EPIC: The Devotion Saga

by Lyna_Starstone

Summary:

Percy knew that traveling back to ancient Greece wouldn’t be a walk in the park (time travel was supposed to be impossible), but he was determined to keep his promise to Telemachus; not knowing that being back wouldn‘t solve all of his problems like some Holy Moly.

But Percy was one stubborn demigod, and he had a lot to fight for. He would face gods, suitors, and arrogant guards, as well as unfairness, schemes and heartbreak gladly, if it meant to finally reach his Dream-Boy again. And…cows (?) where in Hades did they come from? And what was that about someone trying to trap his Prince in a marriage?!

Oh, and Ody would also need a way back home to finally rid the palace of all the rats crawling around.

All in all, there would be enough to keep him entertained for a while…if he could only find the answer to the most useless crappy riddle the Fates had ever spun! (Pun intended, but not appreciated…)

Or

Telemachus was sick of waiting. Especially when it came to Poseidon's slow-witted and completely blind son, who, even after months (or years) of hints, still didn't understand that he was the only one for the prince. It was time to get out the big guns (or apples)…he had a demigod to seduce!

Chapter 1: Sneak Peak

Notes:

Welcome to the final installment of EPIC: The Heroes Saga :D

Official Updates will start on the 12th of July and then one chapter each Saturday! (Maybe a few on Wednesdays as well, but no promises ;P)

*Throws snippets from various chapters without any context and runs*

Have fun!! ;P

He understood his father now. Maybe better than ever before. Ruthlessness was mercy upon themselves.

But he also kept the other advice he had been given, from a time long past, close to his heart.

Ruthless does not mean cruel.

And with this, they had circled back to his original problem. Because Percy Jackson did not have trouble sleeping because of possible nightmares (at least, not the ones people thought he would - and should - have), but because he feared to see nothing at all in his dreams

He feared (dreaded) not seeing him.

His Dream-Boy. Telemachus.

Because every dream without him felt hollow, useless, irrelevant. Everything else he saw when sleep claimed him seemed artificial or forced. The only exception were nightmares about the prince fighting, hurting or dying. But those were rare and after a while, Percy stopped fearing them. No, instead he began to crave them even. As a connection, a chance to see those beautiful caramel eyes again. Even if it tore his heart to shreds.

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Let it be said that his jaw would have been broke if it weren’t for his years of combat experience, war and his inhumanly good reflexes. PERCY was somewhat impressed by the precision and strength the drunken man could still pack behind his punch, but that did not override the need to knock that disrespectful human’s teeth out.

They were just in the middle of a heartfelt reunion, for gods’ sake!

--------

“Woah!” He instinctively raised his hands to protect his head from the massive rubble and pulled at the ocean to get him away, while simultaneously a warm rope-like thing wrapped around his middle and slung him out of the danger zone. The combined force catapulted him far further than planned, making Percy collide in a tangle of water and limbs with his Dad. Both father and son started with wide eyed shock at each other, before watching how the stone sank harmlessly into the dark water. After a few seconds, the demigod realized that the rope had not loosened around him, and a quick glance down made him let out a startled choking sound. Because it wasn’t a rope, but a long black tentacle that came out of Poseidon’s hip, changing his tail back to the squid appendages from their first meeting. But that wasn’t even the most bizarre thing, because all the tentacles were hopelessly tangled and twisted around each other, Percy and Poseidon, capturing them in a net of the god’s own making.

The boy couldn't help himself. He burst out laughing, tears of joy welling up in his eyes as he weakly punched his Dad’s chest. The god breathed a deep sigh before saying with absolutely no infliction: “I guess that was a bit too much power.”

--------

“Percy!” The cry came together with a sharp sting in his cheek. The son of Poseidon reeled back, blinking, before recognizing the face in front of him.

A friend.

A terrified friend, eyes full of horror and shaking with his whole body, but still standing, still by his side.   

“You need to leave!”, he called in desperation, pointing toward the harbor. Percy felt his prey slip away with the rest of the crowd, down the city, to escape the storm. His storm. But the warm pulse of their blood was like a beacon, letting him feel where exactly they were running. He easily could-

“You'll drown all of us! Think of Telemachus. Go!”

