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tsarisfanfiction · 10 months

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Eclipse: Chapter 30

Fandom: Trials of Apollo Rating: Teen Genre: Family/Adventure Characters: Apollo, Hades And with this, we bid farewell to Hades' pov for this fic. Only two chapters to go now, and both will be Apollo's pov. I had a lot of fun figuring out Hades' narrative voice, as well as what's going on beneath the exterior he projects! This is also the awkward "deal with the Zeus consequences" chapter, which I keep seeming to need in my fics despite them being incredibly difficult to write! I have a discord server for all my fics, including this one! If you wanna chat with me or with other readers about stuff I write (or just be social in general), hop on over and say hi! <<Chapter 29

HADES XXX Zeus Loses His Temper

At some point during the journey between leaving his palace and arriving at Olympus, Apollo had left Elysium and recoalesced his entire essence into a single form, a now familiar feeling on Hades’ periphery after what had proven to be over a month in close company with his nephew at full, undiluted power. He was not surprised that Apollo had elected to be as powerful as possible in Zeus’ presence, but now that he was in the same room as both his brother and his nephew – and a few other unexpected gods Hades was electing to currently ignore as well – it brought something interesting to Hades’ attention.

He'd known something was different with Apollo’s essence since his time spent as a mortal. His nephew had felt stronger, considerably stronger than Hades had expected of him, but he was still not as powerful as Hades, so he had put it out of his mind while he had other, more immediate, concerns to focus on.

Standing in the middle of the Olympian throne room, with his nephew at his side and his brother seated on his throne before him – both brothers, in fact, although Hades had no interest in Poseidon’s unexpected presence at that moment – a single observation leaped out at him, unbidden but impossible to ignore nonetheless.

Apollo was more powerful than Zeus.

He did not quite measure up to Hades himself, or Poseidon, both of whom had found their old power levels still within them during the climax of the second Titanomachy and re-embraced the strength they had once been renowned for, but Zeus himself, Apollo appeared to have now surpassed. In fact, with the comparison right in front of him, Hades suspected that Apollo had not just done as he and Poseidon had managed and rediscovered his old strength, but somehow surpassed his younger days entirely.

Apollo was so obviously more powerful than he’d ever been before, that Hades wondered how he’d missed the extent of it until then.

One thing was also clear: Zeus knew.

It was not fear he was eyeing his son with, but it was resentment and distrust, wrapped up in the mess of paranoia that had been winding itself ever thicker around the king over the past couple of millennia. Anger roiled within his essence, too, the fury of a storm building and waiting to be unleashed.

The thought occurred to Hades that Apollo’s mortal punishment had somehow backfired on Zeus; there was no way in Olympus that Zeus would ever give Apollo power greater than his own, which meant that Apollo’s current, post-punishment self was not a product of Zeus’ intentions, whatever they had been. The lazy amusement on Poseidon’s face supported the theory – Poseidon, too, had once been stripped of his immortality, back when Zeus was actually the most powerful of all and had been capable of striking down even those considered his peers. No doubt he found Zeus’ self-made apparent predicament highly amusing.

Hades found himself more concerned with what Zeus’ intentions had been, but forcibly shoved the thought aside to deal with after the current issue – namely their trip to Tartarus and retrieval of Bob – had been resolved.

“Apollo,” his youngest brother boomed after a moment, clearly deciding to ignore Hades and focus on the son he was no doubt intending on somehow punishing again, for no justifiable reason other than to soothe his own paranoia. Apollo’s posture, already far straighter and less relaxed than it had been since escaping Tartarus, and arguably even within the Pit, stiffened further.

“Father,” he replied, cautiously.

“Explain.” The word was curt, short, and full of heavy expectations whilst giving nothing itself. Typical of his brother, to put the onus on Apollo to do all the work – and, potentially, talk himself into a trap.

Hades had no intention of letting the conversation dance along to Zeus’ tune. Once, perhaps, his brother had been a magnificent musician – indeed, Apollo had got it from somewhere, and that somewhere had not been Koios’ line – but in recent centuries, Zeus had lost the spark he had once had.

“What is there to explain?” he cut in smoothly, silencing Apollo just as his nephew began to say something about a prophecy. “An investigation into Tartarus was warranted, and demigods could not be trusted to survive long enough to succeed. Thus, we elected to go in their place.”

Zeus leaned forwards on his throne, white-knuckled fists clutching the ends of the arms in poorly concealed rage.

“No such investigation was needed,” he ground out, thunder rolling dimly in the sky above. “And if any was required, you do not have the authority to make that decision. You certainly” – his voice raised, loud enough to rival the thunder he summoned – “did not have the authority to bring a titan out. Two titans, in fact.”

So he hadn’t missed Koios’ brief sojourn into the Overworld. Hades supposed it had been too much to ask that it would have somehow passed beneath his notice, especially as Artemis had clearly been alerted immediately. He observed the goddess in question out of the corner of his eye, perched on her silver throne silently but a presence nonetheless.

There were more Olympians present than he had expected. Poseidon’s presence alone was a surprise – while he had the free reign to travel to Olympus as he wished, a matter Hades could admit made him sore, his water-residing brother usually preferred to distance himself from Zeus’ inane whims. Artemis was perhaps predictable, given her own involvement, but her neighbouring goddess was far more unexpected.

Wise enough to know that she ought to keep her mouth shut while Zeus was in one of his temper tantrums, Athena sat back regally in her throne, observing the proceedings with her sharp silver eyes. For the most part, she seemed particularly interested in Bob and Apollo, but Hades did not miss his niece’s searching gaze as it brushed over his presence, as well. Perhaps Zeus was not the only one surprised to see him there.

Hestia, as always, tended to her hearth, human-sized and meek – a far cry from the fierce eldest sister Hades knew she could be, or had been once a millennia ago, when it was their generation against their predecessors – while on the other end of the temperamental scale, Hera was straight-backed on her throne beside Zeus, a black veil doing nothing to hide her eagle eyes.

