even Chiron could’ve come up with a more intense training regime. From then on, Percy was entirely focused. He would get up every morning before camp broke and run the length of the beach, racing against various sea animals, or sometimes Blackjack. At first, he had no chance. As the days passed, he started to get closer and closer to winning. He was still yards away from the hippocampi, but he’d bested two dolphins.

Then he would eat breakfast with Annabeth, working on his studies. It was difficult as he was more restless than ever, but Annabeth was determined--and it paid off. He finished his essay in a week and a half and took the STEM exam by late July. His score certainly wasn’t outstanding but he passed, which was enough for the marine biology program.

After that, he was either in the arena, the woods, or the ocean. He would spar with the Athena and Ares kids. Hand to hand, he had yet to beat Clarisse, but he was a lot closer than he’d ever been. She was actually trying now. When it came to swords, however, no one came close. He usually trained with them to keep up the practice, not get rusty. But now he was trying to improve his skill. He didn’t go easy on them. It took a month before he could beat every member of both cabins in one day. As a favor (that may or may not have stemmed from swapping shower times and chore charts), the Hephestus cabin built him three super-powered warriors that could keep up with him. When he first went against them, Percy felt like he was sparring Luke, Chrysaor, and Quintus (or rather, Daedalus) all at once. It was finally a good challenge. It took two weeks before they needed repairs. After that, the warrior bots needed fixed every night.

“Come on man, what are you training for? The bronze versus sword Olympics?” Leo joked. Percy offered to teach him as payment for the constant repairs. He found teaching helpful, it reminded him of old tactics. Soon he had a class of about half the camp that he taught three times a week. Even Annabeth and Jason signed up for a couple. When he wasn’t teaching, people came to watch him fight against the bronze warriors, watching for tips. He’d gotten good at blocking out excess noise and just focusing on the battle at hand.

Unlike the arena, his time spent in the woods and ocean were private. He would never tell Annabeth, but he was practicing this new blood bending technique. Only on monsters in the woods, and only to a point. He hadn’t killed any with it, and he didn’t plan to. At least, not anytime soon. He had gotten a fair grasp on it. He could now pinpoint how he wanted the monsters to move, rather than just away.

In the ocean, he worked on bending waves and currents to his will, shaping water and utilizing it. He focused on summoning hurricanes and controlling them. His stamina improved enough that starting a storm didn’t wear him out anymore if he was careful. Though it did make some of the campers who were previously enjoying a nice sunny day upset with him. He talked more with creatures under the surface. Rather than just talking to them when either he or they needed help, Percy developed relationships with them. Learned from them on how to better navigate the ocean and his training. Sometimes he would even go looking for a sea monster.

He always won.

One day, Percy skipped out on dinner to stay under the surface. Not entirely voluntarily. Some fish had gone back to Poseidon with the knowledge of Percy’s training and since then his dear old dad would send various underwater menaces Percy’s way when he couldn’t be bothered to clean up after them. Normally it was fine. Just a big fish or a scaley being, nothing to be too worried about. This time, Poseidon went too far. He sent a skolopendra.

Shrimpzilla was worse the second time around. He was pushing currents against it and throwing sharped water its way, but it wasn’t easy. Percy was defending himself well enough, but just went he tried to go in with Riptide, it all went wrong. One of the tentacles grabbed Percy, the sharp ends tearing into his skin, and threw him out of the water. He went flying. Great, Percy thought, If I don’t die from impact, Zeus will be sure to shoot me down. He landed hard just outside the mess hall, some forty yards away from the shore. As soon as he hit down, the ground shook, as if he weighed enough to pressure it. A small earthquake.

Percy was admittedly pissed. He didn’t ask for his dad’s fights. He certainly didn’t ask to be thrown by some crayfish monster. He didn’t even ask to be a half-blood, which is what it all came down to really. He turned his anger into fuel, called upon water from the air to strengthen him. He ran charging at the ocean. About halfway there, his feet picked up from the ground. The storm he was causing was strong enough to lift him up. In the back of his ADHD mind, he wondered if this counted as Jason’s flying and if that would put him in hot water with Zeus. As he was lifted to the monster, who at this point had emerged from the water, he thrust his hand out and called on the water swirling around him to create a weapon in his hand. He came down on the skolopendra, driving a water made trident right in between its glassy eyes. The monster dissolved under him and he used just a little bit more strength to guide him back to shore (where campers had started to gather) before dismantling his hurricane, leaving him soaking wet.

But Percy wasn’t done yet. No, of course not, he always had something to say.

“Really?!” He shouted at the ocean in a voice that sounded a lot more malice than his own. Several campers stepped back.

“What was that?!” He threw the water trident into the water, it sailing well beyond what should have been capable. He imagined it going all the way to Poseidon and punching right into his desk. “Hmm, I don’t wanna deal with fucking Shrimpzella, so I’ll just send on over to my favorite son, Percy, yeah?!” He didn’t know what else to emphasize his point, but he was angry with his dad, so he uncapped Riptide and threw that into the ocean for good measure. “Then again you never were good at cleaning up your messes, huh, dad?”

He started to walk away but paused. He tore the trident pendant from his necklace off and threw it into the water.

“You can have that back too,” he said, though the malice was gone, and he just sounded tired.

Percy kept his head down as he walked to the cabins. One of the campers tried to grab his arm and stop him, but Percy growled out a “Don’t touch me,” and kept going. Only later did he realize it was Annabeth and apologized to her.

No one brought up the sea monster, at least not around Percy.

“And all the kids cried out, "Please stop, you're scaring me"

I can't help this awful energy

God damn right, you should be scared of me

Who is in control?”