--------

TELMEACHUS had never thought of himself as a very obsessive person. And he would still stand by that assessment with the one, little, particular exception being everything concerning Percy Jackson. But even that wasn’t as bad as it could’ve been, at least in the prince’s eyes.

---------

The son of Poseidon came up from the deeper waters like some legendary myth of old, water cascading over his bare shoulders and chest, defining the planes and endless expanses of tanned skin better than any painting the prince had ever seen. It was nearly unfair how good the other man looked, with his lean muscles, toned stomach and all those little scars that gave him something dangerous behind all his wicked good looks. The black hair was wet for once, but still very wild, with its grey streak catching the light, standing proudly among the darker strands. Sea-green eyes were crinkled by the wide smile that tugged on Percy’s pink lips. Telemachus mouth became dry instantly, and a wave of heat ran through his chest and belly, making the prince shiver pleasantly.

No one in the whole world could look at the perfect picture in front of him and not find the demigod to be the most attractive man in all of Greece.

It was devastating to see him with such little clothes and not be allowed to touch him. Telemachus quietly bemoaned the chance to trace over the heated skin, the soft scars or the hard muscles stretching in Percy’s stomach.  Despite his rapidly beating heart and the unmistakable desire that pulsated through him, the prince was certain that even if they had been in the togetherness of their meadow, alone and undisturbed, he would never dare to ask for such intimacy from his friend.

---------

That made the Queen raise her eyebrow again. With a weird mix of curiosity, seriousness and teasing she asked: “How close are we talking? Do we need to change our conversation topic to something different, son? I know we talked about what to do with girls but-“

“NO!”, Telemachus spluttered, scooting back to wildly shake his head, cheeks burning, “I am thoroughly educated in those things, mother. Thank you! And we never got that close.” He felt slightly breathless, and his head was spinning with pictures and sounds that came and went within seconds. He never wanted the ground to open up and swallow him as desperately as right now.

But the Queen was not reassured. She tilted her head thoughtfully (he missed the amused coil of her lips completely) before musing: “Are you sure? Getting intimate with a boy requires a bit more preparation than usual. Shall I send oils up to your room? I do not want you to get hurt during-“

“MOTHER!"

---------

“Why, hello Darling! What a nice surprise to see your lovely face again in my oh so tedious day!”, cooed the flighty god with a trilling laugh. He pushed Percy by shoulders and twirled him around like a dancer until they were face to face.

--------

Telemachus stared at the new suitor (a younger man with markings all over his arms and neck, hair shorn and eyes glinting blue), who had come in this afternoon, swaggering in false confidence, demanding to see the Queen. Naturally, he was turned down by the guards and directed to wait until Penelope deemed him worthy of her time. But then the man (Agapetos, as he introduced himself) had proclaimed that his gift for her could not wait.

Hence why Telemachus was called.

Hence why it was now his responsibility to deal with this fool.

“Please say it one more time, Agapetos. You got my mother what exactly?”, Telemachus asked slowly, hoping (begging) that the man would change his answer to something more reasonable. He felt the eyes of all the suitors and servants lingering around the throne room, watching the entertainment. He would be gawking as well, if it weren’t him having to face this madness.

--------

...

To be continued

Notes:

Hello again my Friends :D

Ahhh...it feels so good to have finally reached this point! I have been writing this part for a long time already, so there will be regular updates while I (hopefully) finish our journey during my time off ;P

I cannot wait to start this with you! So, what to expect from EPIC: The Devotion Saga?

Well, it will be long XD I have pre-written around 100k words and I still haven't even reached-

Ahh I can't tell you :O That would be a spoiler :P Just know that the ending is not yet set in stone.
What I CAN say is: Expect pining, and yearning and simping. This is a SLOW Burn, but I won't leave you high and dry for ages <3
There will be a few darker themes, like death and murder and pretty nasty attempted SA (or conversations about it). To be on the safer side, I rated this as explicit.