It seemed that of those of them that had fought the titans twice, only Demeter had abstained from making an appearance – no doubt more interested in spending time with her daughter during the summer months than an informal, half-attended, Olympian council. Hades did not know how well that fared for Zeus’ temper, or whatever decision would be made regarding Bob’s departure from Tartarus, but he suspected he and Apollo were not the ones outnumbered.

Poseidon delighted in causing trouble for their youngest brother. He and Hades may have their own brotherly issues, but the more self-important Zeus styled himself, the more they pushed back. Despite her caution and scolding earlier, Hades would likewise be very surprised if Artemis truly sided against her twin, and Hera and Zeus had argued more than they had ever made up throughout their marriage, while Hestia had always been determinedly neutral against inter-sibling conflicts.

The only true unknown was Athena, wise in council but always Zeus’ favourite daughter, and too smart to jeopardise her position as such unnecessarily.

It was good odds in Apollo’s favour, but that did not mean it would translate into a favourable outcome. Cornered animals had a rightful reputation for danger, and Hades would not hesitate in using that term to describe his brother right then.

“Koios no longer lives,” he reminded Zeus – if he had seen his arrival, then he must have seen his departure as well. He would not have taken his eyes off of the titan for as long as he considered him a threat. “Your own children saw well enough to that.”

Sky blue eyes, flickering with the searing white of furious lightning, glanced over at Artemis before focusing back on Apollo.

“Indeed,” he allowed, “although he should never have been permitted the opportunity to reach it in the first place.” Zeus really could never let a point go until it was in his favour. “That does not, however, explain why the second titan is standing before me, in the heart of Olympus, right now, Hades. Do not think I missed who led Iapetus here.”

“Bob,” the titan interjected, taking a step closer as all eyes fell upon him. It placed him directly between Hades and Apollo, using them as an honour guard – or perhaps simply as guards, although for whose benefit it was impossible to say. “I do not go by the name Iapetus anymore.”

Hades was not sure that intentionally drawing Zeus’ attention was a particularly smart move on the titan’s behalf, but what was done was done and Bob stood straight and uncowed as Zeus loomed over him.

“You expect me to believe that you have changed your name?” he demanded, sprites of lightning flickering into existence around his head. “Or, perhaps, that changing your name changes your nature? I remember you, Iapetus the Piercer. I remember the ichor that stained the shaft of your spear. I remember the bite of that spear, and you expect me to believe that you are not that same titan I once fought against?” Zeus was almost spitting in his rage. “You are an immortal, Iapetus, and immortals do not change.”

“Do not change, or will not change?” Bob asked, all too calm for someone in the eye of the violent storm that was a furious Zeus, although Hades could feel the light in his essence, feel the strength in Apollo’s, and saw his point. Immortals could change, it appeared, for all that change was an unlooked-for and often unwelcomed guest. “What is stopping you? Fear? Are you afraid of what you might become, if you accept change into your existence?”

Lightning flashed, an explosion of thunder in Hades’ ear as the Master Bolt hurtled at the titan. He felt Apollo’s essence flinch at its proximity, despite not being its target, and fought to keep himself from either going to his nephew’s side or retaliating against his brother at the realisation that Apollo would only fear the bolt if he knew first-hand what it could do to him.

Hades knew that it had struck at least one of Apollo’s children, yes, but he had never known that Zeus had struck the god directly.

This time, the target had not been Apollo – or Hades himself, who had also found himself on the receiving end of his brother’s flashy temper although held nothing but contempt for the bolt, rather than any degree of fear – but Bob.

The titan, too, had endured the business end of the bolt on more than one occasion, during that same Titanomachy Zeus was referring to, but not even the Elder Cyclopes had created a weapon that could obliterate a titan in a single hit. Bob remained on his feet, seemingly hardly fazed by the attack despite tendrils of smoke curling up from his skin, and met Zeus’ gaze calmly. “I do not recall you being a coward, when you poisoned me and deceived Kronos into expelling your siblings from his stomach,” he said.

That was pushing Zeus too far, and Hades stepped forwards, blocking the titan from Zeus’ immediate view. Apollo was almost immediately beside him, the faintest of wavers in his essence that Hades would not have been able to notice if he had not become intimately knowledgeable about his nephew’s essence in Tartarus betraying his nerves.

“Enough,” he said, sending Bob a warning glare before facing his brother once more. “There is no need to keep exchanging insults like children.”

“Aww,” Poseidon complained, lounging obscenely in his fisherman’s chair. “You spoil the fun, Hades.” Unimpressed, Hades levelled him with a flat glare.

“Why are you here?” he asked. “Should you not be frolicking with dolphins in your overlarge swimming pool?”

“And miss out on this spectacle?” Poseidon laughed. “Not a chance, brother. Besides, I have business with… Bob.”

Quick as the lightning he threw, Zeus turned his attention to the throne beside his. “You do?” he growled, the sound echoing around the throne room lowly. “Poseidon-”

Poseidon waved a hand carelessly. “Peace, brother. It is simply that, if I am not much mistaken, this is the same Bob that my son mentioned saved his life in Tartarus.”

“Not just Perseus,” Athena spoke, drawing attention to herself for the first time, “nor even my daughter, Annabeth.” Her grey eyes, the smouldering of smoke after a fire, raked over the titan behind Hades curiously. “In assisting our children, he released the Doors of Death from their chains and thereby made it possible for Olympus to win the war against Gaia. It is Olympus itself he helped to protect, and I find myself curious as to why.”

“Why does not matter,” Zeus snapped. “He is a titan-”

“As is Mother,” Hera pointed out, apparently fearless in overriding her husband. Hades suspected the mourner’s veil she wore had something to do with it; he had not missed the son of Jupiter’s entrance into his domain, complete with Juno’s influence upon him. “There are many titans we have allowed to roam free, Zeus.”

“And not just peaceful ones,” Poseidon added before Zeus could protest that Rhea had never done them wrong – a point that Hades would have, unfortunately, had to concede if he had. “Oceanus continues to persist as he pleases despite actively working against us” – me, Hades was certain he truly meant, well aware that Poseidon had been left unaided against the eldest titan – “during Father’s recent attempt to destroy Olympus.” His eyes, the roiling blue green of wind-whisked waves, seemed to bore through Hades and Apollo to focus on Bob. “If Olympus allows him his freedom, why does it deny a titan that actively aided it the same boon?”