They were lucky that the Golden Fleece made the camp barrier so strong. The monsters that had gathered just hit against the barrier, causing no damage. A few had followed some new demigods to camp, and then called for backup. Normally, the would just wait it out until they left, but it had been a while. Chiron let Clarisse lead a group to “dispatch” the beasts. Percy counted three Laistrygonians, two Cyclopes, and something that resembled a leopard crossed with a shrimp.

“Group One: take on the giants, Jackson you take point. Rodriguez, you lead Two to go after the Cyclopes. Chase, you’re with me. Attack plan twenty-three.”

The broke up and prepared to exit the barrier. The plan was to divide and conquer. Separate each monster so they couldn’t work together, stay in pairs so it’s always two to one. Percy was paired with someone from the Apollo cabin, Ashley. They would stand back and use a bow while Percy got in close with his sword.

The fighting started the second they left the camp line. Percy could hear the Cyclops in the distance, but focused his attention. He ran at one of the giants while arrows went over his head. He played it simple. Ducking under the Laistrygonian, he slid in between its legs, slashing the calf. The monster fell over and Percy twisted as he stood up to drive his sword into its back, vaporizing it.

He signaled to Ashley to go after the nearest giant. Together they ran towards it. Ashley aimed a flash arrow right on his forehead, stunning him, while Percy rolled through and slashed at the chest. The other two campers fighting got the idea and jabbed their weapons into its sides. The now bigger group went to help with the last giant, who was already on the ground. Percy looked around to take inventory. Two giants down, one Cyclops was missing, and… Annabeth fallen. Whatever the leopard thing was, it was on top of her, claws deep.

Percy felt anger and panic rise in his chest. He was too far away to run to her in time. The Cyclops. It was backed into pond. That would give him enough strength. Maybe. He ran towards it, breaking the pattern. Splashing into the water, he called on its power and rose up. He used the Cyclops’ head like a springboard and jumped into the air. When he landed, he focused his power into the ground, taking in water from the pond, from the air, even from himself. A tremor rolled through the ground, knocking everyone off of their feet. Percy thrust his hands down and with them fell each monster. He imagined their lifeforce, the water in them, in his hands. He slowly made a fist. Then he took the driving force and punched the ground.

After that, everything was a blur. He’d used a lot of his strength. The monsters were dead. He was at Annabeth’s side. She was awake. The cuts across her midriff were bleeding, but they weren’t deep.

She was okay.

Percy blacked out.

When he woke, he was in the infirmary. His head felt like he had banged it against a concrete wall for fun. Annabeth was there, asleep on the chair. Percy sat up and rubbed his eyes.

“You were out for just a day, but I imagine you’ll need a few more for recovery.”

Percy looked up. A man with rugged features and green eyes stared down at him. Poseidon.

“Dad?” He wanted to ask why he was here, but his voice was so raspy, he barely got out the single word. Poseidon gestured to the table next to him. A cup of iced nectar was there. Percy gratefully took it.

“Percy, you are very powerful. After all, you are my son.” Poseidon looked at him as if trying to gauge whether or not his words were sinking in. “But you must be careful when using your power. What you did on the hill, not even I use that ability often.”

Percy was confused. Moreso, Percy was angry. “You’re kidding, right?” Poseidon just blinked at him.

“I have been trying to get you to help me understand what I can do since I was twelve! I only see you when the world is about to end!” Percy yelled. As much as he had forgiven his father for, there was an equally long list of things he hadn’t.

“You send me quests and monsters and expect me to risk my life for you, and now you think you have full range to question my abilities? If you wanted to be able to do that, then you should’ve been there when I was discovering them.”

If Percy had been strong enough to stand, he might’ve pushed the god. Which probably would have been a bad idea. He imagined he could get away with yelling at his father, but at the end of the day, Poseidon was immortal and all-powerful. He wasn’t sure what to expect for a reaction. He did not expect Poseidon to nod.

“I understand why you’re angry. I would have liked to have been there for you, to train you myself, but there are rules which I must follow. And there are rules which you must follow.”

“Rules?”

“Demigods are limited by their bodies. There are given godly power but are not born in something that can handle it. I appreciate you trying to connect with the ocean, and gain control over your abilities. But if you keep on your path, you won’t be the one in control. You will burn yourself up, and I am not speaking in metaphors.”

Percy wanted to ask why he was given them. He wanted to yell at Poseidon for trying to mentor him. But he stayed silent.

The god walked over to the nightstand and placed something down. “I must return to my court. I would advise adhering to my warning.”

And just like that, he was gone, melted into water that disappeared before it touched the floor. Percy’s energy to be angry with his father melted with it. He reached over to the table to find what Poseidon left. It was the trident charm he had thrown in the ocean weeks ago.

At least the god had been listening.

Annabeth stirred and he set the pendant down.

“You’re awake.” She muttered.

“And you’re not,” He chuckled back. She reached over and took his hand, but wouldn’t quite meet his eyes. “What’s wrong?”

“Percy, what you did…” She struggled for the words. “Some things shouldn’t be controlled.”

Percy felt like someone punched his stomach. Those were the exact words she’d said to him in Tartarus, only instead of looked terrified, now she just looked worried. He didn’t know how to respond.

Chiron stepped into the room.

“Percy, I am sure that you do not want to hear this, but you must be careful.” Percy sighed and looked down. He didn’t argue. Chiron was a strong mentor, and even though he didn’t want to talk, Percy knew that he should listen.

“I have never seen powers like yours in my lifetime, and I’ve taught many heroes. What you did, it was godlike, Percy. I do not want your demise being caused by your gifts growing.”

“Chiron, I--” Percy faltered. He didn’t know how to explain it. He still felt as if he shouldn’t talk about the Nereid, but it was beyond her advice. He wanted to understand his limits, his capabilities. “I’m not sure if I can help it from becoming stronger.

He looked down again, speaking softly.

“I’m not sure what I’m becoming.”

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