But all in all, this work is my Precious.
It is the manifestation of all my fluffy cravings, the giggling leg-kicking and the screaming at characters to finally get their act together. This Part is the reason I started writing the series in the first place. It will have all the hidden little scenes I was dreaming about since the start, so expect it to be slow paced. We will hit the breaks HARD after 'The Hour of the Hero'. It might feel like we're not getting anywhere or that the whole thing is more like a filler than anything else and I am sorry in advance if you're left waiting for some of the canon events <3

This is my guilty pleasure. I started this work for me, but I'll finish it for all of us. Please be as patient and as kind as you all were until now <3 I'm here for the long haul and there is a long road ahead! I'm excited to see where it might take us <3

Suggestions, questions, thoughts and feelings are always welcomed and appreciated :)

Chapter 2: Livin' in this world you left behind

Notes:

We're up, we're off and away we go! 🎶

Buckle up, Buttercups! We're on course for the long awaited reunion. Which will be-

Nah, as if I would spoil all the fun here ;P

Enjoy!

PERCY Jackson knew that after fighting a war, seeing his friends die and kill others with his own hands, one was expected to be a bit wary of sleep and dreams. As a rule, nightmares happened after traumatic or tragic experiences, and Percy had by far enough of those for several lifetimes.

Being attacked by your teacher at age 11 and stumbling into a life full of monsters, fighting and killing, was just the start of the incredible complex and traumatizing life of a demigod. And as a son of Poseidon, Percy already had his work cut out for him in that department since birth.

Getting knocked out and thrown back in time, where he had (more or less voluntarily) joined the biggest and most dangerous sea voyage in history, watching friends get smashed by clubs, a whole fleet drown, a monster snacking on humans and the King of Gods smiting everyone that was left, was still a much harder thing to live through.

Because when people died, they stayed dead.

All those monsters? Yeah no, those fuckers would be back again either in a few months or years to haunt him again. So, it wasn’t their deaths that should keep Percy from getting a few hours of shut eyes. It was much more plausible for all the humans and mortals, that had perished during the war, to haunt him at every waking moment.

Because some (or most) of them had died because of his actions, by his sword.

Even after all the tragedy and horrors he had witnessed in the past, their deaths weighing on his soul would be more than logical. It was almost a requirement at this point, seeing how his friends and fellow survivors at Camp Half-Blood were regularly plagued by night terrors or crying sessions because of all the things they were forced to do during the war.

Maybe that was why Percy had stayed away from camp for most of the past few months.

He couldn’t look into the faces, drawn tight from grief and loss and pain, and fake himself feeling the same. Because he didn’t. He didn’t feel bad about all he had done to save Olympus, or all demigods he had to kill for it. Maybe there was a pinch of regret for the youngest of them, being groomed by Kronos from the very start, but the son of Poseidon had given them all a second chance after the battle of the Labyrinth. It wasn’t his fault for them not taking it. And after that offer, he had only acted like all his experiences and his heart had taught him.

He understood his father now. Maybe better than ever before. Ruthlessness was mercy upon themselves.

But he also kept the other advice he had been given, a time long past, close to his heart.

Ruthless does not mean cruel.

And with this, they had circled back to his original problem. Because Percy Jackson did not have trouble sleeping because of possible nightmares (at least, not the ones people thought he would - and should - have), but because he feared seeing nothing at all in his dreams

He feared (dreaded) not seeing him.

His Dream-Boy. Telemachus.

Because every dream without him felt hollow, useless, irrelevant. Everything else he saw, when sleep claimed him, seemed artificial or forced. The only exception were nightmares about the prince fighting, hurting or dying. But those were rare and after a while, Percy stopped fearing them. No, instead he even began to crave them. As a connection, a chance to see those beautiful caramel eyes again. Even if it tore his heart to shreds.

Some would think that after over three years of no lucid dreams, the pain of separation would pass, the longing cease and the agony of still hoping would dim. But none of that happened.

Percy was still hoping (pleading) to see him again.

So much so, that the demigod began imagining things.

He would turn around randomly when a thought struck him and he wanted to share it, expecting to see his friend somewhere close by, but there never was anything beside him.