Because Oceanus was old and powerful enough that Olympus could not be sure of victory, Hades suspected. The titan had had millennia to consolidate his court within the seas; it was not a flimsy support like the ones Kronos had attempted to build for himself, it was an entire empire. Poseidon, at the least, had been fortunate that Oceanus had decided to retreat when Kronos fell rather than continue to press the advantage he had been gifted with when Poseidon had been forced to abandon Atlantis to aid their brethren against Typhon. If Oceanus had sustained the assault, Poseidon’s dominion over the seas might well have been obliterated for good, leaving Olympus down a powerful god and Oceanus with a far, far larger support base.

Bob, however, had none of that. He had no allies amongst the titans – although admittedly he might kindle some in time, but with the exception of Oceanus, none of those left to roam free had ever showed designs against Olympus, so Hades saw no likely issue there – and no base to use in an attempt to consolidate power. He was, quite simply, not a credible threat to Olympus.

“I would hear Bob’s reasons for saving my son,” Poseidon continued, “and Olympus, as Athena says.”

Zeus, Hades realised, was completely outnumbered. With even the sensible Athena cautiously rebutting his reasons for paranoia, the king of the gods was finding his hands rather tied – and he could see from the terseness with which Zeus shifted in his throne that his youngest brother was well aware of the fact. It was, in some way, a cause for concern – Zeus would not take this laying down, for all that he would be a fool to keep pushing when Poseidon at the least was determined to push back with at least equal pressure, and Hades himself was not going to take the younger god’s tantrums laying down, either. There would be retribution somewhere, somehow.

He was not the only one to have noticed the ticking bomb they were taunting; Apollo was uncharacteristically quiet, and Artemis was poised to leap into fight or flight at the slightest provocation. Athena, too, having said her piece, had also faded back into obscurity on her grey throne, allowing Poseidon to take the lead in their arguments – an alliance that barely a decade ago would have been unthinkable, although perhaps it was not a surprise that she would still set Poseidon up to take the brunt of Zeus’ wrath.

Then again, three of the gods currently in the throne room were currently more powerful than Zeus, and Poseidon was one of them.

“The demigods showed me mercy,” Bob began. “Percy, Nico, and the Hunter with them – Thalia, I was told was her name, although I have not seen her since falling into the Lethe.”

Zeus twitched, either unaware of his own daughter’s involvement in the situation, or unhappy that it had been brought to light. Out of the three demigods in question, Hades distinctly remembered that she was the only one with the sensible reaction to the amnesiac titan, while the two boys – and Nico, especially – had been rather less cautious. If Bob had been less amicable, she would likely have been the only one to survive.

“Then, I was shown kindness,” the titan continued. “Not just from the demigods, but gods that had every right to hate me. I learned kindness, and mercy. I will not lie and say my motivation was to help Olympus, but it was to help the demigods who chose to trust in me, even when they feared me. I had no wish to see any of them die in Tartarus.”

“Those demigods-” Zeus began, only for Poseidon to once again talk over him.

“Those demigods have saved Olympus twice in as many years,” the sea god said, his eyes flickering dangerously, as though daring Zeus to ignore the truth. “Were it not for my son, Athena’s daughter, and even Hades’ son, Olympus would have fallen twice over. They are loyal to the gods.”

That was an interesting way of wording it, Hades thought, privately amused at the thought of Nico’s reaction at being called loyal to the gods. His son’s loyalty was, first and foremost, to those that he formed bonds with. Hades was well aware that Nico was not loyal to him, for all that they had reached a non-hostile relationship with each other that at times managed to border amicable, although Apollo was potentially a different matter. Zeus was certainly not on the shortlist.

It was, however, undeniable that every time Olympus had found itself in need, the demigods had answered. Not even Zeus could deny that, and his youngest brother settled back on his throne.

“Very well,” he allowed, as though he had any real control over Poseidon’s words. Hades did nothing to puncture the air of authority he was desperately pulling back; while he would not allow Zeus to harm Apollo – who had taken a step back while Bob spoke and was now hovering almost unobtrusively behind them, not openly hiding but doing his best to deflect his father’s temper away from him – or indeed any of Apollo’s loved ones in a more roundabout way of punishing him, it would do them no good to push Zeus further than necessary.

He was volatile enough already.

“Against my better judgement, I will not send you back into the Pit where you stand,” the king of the gods continued, as though Bob had not already withstood a blast from the Master Bolt. “However, I will not allow you to walk freely. Athena or Artemis shall observe your movements at all times.”

Neither goddess seemed enamoured with the decision, but nor did they seem surprised. Hades was not, either; out of those present, they were the ones least distrusted by Zeus. He and Artemis were the only two that had never taken part in a direct challenge to Zeus’ rule, although Athena had managed to talk her way out of trouble, and the days of Zeus trusting him with anything, especially the supervision of something that he saw as a threat, were long past. It would not surprise Hades in the slightest if Zeus feared that, should he return Bob to Hades’ domain, out of his sight, they would begin to scheme against him.

His paranoia might already think they’d started.

“I trust the two of you will co-operate with each other and not allow it to get in the way of your other duties,” Zeus continued, and both goddesses bobbed their heads briefly.

“Yes, Father,” they chorused, glancing at each other just long enough to acknowledge the other but nothing else.

If Bob had any thoughts on his chaperones for the foreseeable future, he didn’t voice them, although he nodded at the pair of goddesses in acknowledgement. The piercing look he got in return from Artemis proved that she had not forgotten their earlier encounter outside the Necromanteion, and would be observing him to ensure he held true to his words.

“You are dismissed,” Zeus told the titan bluntly. “Leave, before I change my mind.” He gestured towards the door in a sweeping gesture, and Bob needed no further prompting.

“I will go to find Percy and Annabeth now,” he told Hades as he turned; on his throne, Poseidon leaned forwards, summoned by the name of his son. “I will endeavour to make myself easy for Nico to find, should he wish.” With at least one goddess on his tail, they both knew that the titan would not be able to return to the Underworld for the time being, and Hades inclined his head in acknowledgement as the titan strode away, out of the room.

Artemis and Athena disappeared in a shimmer of silver and grey without saying anything else, and Hades caught Apollo glancing at his twin’s throne wistfully before his nephew’s attention snapped back to the dangerous aura in the room.

Poseidon, it appeared, had decided he’d had enough of their brother’s presence – presumably, he had only been interested in Bob’s fate, and now that had been decreed, he did not care to linger longer. His throne emptied with a wash of seawater, leaving Hades and Apollo to face Zeus and Hera.

They had not been dismissed, Hades noticed, and Zeus did not appear inclined to let them go without throwing a more private and pointed temper tantrum.

“Hera, Hestia, leave us,” he ordered. “I will speak with Hades and Apollo alone.” Hera sniffed, offended at the dismissal, but disappeared in a shower of peacock feathers nonetheless. Hestia’s departure was far more demure; an extra flicker from her hearth and she was gone, no doubt instead at the sister-hearth of Camp Half-Blood.

Apollo moved to stand level with Hades again – next to him, and Hades wondered whether it was to present a united front to Zeus or if there was another reason for their resumed proximity, not that he had issue with it.

“You had no authority to raise a titan from the Pit,” Zeus growled, his anger sparking around him again. Without an audience, he seemed less interested in controlling his reactions. “Apollo, ever since you selected a new Pythia, Delphi has given nothing but rushed prophecies that continue to undermine Olympus and I. If you do not stop allowing that girl to speak of such things, I will have to intervene.”

He said intervene in a way that sounded a lot like destroy the Pythia or even strip you of your domain, a fact that clearly did not go unnoticed by Apollo as the younger god’s eyes flickered Phlegethon orange once more. Having once cursed the Pythia himself, and recently at that, Hades found distaste at the idea of another young woman ending up in a similar situation. He still did not like prophecies, no matter how lovingly Apollo talked about them and their endless possibilities, but he could acknowledge that perhaps the cursing of the Pythia for attempting to protect the di Angelos had been an ill-thought action. It certainly hadn’t stopped Delphi from issuing prophecies as and when it pleased.

“Father, I do not control the timing of prophecies, nor their content,” Apollo reminded him, although Hades could tell the words were falling on obtuse ears. Zeus had convinced himself otherwise, and the son he feared and distrusted would never be able to persuade him to hear the truth. “They are spoken when they are meant to be.”

“Enough!” Zeus thundered, and Apollo immediately snapped his mouth shut. Hades took a minute step sideways, not quite far enough to be touching his nephew, but close enough to remind Apollo that he was not alone against his father’s wrath. “This does not even consider your other transgression.”

He stood up, a little bit taller than the twenty feet the gods usually took as their stature, likely to guarantee that he towered over even Hades, who had always been the lither yet taller god.

“You interfered,” he proclaimed, thunder rolling around them. “Taking on a quest in the place of a demigod – do you even care how many of the Ancient Laws you trampled across in the process? Those Laws exist for a reason, Apollo. They serve to prevent interference in mortal affairs, and to ensure the balance of power is not shifted too far.”

Lightning crackled.

“Had the demigods gone, as they should, the titans would never have escaped,” Zeus continued. “By interfering, you changed something that should not have been changed, and now the stability of Olympus is at risk. Iapetus twice tried to destroy Olympus, and yet you welcomed him into the heart of it with open arms!” A bolt struck the ground close to Apollo’s throne, and the god in question flinched.

Hades had had enough.

“Brother,” he said firmly. “Bob is no threat to Olympus, and even if he becomes one in time, he is a single titan against our entire might. You have no reason to fear him, and acting as though you do makes you appear weak.”

“Weak?” Zeus seethed. “The darkness you hide in has blinded you, brother.”

The words stung, but Hades refused to let it show and give Zeus the satisfaction when they both knew that he did not reside near-solely in the darkness by choice, but rather but that same brother’s own decree.

“The darkness allows me to see what truly dwells in its depths,” he replied instead, “and of those, Bob is inconsequential.”

“A boon,” a new voice – one Hades had not heard in millennia – rasped lightly.

“A new soldier,” said a second.

“For Olympus,” finished the third.

The Fates emerged from nowhere, their strings clutched tightly in their grasp.

“What is the meaning of this?” Zeus demanded, as the three wizened crones clustered by Hestia’s hearth.

“The rise of the titan was inevitable,” Clotho assured them. In her hands, a silver string wove itself into existence. “Yesterday, today, tomorrow. The when was inconsequential, but the how was not.”

“Raised by gods to save the gods,” Lachesis murmured, almost to herself rather than the three gods held in the thrall of their appearance. “Raised by demigods to save the demigods. Not raised by titans to save the titans, now.”

Hades felt rather than saw Zeus leave his dais and come to stand next to him, near-mesmerised by the Fates. Daughters of Nyx, primordial in a way that the gods could never match, not even his brother ruled over them, for all that he had been known to pretend otherwise.

“What does that mean?” Zeus barked, metaphorical feathers well and truly ruffled by the words.

“Bob will aid Olympus in her time of need,” Atropos proclaimed. “Because Olympus aided him.”

It was not a prophecy. Prophecies were slippery, convoluted, and could mean any one of a myriad of possibilities at any given moment, according to Apollo, who was wide-eyed beside him. Hades almost wondered if the god of prophecy was seeing anything, or if he was simply overwhelmed by the pure, simple, Fact of Fate.

Olympus aided Bob, so Bob would aid Olympus.

It almost felt too simple, given the trials he and Apollo had gone through to retrieve the titan from Tartarus, but for all he hated – still hated – prophecies, Hades could no more defy Fate than anyone else.

Between one moment and the next, the Fates disappeared, their message delivered. Zeus jerked, as if only just realising that he had stepped down to join Hades and Apollo standing on the floor like mere gods and not the king of the gods, but did not back away.

“It appears the Fates have decreed your ill advised sojourn a boon for the future of Olympus,” he said, sounding like he had tasted something foul. “That does not mean I approve of your actions,” because of course Zeus could not admit he might have been wrong about something. It had been smart of the Fates, Hades mused, to wait until they had no further audience to intervene, else Zeus would have become apocalyptic.