Not even the strange feeling at the back of his neck had stayed. The one that made him felt watched and appraised, but in a good way. A secure way. Like someone was hanging over his shoulder. A silent watcher and quiet support. It had felt so much like Telemachus, that sometimes the demigod even hallucinated a version of his friend helping him in his most dangerous of perils. Like Telemachus trying to hold the sky with him, showing him the weak spot in his fight against Kampe, helping him level a mountain, coming with him to Calypso’s Island and pulling him out of the Styx.

But the most vibrant vision had to be the one during his fight against Kronos. Because Percy could’ve sworn it wasn’t him that plunged the sword into the Titan’s armpit. He had been way too busy holding his blood down on the ground to do anything else (just another thing he should probably think more about). But when the gods appeared, no one had mentioned anything, and all his mumbled explanations were waved off as exhaustion. Not even Hestia had said a word about it.

And now, the feeling was gone.

It hadn’t returned since that fateful day of the Olympian council.

It felt like the last piece connecting him to a part of his life (that was more dream than reality at this point) had vanished. Leaving him all alone. Drowning in his feelings of sorrow and grief and longing.

No one could understand him. Not even Grover. Not even Annabeth.

Both of his friends were busy or distant or both. Especially Annabeth. She blamed him for Luke’s death, had accused him of not trying hard enough to save him. (Which was fair, but what other choice did he have? Luke had been the enemy. Killing him was something the son of Poseidon couldn’t even bother to pretend regretting.)

Anyway, it was too hard for Percy to be around them right now, faking feelings of regret he did not have and masking all those negative ones he did feel. It was exhausting and not worth the trouble.

Only his Mom understood. Or she tried to, at least. She didn’t expect him to feel a certain way, or forced him to speak. Which was most likely why he did it anyway. Talking to his Mom was therapeutic and relaxing (not in the same way that conversations with Telemachus were, but it was a close thing). She listened more than most without interrupting (only his Dream-Boy had found some way to always find the right point to intercept without aggravating him) and her hugs felt amazing. As did her blue cookies and pancakes and her… everything. Being with his Mom again was healing, but it was slow. A process that could not be rushed, as everyone was so fond of telling him (he mostly ignored those talks nowadays, refusing to meet anybody if they only wanted to ‘catch up’). But sometimes… it felt like the cracks in his heart were too big for even his mother’s magic.

Sally Jackson was a smart woman, and she most definitely saw him getting worse with every passing day, despite healing the wounds from the war. In trying to help him solve whatever ailed his heart and mind, she had sent Paul away for a weekend and took him back to their cabin in Montauk.

To spend time with just the two of them.

Buried in blankets, hot chocolate and blue cookies ready, sitting in front of a cozy fireplace, Percy finally found the courage to tell his Mom about his wish to see Telemachus again, and how hard the Fates had rebutted him. It made the hurt unbearable for a moment, but when he was pulled into a warm embrace and cooed over for such a long time it should have been embarrassing, the pain dimmed a bit.

His mother proceeded to ask after the exact wording of the goddesses, and after receiving that, she was quietly thinking, until Percy was already on his way to an exhausted nap.

“They only said that there was no way to get back with the help of a god. Not that there isn’t one at all. Maybe we just need to find something to take you there without godly interference.”, she mused softly after a while, and a jolt of hope sprang down his spine. The son of Poseidon turned around in her arms with big eyes and a quirked lip. “You think there is one?”, he whispered, as if speaking loudly would already break the delicate possibility.

Sally Jackson smiled fondly and full of love as she stroked through his hair: “I do. The Fates said you were always destined to come home. That must mean something.” He was confused

“But I am home?”, Percy said with a furrowed brow. His mother’s smile turned a bit sad, before she leaned in and touched her forehead with his. “Are you?”, she breathed, the question honest and vulnerable. The demigod shivered.

“Home is not always a place, sweetheart. Sometimes it is a person.”, continued his Mom, calm and sweet, not in the least judging. Still, Percy indigently exclaimed: “But you’re my person! You are my Mom!”

“And I will always be. But that doesn’t mean you won’t leave the nest someday.”, she soothed immediately, not letting him out of her hug and her presence that smelled so comforting. While she caressed his arms, her tone changed to something grave. 

“Your heart is very ill, Percy. Don’t think I didn’t notice.”, Sally began, and the demigod froze in guilt. A perfectly placed hand on his chest smothered the hard edges in his posture while simultaneously highlighting the (still very big) cracks in his heart (or mind, or soul, or- whatever).

Sally Jackson was not done with her observation: “It’s been like this for years, but never this dire. Something changed after last summer and I fear that if we don’t get you where you need to be, you will succumb to it. Death by heartbreak isn’t uncommon on Greek mythology…”

She did not sound disappointed, or hurt, or judging, but Percy still refused to meet her eyes.

He felt bare and tender, like his innermost being had been dragged under the hard and cold light of reality. Hearing his problems and their (possible, but very much exaggerated) consequences named so clearly was horrible, but surprisingly helpful. The son of Poseidon knew his Mom was right.

Maybe… until she started to appear unsatisfied or hurt, he should play along for a bit? Just to see where this train of thoughts would go? Playing with hypothetical scenarios could not be any more painful than this very real ache in his heart, right?

“But even if there is a way…what if I can’t come back? I don’t want to leave you alone… Or leave at all.” He hastily added the last part after a too-long second of hesitation. His Mom called him out immediately, but with a teasing smile instead of sounding upset: “Liar.” 

He huffed and bathed in her bell-like laugh, before the mood settled again and Sally continued in her typical warm tone: “Do not worry about me, little pearl. You could write me letters and pay Hermes to deliver them. Just a few centuries later. I will open a post box just for that.”

“You got that nickname from dad!”, Percy exclaimed, trying to change the subject. He couldn’t allow himself to examine that possibility as something that could be real.

(It could work…)

His Mom nudged him, noticing his trick, but for once not calling him out instantly: “I did. It fits.” She let her words hang in the air for a moment longer, giving Percy the time to think about her suggestion more deeply. The conclusion was ambiguous at best, and he voiced it: “That would still mean I’ll never see you again.”

“Maybe, but…can you keep a secret, Percy?” Was there a hint of nervousness in her voice? The demigod was intrigued and looked up into her face. She met his eyes clearly, but something unspoken in them pleaded for reassurance. “Of course.”, he gave it instantly. Sally Jackson breathed a deep, calming breath and pulled him even closer.

As flushed as they were, Percy could feel her heartbeat fluttering and the spasm of her fingers. He adapted her mood and felt himself starting to fidget, until his Mom finally spoke: “Sometimes… I have dreams of another life. Of a palace surrounded by water, a loving husband and a kind son. And that son has a friend, brave and strong. I am waiting for my husband to come home and then feel loved when he draws me into his arms. Does that sound familiar to you?”

It did. Way to familiar. It was a story as old as time. Told to thousands, especially Half-Bloods. But it couldn’t be…

Could it?

Percy felt his brain move in highspeed as he mumbled: “You think you were…”

“Yes.”, confirmed his Mom, so obviously glad and relieved that he believed her. She stormed on with the original topic, before the son of Poseidon even got enough brains together to form a question. “So you would not have to say goodbye to all of me.”, Sally smiled uncertainly, “And don’t forget your immortal family! You told me how kind Lady Amphitrite and Lord Triton treated you. They would still be there, no matter how far back you go. You would still have a family.”

The demigod didn’t answer, but both of the Jackson knew that something in his heart changed that evening.

-

They did not speak directly about it again, and they didn’t need to, because their goal was clear. His routine upon returning to Manhattan got upgraded and now included hours over hours in the library and every history museum in whole New York.

He and his mom looted all they could find regarding the control of time, writing history professors at universities, buying books and alleged original copies of ancient reports for so much money that Percy began treasure diving again.

His Dad did not ask what it was for, but he send a few pearls his way anyway.

Their apartment became a research center. Even Paul contributed every part of his time he could spare. No one mentioned Percy going back to school again (which was probably for the best; the demigod didn’t know how controlled he could be around overactive teenagers after all he’d been through). They even got the original Odyssey from Homer, but Percy refused to read it himself.