As it was, he was clearly furious at being corrected in front of Hades and Apollo – two gods he had not trusted in millennia. “There will be no repeat of this,” he ordered. “The Ancient Laws are not to be broken, and I will not suffer any more offences, do you understand me?”

It was Apollo he glared at, as though Apollo was the one most likely to break it again. Hades supposed he was not wrong; the entire quest had been Apollo’s planning, for all that it had been Hades’ own, free choice to return to the Pit himself. His son shifted uncomfortably.

“Yes, Father,” he murmured.

“I do not care to meddle with mortal affairs further,” Hades said before Zeus could either pin him with his crackling glare, or gloss over him as though his words did not matter. He saw no reason why he would, regardless, at least, not unless Nico ended up in a similarly dire situation and intervention was necessary, but he hoped the Fates would spare his son from any further hardship; he had been though more than enough already.

There was no need to antagonise Zeus over it further.

“See that you do not,” Zeus muttered in a way that was clearly supposed to be ominous, then disappeared in a flash of lightning.

Apollo sighed, the sound ever so slightly shaky.

“That went better than I expected,” he said, tone deceptively light. Hades snorted.

“We were fortunate,” he said, glancing at Poseidon’s empty throne. Without the presence of his other brother, deliberately antagonising Zeus and dividing his attention, things could have gone very differently. Hades was still certain that Zeus would not have been able to inflict any real damage upon them, but there were other ways to cause grief. “Come, let us leave before my brother decides he is not feeling so merciful, after all.” Not that mercy was truly accurate a term for the situation, but he was well aware that on Olympus, in the heart of the sky that was Zeus’ domain, his brother was still no doubt capable of hearing everything that they said.

Apollo did not even hesitate to follow Hades as he swept his way out of the throne room and down the streets of Olympus until he reached the locked door to the Underworld. No doubt, he was eager to see his sons again, now that the threat of his father’s retribution had lessened somewhat.

Not completely – Zeus’ paranoia would not be completely overridden by the Fates’ words. He had fallen too far into its clutches over the millennia, far enough that Hades did not think it was possible for him to climb back out again. But somewhat, enough to allow a respite as they slipped away from the whites of Olympus and returned to the darkness of the Underworld.

Chapter 31>>

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tsarisfanfiction · 10 months

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Eclipse: Chapter 29

Fandom: Trials of Apollo Rating: Teen Genre: Family/Adventure Characters: Apollo, Hades Now we enter the part of the fic that was the most difficult to write - namely, tying all the plot threads together... Simultaneously the most satisfying and most irritating part of writing a longfic! I have a discord server for all my fics, including this one! If you wanna chat with me or with other readers about stuff I write (or just be social in general), hop on over and say hi! <<Chapter 28

HADES XXIX Nico’s Favourite Janitor Returns

Hades hadn’t been certain if Apollo would accept his offer, but he remembered the pain in his nephew’s voice as he talked and sang about his deceased children in Tartarus and knew he’d had to make it. Why he had been following Zeus’ rule about visiting Elysium he didn’t know, although there was some sense in restricting the gods’ access to the dead in case any more of them got it into their heads to try and bring some back.

The dead were, after all, his domain and he was not going to sit back and surrender the subjects of his realm to the whims of the other gods, especially those with no respect for death and its necessity.

Still, he could give Apollo the opportunity for some closure, for his nephew’s sake, and appreciated that while he could feel that the younger god had sent part of his essence to Elysium, where it was splintering out further and further as he began to find the souls he wanted to interact with, he had also stayed with them. That would save hassle in waking William, and pacify Nico somewhat.

It was nothing short of a relief as the large, ornate black gates of his palace greeted him, swinging wide open as he approached. Skeletons jumped to attention, lining the main path to the main doors as they passed through the courtyard. This was Hades’ own palace, the heart of his domain where his word was law, and his essence finally settled into an appeased peace as he passed through the giant doors.

Apollo and Bob followed him, his nephew glancing around as though the opulence of the palace was strange to him, while Bob seemed perfectly at ease within its pitch dark walls and vibrant gemstone and precious metal décor. Ordinarily, upon return – usually after one of his rarely-permitted visits to Olympus – Hades always headed straight for his throne room, settling on it and giving himself a moment to reassure himself that he was, still, powerful after the indignity of being given little more than a footstool amongst the twelve great thrones his brethren lounged upon.

Here, with Apollo and Bob after the trials of Tartarus, he had nothing to prove, neither to himself nor his audience. Apollo deferred to him well enough within his own domain, not that his nephew had ever been one of the gods peacocking against him. Peacocking in general, yes, but Apollo had never rubbed his status in his face like some of the other gods. Hades had no need to reaffirm his status; instead, he had a son to see.

The shadows around Nico’s door still held strong; Asclepius and, somewhat surprisingly, Thanatos appeared to have passed through to see the demigods while he had been in Tartarus, but neither Nico nor William had left. Asclepius was still in the room, a spark of light against the general darkness. Good; Hades hadn’t thought he would be foolish enough to try and escape, but it was nonetheless gratifying to see that he had not overestimated the younger god’s intelligence.

With a wave of his hand, he dismissed the shadows.

Nico’s door slowly swung inwards, and immediately there was movement from within. Before it finished opening, his son was there, drawn sword in his hand.

Directly behind him was William, who was somehow awake and no longer in the coma Hades clearly remembered Apollo singing him into. From their postures, it was clear that William did not intend on being behind Nico, but that Hades’ son had given him no choice in the matter. The son of Apollo did not look particularly impressed, but that expression faded into something else, wide eyed as he looked past Hades and at his companions.

Hades was not particularly interested in William’s reaction. He was more interested in Nico’s, as his son looked up at him, dark eyes a mix of resentful and… relieved? Hades didn’t know what to make of that. Then Nico’s eyes slid sideways, skipping over where Apollo stood with barely a flicker of acknowledgement, before coming to a wide-eyed stop on Bob.

“Bob?”

His voice was uncertain, almost a little shaky, and Hades didn’t miss the way that William tried to step up next to him, only for Nico to jut his shoulder out awkwardly, blocking him from getting any closer. Was Nico… afraid? After the way he’d been so determined to rescue the titan, fear was the last reaction he’d expected. His son had never feared the titan while he swept the halls as a janitor, spending hours at a time sitting nearby, or even on Bob’s shoulder, talking with him as he worked.

Hades hadn’t approved at the time, but with no memories, Bob appeared to be no threat-

Ah.

The Bob Nico knew had had no memories. Before that, he’d met Iapetus, who had tried very hard to kill him prior to his Lethe bath. Now, Nico did not know which version of the titan he was facing, although Hades hoped his son at least recognised that he would not allow the titan to stand behind him, let alone approach his son, if he believed there to be any threat.

“Nico,” Bob replied. Hades stepped to the side slightly to allow the titan to take a step closer, still partially blocking just to be certain that Bob was not, at the last moment, going to turn, and also with the intent of providing a physical barrier for Nico’s own fears. Bob knelt down to be closer to the demigods’ eye level. “I am glad to see you again.”

Hades watched as his son assessed the titan, still not allowing William to draw level with him, much to the son of Apollo’s clear frustration, for several seconds. To his credit, Bob did not move, or otherwise react, clearly aware that he ran a high possibility of spooking Nico should he move too quickly.

“How much do you remember?” Nico finally asked, meeting Bob’s eyes squarely, his shoulders still set and his grip on his sword sure.

Bob’s expression turned as soft as Hades had ever seen it. “Everything,” he said honestly, remaining stock still as Nico’s knuckles whitened. “My past as Iapetus, yes, but also my time as Bob, when you treated me with nothing but kindness and became my friend – a friend I gladly returned to the Pit to aid. I would like to continue that friendship, Nico di Angelo, if you would let me.”

Nico’s eyes widened in clear shock, and his sword trembled in his hold. “You… still want to be my friend?”

The titan smiled. “You taught me a lot, about kindness and friendship, and those are things I would like to continue learning,” he said. “It is true that I am not the amnesiac titan you befriended originally, but I would like to move on from my past and create a new future for myself. I have put the name Iapetus behind me now, Nico. My name is Bob. I am the titan of the west, and, if you will still have me, your friend.”

An array of emotions crossed Nico’s open face, shock and disbelief leading before transforming into relief. His shoulders slumped, and his sword disappeared back into the shadows. “I’d like that, Bob,” he said, a bright smile spreading across his face. It was not an expression Hades saw on his son very often, not since Maria and the Lethe and everything that had happened since his children had re-emerged from the Lotus Hotel. He would not say that that smile alone was worth the trials of Tartarus he had gone through, but it certainly didn’t hurt.

“Glad we’ve got that sorted,” William commented, finally succeeding in pushing past Nico’s protruding shoulder and elbow to stand at his side. The words were idle, but Hades had not missed the draining of tension from his body, either, once Bob had confirmed that he still wanted to be Nico’s friend. Despite not being a fighter, the son of Apollo had clearly been prepared to take on the titan in Nico’s name if required.

It was a trait Hades approved of.

Bob turned his head to look at William, still remaining knelt at their height rather than standing up once more. “You must be Phoebus’ son,” he said. “I understand you would not let Nico come to find me alone.”

William paused for a moment, clearly unused to hearing his father called Phoebus despite it being one of his more commonly-used epithets, then scoffed. “Of course I wouldn’t,” he said. “Someone has to keep Mr Lord of Darkness here alive- oof!”

An elbow planted itself in the blond demigod’s gut, courtesy of Nico, who rolled his eyes fondly.

“This is Will,” he said, “my significant annoyance.”

“Hey!”

“Otherwise known as my boyfriend,” he continued, sending William a quick look out of the corner of his eye that was almost sickeningly fond, before meeting Bob’s eyes again, a slight tenseness in his frame the only indication that he was worried about the titan’s reaction. It was a marked difference to when he had told Hades – at the time, Hades had thought his son was ready to turn tail and flee after saying the words, and it had taken some quick reminders about the pantheon’s general lack of care for which genders others chose to pair up with to ease Nico into believing that Hades was not about to disown him, or worse, for falling in love with another boy. Either he trusted Bob more than Hades in such matters, or it had started to sink in that homophobia was only so rampart in modern mortals.

A look of comprehension crossed Bob’s face, and his smile grew. “I see,” he said warmly, turning to face William again. The son of Apollo looked mildly disconcerted to be on the receiving end of a titan’s full focus, but stood his ground regardless, lacing his fingers with Nico’s. “That explains things.”

Startled dark eyes turned to Hades and Apollo. “You didn’t tell him?” Nico asked, clearly surprised.

“It wasn’t our place to tell,” Apollo replied before Hades could formulate a reply. “Just because none of us have any issues with whichever genders or lack thereof someone might like, doesn’t mean it’s not a big deal for you,” he explained, his voice gentle as Nico gaped. “Bob is your friend; you deserved to be the one to tell him.”

“I’m not ashamed of loving Will,” Nico hurried to clarify, as though either Hades or Apollo could have ever believed that. To begin with, Nico had been nervous about it, yes, almost shy, but while Hades knew he had grappled with the internalised homophobia that had been impressed into him during his upbringing, William had never been a source of shame.

“We know,” Apollo reassured him, sliding past Hades and Bob to put his hand on Nico’s shoulder. “It still wasn’t our place to tell.”

The residual strain of tension in Nico’s body slid away again, and Hades saw him offer Apollo a small smile. “Thank you,” he said, before stepping back into his room, tugging William back with him. The son of Apollo obeyed without complaint, and Hades stepped into the room after them, Apollo and Bob at his back.

Asclepius was sitting in the corner of the room, unobtrusive but sharp eyes watching the reunion. Hades ignored him for the moment – he had other things to focus on. The younger god’s punishment could wait for the time being. If Asclepius had not tried to escape while Hades was otherwise occupied in Tartarus and unable to intervene, he would not try it now that Hades was back in the Underworld and fully in control of his domain once more. He kept his attention on the demigods instead, who appeared to have got over their shock that Bob, despite regaining his memories, still counted Nico as a friend, and had instead moved into amazement that Bob was actually there, rescued and out of Tartarus.