If he got back, he wanted to be spared the headache of trying to preserve some timeline. It would work out as it should anyway, otherwise the Fates wouldn’t have given him even a sliver of hope. He decided to take their cryptic message as all the permission he was going to get to mess with time again.

So, instead of him reading the book, they instructed Nico with it, after the son of Hades dropped in one day to check on him. Together with his Mom, the other demigod went through the many, many pages alone, but with the same depressive conclusion as all their other research yielded.

A big black hole of nothingness. 

They even cornered Chiron and Mr. D when they both visited Camp a week before Christmas to drop off a few presents for the year-rounders, and prayed to Athena for wisdom. But all they got were pitying glances and evasions. For days and then weeks and then months, they found nothing but hints that led to nothing, or fiction that was too fantastic to be real. And as much as Percy was ashamed of it, his thoughts became darker. All the roadblocks they met, especially from the divine world, only hammered home how hopeless his endeavor truly was. After being rebuked one too many times, the son of Poseidon refused to ask anyone else in Camp for help.

It fell upon Nico to get Malcolm to give up all the texts in the Athena cabin for research.

Asking Annabeth was out of the question.

The daughter of Athena was still a sore spot for Percy. They never reconciled after Luke’s death, as she was still convinced of him being some tragic and misunderstood hero. Percy refused to feed into that delusion, and they argued quite harshly about it before he gave up.

She was still distant and hurt (and a bit afraid of him, after all he had done in the battle of Manhattan, which he found hypocritical as Hades). He’d given everything he had to make sure their side was victorious. Only because it wasn’t with methods that met her moral compass, didn’t mean it had been wrong to use them. But after the third fight about him supposedly not holding back enough, the son of Poseidon was more than happy to reciprocate the distance between them.

So, getting help from her was as likely as Percy giving up in his endeavor completely.

Their break-up also didn’t help with feeling less lonely and isolated, nor did it make the slowly growing desperation and hopelessness go away.

Maybe he needed to find a way to deal with the fact that he could not keep his promise to Telemachus after all...    

But then the unexpected happened.    

Notes:

Well, well, well...what do we have here? Exposition? Hints? A depressed little Percy? :O

;P

Don't panic! You'll still get a chapter tomorrow. I split the first chapter into two because it otherwise would've been too long.

Suggestions, questions, thoughts and feelings are always welcomed and appreciated :)

Chapter 3: Stuck in my Bedroom

Notes:

Like I promised, you get part two of the little intro ;P

Enjoy! <3

“PERCY?”, his mother’s voice sounded through the flat, “Honey, I think I found something.”

With great effort, the demigod heaved himself out of bed and trudged through the hallway into his mother's study, stepping over several stacks of books and a few loose papers. He didn’t even bother with changing out of the long pajama pants and the dirty hoodie he had worn the last few days. His mother had seen him in worse condition, and she would only bug him about changing when Paul came over this evening for dinner.

“What is it?”, he asked tiredly when he stepped up to her desk to look over her shoulder. She was reading a book about ancient trading costumes they had picked up last week in a tiny antique store near Central Park. It looked old and had yellow pages, with a cover that was maybe made from real leather…Not exactly proof of its authenticity, but they were out of options. Percy had tried reading it first, but it was by far the most boring and dry text he had ever laid eyes on and after two pages he wanted to chuck it out of the window. Not that his ADHD helped.

So, his Mom had taken to it and obviously found something interesting. Whether it concerned their actual search or was just some fun fact was 50/50 at this point. Sally Jackson had even started a dream journal in the hope of getting some hint that may help, but until now the only thing she had seen were further indicators that her soul was indeed connected in some way to Penelope of Ithaca. A rough sketch of the face of the boy in her dreams showed a few resemblances to Telemachus, which was enough for both of them, seeing as his Mom was no artist.

At least the knot in his heart whenever he thought about what he had to leave behind if they really found a way became a bit loose with that certainty. Their interactions had not changed much, but his Mom was far more prone to gather him into hugs or spontaneous cooking sessions, making photos left and right and babbling life advice that sounded like it came from the back of a cereal pack.