William was, perhaps predictably given his parent, the one to ask the question. “What came of the prophecy?” he began. “You two were sunshine and darkness, right? And the silver looks like that might have been Bob, but what about the rest? The topaz and…” He trailed off, clearly unwilling to voice the lines that had sounded most likely to be foretelling his own death yet begging them to tell him it was over and that he wasn’t in imminent danger of dying.

Hades looked at Apollo, seeing no reason to talk about prophecies when their god was present and actually seemed to care about the blasted things. His nephew either took the hint, or was already intending on answering, because he began to talk without any prompting.

“The prophecy has completed,” he assured the demigods with a soft smile, to Hades’ mild surprise. He had not been completely aware of that, although he had suspected it may have happened from the younger god’s countenance. The relief on both children’s faces was palpable. “Hades and I were indeed the sunshine and darkness from the first line, while Bob was the silver from the second. Topaz referred to another titan – my grandfather, Koios, while the third line regarded Thanatos retrieving us with his Doors.” He paused for a moment, and Hades could see the demigods gearing up for an interruption – likely something to do with Koios.

“What of the final line?” he asked, gaining a curious glance from Apollo before comprehension flared in his nephew’s currently blue eyes.

“Koios also escaped through the Doors,” the younger god explained, turning back to the demigods. “We were… unable to stop him leaving the Pit, but he was clear that unlike Bob, he had no desire to live in harmony with the gods, and instead wanted to destroy Olympus.”

“Like Kronos,” William said flatly, a slightly shuttered look snapping into place in his eyes. Hades noticed Nico squeeze his hand tightly, and after a brief moment William returned the gesture. Apollo’s son had fought against Kronos, Hades vaguely recalled hearing; it was unsurprising that he had some residual trauma from the experience.

Apollo visibly winced. “Rather like him, yes,” he admitted. “Once we were out of the Pit, we had to… stop him. He was weakened, and my sister had come to, uh, greet us. Between us, we managed to defeat him and send him back. That occurred at sunset – the fading light of the day.”

William visibly sagged against Nico, who took the weight without flinching. “So no more titans trying to destroy Olympus?” he asked, sounding as though he hardly dared to hope, and Apollo smiled at his son.

“No more titans trying to destroy Olympus,” he confirmed, “and no more prophecy directing the two of you to go into the Pit.”

“Good,” Will said firmly. “Hear that, Nico? No Pit for us.”

“I hear it,” Nico said tiredly. “It’s not like I wanted to go, but…” He paused. “Bob, were you the one calling me?”

“No,” Hades stepped in firmly, before the titan could even make sense of the question. “It was not Bob. Alcyoneus was attempting to lure you down so he could kill you.” Both demigods blanched. “He will not be calling you again any time soon,” he added, a little vindictively.

“I would never call you back into the Pit, Nico,” Bob added, sounding almost wounded at the idea. “It is no place for a demigod at the best of times, and the Primordial had no intentions of allowing me to go free.”

Nico looked at the floor. “I know,” he admitted, his voice barely a whisper. “I knew it didn’t fit, but… I wanted it to mean that you were still alive. I didn’t want you to be destroyed, just because you helped me, and Percy and Annabeth.”

Bob rested a light hand on his shoulder, a small, soft smile on his face. “You are kind, Nico,” he said. “That is a strength, in our world, but be careful it isn’t used against you,” he cautioned. “There are many who would try, if you let them.” Alcyoneus’ name was not brought up again, but Hades suspected he was not the only one thinking of his giant bane. It was unlikely that he would reform again within Nico’s lifetime, but given Orion’s rapid revival, not impossible. “Be careful.”

“I’m keeping an eye on him,” William said, and got another elbow for his trouble, but it put the edge of a smirk back on Nico’s lips regardless. Bob’s smile widened.

“I am sure you are,” he said, and Nico huffed.

“Anyway,” William continued. “Not that I’m in a hurry to leave the Underworld or anything, but if the prophecy is filled, does that mean we’re… safe?” Unsurprisingly, his eyes sought Apollo, who put a hand on his shoulder.

“I still need to talk with my father,” Hades’ nephew said, solemnity taking the place of his fond smile. “Until that conversation is over, it would still be best if you stayed here.”

Raw fear flashed across William’s face, a matching alarm on Nico’s. “Is he likely to…” he stumbled over his words for a moment, glancing down at the floor before meeting Apollo’s eyes squarely. “Be mad with you?” he settled on, the words falling away somewhat pathetically. Apollo’s grip on his shoulder tightened.

“I don’t know,” he said, an admission of ignorance Hades had hardly thought the younger god capable of. “But I don’t want to take any chances with you two, so, please, stay here in Hades’ realm a little longer.”

Hades couldn’t even pretend that William was not permitted to wait longer, and inclined his head when the son of Apollo glanced at him, blue eyes wide with something he suspected was not fear for himself. It was not, then, much of a surprise when William lunged for his father, gripping him in an embrace with white-knuckled hands and the sheer air of desperation. Apollo stared, frozen for a mortal heartbeat, before wrapping his arms around his son in turn.

“Be safe,” William mumbled into his father’s chest. “Don’t give him any more reason to punish you, Dad.” It was less a request and more an order, and part of Hades was surprised at the audacity of a mortal to order a god around – although Nico had the art of irritation down far too well, and Apollo, of all gods, was least likely to take offence, especially from one of his own children.

“I’ll do what I can,” Apollo promised, the words muffled by the mop of blond waves he had buried his face in. “But…”

“I know,” William replied, pressing himself even tighter against his father, if that was possible. “I know, Dad.”

What little could be seen of Apollo’s face could only be described as heartbroken, and Hades stepped forwards.

“As your sister said,” he began, “the less he is made to wait, the less time he will have to wind himself up into a paranoid frenzy.”

Apollo did not reply immediately, nestling his face further into his son’s hair, before his shoulders slumped. “That’s not what she said,” he mumbled after a moment, but did raise his head.

Hades scoffed. “I paraphrased.” Artemis understood the volatile nature of her father well; her softer wording had been unnecessary, in Hades’ opinion, save for keeping Zeus’ wrath away from her. Given the number of occasions she had witnessed her twin’s punishments, it was of little surprise that Artemis picked her words carefully. “Come, the sooner we see my brother, the sooner this nonsense will be behind us.”

His nephew jerked, his arms falling away from where they’d been surrounding William in surprise. “We?” Apollo repeated, staring at him in clear astonishment. “But-”

“I am well aware that my brother has no wish to see me,” Hades assured him. “However, I find myself not caring for his wishes at this time.” In recent years, Zeus had become… weakened. Hades himself had fallen into a similar state for a time, but in facing his father outside Olympus, he had rediscovered his old strength. His younger brother might still fancy taking on Apollo, but he would have to be truly desperate if he tried with an audience at least his equal in power.

Besides, there was something about Apollo’s essence that was intriguing Hades. He had not had much time to notice it, let alone ponder it, in Tartarus, but the memory of his nephew’s essence mingling with him now raised more questions – ones he thought he might find an answer to if he accompanied him to Olympus.

“I shall accompany you, too,” Bob proclaimed, drawing all eyes to him – William had reluctantly pulled away from his father, and had been pulled close by Nico instead, whose grip on his boyfriend’s hand was just as white-knuckled as William’s grip had been on his father. “No doubt he has no wish to see me, either, but I do not intend to cause Olympus grief and will properly introduce myself.”

Zeus was going to be furious.

Hades looked forward to it.

“Very well,” he said, ignoring Nico’s protests. Instead, he looked to Asclepius, who was unobtrusively sitting in the corner, staying out of the conversation. “We will leave now,” he said. “Once again, my son and William are under your protection. Do not fail me, or your punishment shall be increased tenfold.”

Apollo made a noise of protest, but his godly son simply smiled slightly. “I understand, Lord Hades.”

“We don’t need babysitting,” Nico grumbled. Hades raised an eyebrow and sent a pointed look at first him, and then his boyfriend.

“I have found you do not care to do as you are told,” he said, “and I believe Asclepius is the only reason William is in good health, as he appears to have awoken prematurely and cannot gain sustenance from my domain.” The second point successfully quelled the protests that began after the first, Nico settling for sending him a mulish look while William looked somewhat sheepish. “I suggest that, for William’s good if not your own, you remain here with Asclepius until we return.” We, because Hades had no intention on allowing Apollo to be whisked away at the whims of his paranoid father for further punishment. Bob, he was content to leave to fend for himself; while he had no quarrel with the titan now, he would not put his neck out for him any further than he already had.

The resigned edge to the persisting mulish look told him that Nico was at least hearing what he was saying. Nonetheless, as Hades pushed Apollo into walking out of his son’s bedroom – although not before his nephew gave the demigods another tight embrace, as though he thought it might be the last time he saw them, and even slipped further in to give Asclepius a similar gesture – and shut the door behind him, he also called up the shadows to once again bar Nico’s bedroom.

There was no point trusting his son not to be foolish. Hades had witnessed too many incidents to the contrary to be that naïve.

“Come,” he said when Apollo hesitated, looking back at the shadow-covered door shutting away two of his sons. “The sooner this is over with, the better.” His nephew did not appear to be convinced – Hades got the sense that despite his recent defiant actions, he was no less wary of Zeus’ wrath than Artemis – but dutifully followed as Hades led the way out the back of his palace, where he had long ago used a Key to create a door directly to Olympus.

It was kept locked, of course. Hades was not about to allow the dead, nor indeed any other denizens of the Underworld, unfettered access to the home of the gods, and nor was he willing to leave an open door for his Olympian brethren to drop by whenever they pleased. Its purpose was primarily to allow him direct access for the rare occasions he was permitted entry, without suffering the humiliation of having to cross from the main entrance of the Underworld in the west to the entrance to Olympus further east.

Zeus was no doubt going to give him grief for using it to let a titan onto Olympus, but given that his younger brother already had an entire list of grievances at his disposal, Hades did not care about one more. He did, however, give Bob a warning to stay close. It would be near-suicidal for the titan to break his word and attack Olympus single-handedly, and Hades was as confident as he could reasonably be that Bob would not, but there was still room for him to be a fool.

As always, the sight of Olympian architecture – so similar to his palace, but swathed in white rather than black – brought with it a mixture of emotions, ranging from longing to betrayal. Sometimes – often, especially in recent years as Zeus had clenched his ruling fist tighter and tighter – Hades allowed himself to wallow in those emotions, his mood both lifting and souring in a contradictory mess that left him irritable to anyone who dared approach him.

Today, Hades had a purpose for his visit, so he pushed the rising emotions down and swept through the streets, ignoring surprised nymphs and minor gods as he led their trio directly to the throne room. He could feel Zeus in there, a tightly-coiled yet volatile mix of sparks and ozone waiting for a single trigger to ignite. It was beneath the king of the gods, no doubt, to go searching for a disobedient son, but it was clear that he expected Apollo to go crawling to him, begging for forgiveness and prostrating himself towards whichever inane punishment Zeus had in mind on this occasion.

Apollo slowed as they approached, obviously aware of his waiting, angry, father, but Hades was done dancing to the tune of his youngest brother and pushed on, twenty feet tall as he slammed the doors to the throne room open with a satisfyingly loud crash. His nephew had no choice but to follow after him, with Bob trailing behind the pair of them, no longer the tallest but rather the shortest as Apollo matched the heights of the other gods in the room.

The look of shock morphing into fury on Zeus’ face was extremely satisfying.

“Hades!” his youngest brother roared. “What are you doing here? It is not the Solstice; you are not permitted-”

“And here I thought you might be pleased to see me, brother,” Hades interrupted him, allowing sarcasm to heavily permeate his voice, broadcasting to their audience – both expected and the unexpected extras – that he was well aware that Zeus did not want to see him and did not care. “Or at least, pleased for the chance to complain at my part in recent events.”

Chapter 30>>

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