She printed the photos every week and glued them into two identical albums, but other than that, she made no mention of them potentially never seeing each other again.

Back to the book and what his mother had found, Percy leaned further and inhaled her smell of chocolate, licoricey and cookies, before his eyes focused on the pages. The right side showed a big picture of some parchment that was full of lists and tables in ancient Greek about the export of corn or something. But it wasn’t the contents that made his heart beat faster and his breath hitch.

It was the handwriting.

Small and perfectly placed, cursive letters that were fancy and diligently drawn in a scripture that he could recognize immediately.

He had seen Telemachus work on his homework enough times to remember the way his elegant hand floated over the paper in sure strokes, leaving behind exactly those kind of letters. Warmth burned through his chest and up in his throat, making his eyes itch with the telltale feeling of tears gathering. His breath was shaky and wet as he gently caressed the page with the tips of his fingers.

“That’s his writing.”, he said aloud for his Mom, “I recognize it.”

“I know.”, she agreed softly, pointing to the words under the picture. There it stood, black on white: Yearly export reports by Prince Telemachus of Ithaca, approximately/allegedly three years after Odysseus’ return.

A tear slipped down his cheek, and he roughly brushed it away. The pain in his heart bloomed with bittersweet happiness that his friend got his father back after all and that they had lived together happily.

“But that’s not what I called you here for.”, she ventured and turned the page, showing many more texts and explanations, but her finger pointed to a little picture in the corner, showing a blue wax seal that was surprisingly simple.

It took him a second to understand why it was so familiar, but then he gasped loudly.

Without hesitation, Percy took Riptide and laid the sword in its ring form beside the page. The lonely trident, engraved on the wider side, without any decorations or other features, was identical to the one depicted on the wax seal. They were the same.

Before his brain caught up with what that meant, his mother was already pulling him into a crushing hug, while she beamed with a smile: “You can’t remember giving Riptide for something like this, right? And as amazing as Telemachus is, he did not have access to your Ring to draw its design in this detail, did he? That means you will make it back, Percy! You will get back to him and let him burrow your sigil for this seal!” She mushed his cheeks together, her eyes twinkling in joy and elevation when she moved his head around, shaking him a bit like a rag doll, while stressing: “Do. Not. Give. Up. Yet! We will get you there somehow, and this is the proof!”

It really was.

The cracks in his heart drew together a bit.

-

“Dinner’s ready!”, Paul called as he pulled the door of the apartment close behind him, keys jiggling. He stumbled into the living room with three big pizza boxes and a fond smile when he saw both Jacksons sitting between papers and books strewn around like a bomb had gone off. In the background was a documentary about the trojan war playing on TV, but no one was really paying attention. His Mom got up from her spot on the couch to help her fiancé with the pizza and let him get his jacket and shoes off. Percy ignored their loving whispers and the kiss on the cheek his mother gave Paul to focus on the Greek text of some long dead philosopher who wrote about the first titan war. He only grunted a hello, before someone in the documentary spoke the words ‘travel through time’, which made his head snap up immediately.

Unfortunately, after a few sweconds, it turned out to be just an introduction to the next part of the documentary, and the son of Poseidon couldn't suppress a disappointed sigh. He put the book away when his Mom and Paul came back from the kitchen and the man put a cheesy treasure of a meal in front of him. Percy mumbled a dejected: “Thank you.”

“No problem. Have you found something?”, the teacher asked and opened the floodgates to a lot of frustrated ranting with that. Both of the adults sat on the couch and began eating, letting Percy blow off steam until his stomach growled forcefully. While he was destroying his pizza, the room became comfortably quiet, and they all focused on the documentation for a bit.

“That’s a beautiful pearl you have there.”, Paul randomly said between to bites, “I’ve never noticed before, but the color is pretty unique.”

“Huh.”, respond Percy confused, before his brain caught up and he noticed that his free hand had once more drifted to his necklace, playing with the beads and tokens, lingering on the sky-blue pearl the longest. “Oh, yes.”, the demigod mumbled with a painful stab to the heart. Luckily, Paul didn’t saw his grimace and instead continued: “It is really fascinating. After you told me about…everything, I guess, I thought at first that it must be some kind of magical artifact. I have never heard of a natural pearl developing such a distinct shade. It even changes in the light, did you notice?”

“It does look a bit like the pearls you used years ago to trick your uncle Hades to escape the Underworld.”, agreed his Mom and pulled Percy out of his spiralling thoughts about caramel eyes and a smile of slightly crooked teeth.

“What? Oh yeah... Wait, you saw that? I thought you were frozen or asleep or something.” Percy was confused. This whole conversation was so much out of his comfort zone. Why were they talking about something that happened years ago?

Percy looked down at the pearl and needed to admit that it had very few imperfections for a natural grown pearl. His brows furrowed and he opened his necklace to get a better look, turning the blue token in its beautiful and intrinsic silver cage. Now that he scanned it without the emotion he connected with the pearl and its giver, the son of Poseidon saw where Paul was coming from.

The pearl was not only beautiful in its colour, but the shape was a perfectly round ball with no dents or discoloration. How curious.

As he turned the gift in his fingers, his mother answered his question with a playful shrug: “I was, but my senses worked.”

The demigod hummed, letting his hands with the necklace rest in his lap as he thought back to that first Quest and where he had gotten his escape route. “I think Amphitrite gave them to me on my father’s request.”, he mused, “She didn’t give me her name, but I think I can recognize her now… and she IS a nereid. She said to step on them if I were in trouble and that they would take me wherever I needed to be…” The words slowed down as something in the back of his head began to tickle, conjuring nearly the exact wording from somewhere deep in his brain. He did not know why, but his heart sped up when he recalled in a whisper: “…that whatever belongs to the sea would always return-” his breath hitched “…return to it.”

With big eyes, the son of Poseidon inspected the gift of his dearest friend once more.

“I found the pearl by the beach we were last time, sitting in the sand as if placed there for me to find.“

“You can touch it and let it take you away when another stressful situation comes.”

The words and the voice of his Prince circled through his mind and heart, merging with the instructions Amphitrite had given him for her pearls.

“Take me away…”, Percy breathed, straightening up, heart racing, “Take me wherever I needed to be…returning…coming back.”

Was it possible? Was it really this easy?

With the most trepidation he ever felt, the son of Poseidon carefully pulled on the power inside his gut, letting it settle over the pearl, waiting for something, anything, to tell him this was just another false trail.

Seconds stretched into an eternity, but then…

The sky-blue pearl, the same colour as Telemachus favourite chiton, the same colour as the string in the cave of the Fates…it pulsed. Weak and equally shy as Percy had reached for it, but it answered. Warmth and comfort and the smell of honey and parchment filled the apartment, and Percy did not even notice how he began to cry, how his heart soared and ever water in the living room floated upwards.

“Mom!”, he gasped. His blurry sea-green eyes caught her calm brown gaze. The smile on her face beautiful and full of love, of support.

“I think I got it!”

-

It took more preparations than expected to travel centuries in the past with no real way (or plan) to come back. Now that he had found his one-way ticket, a new kind of fire had lit up inside Percy and he threw himself at every new task that came up.

Until it was finally time.

Here he was, only one step away from going back. From seeing his Dream-Boy. For real. And only one step away from helping Odysseus get home.

(Only one step away from never seeing his Mom again.)

They were at the beach in Montauk. Him, his Mom, Paul, Nico, Grover and Thalia. He had said his goodbyes to everyone else in Camp the week before. Annabeth had wished him well but didn’t want to be there when he really left. Their relationship had turned back to friendly but strained. He accepted that fact weeks (months) ago.

In addition, the son of Poseidon felt the sea behind him stir unnaturally, as more than one deity move through the waves up on the beach. A look over his shoulder confirmed his suspicion. His Dad, together with Amphitrite, Triton and Kym (a noticeable gap between her and Atlantis’ heir) were smiling and waving at him.

Percy had visited them too, only a few days prior, getting some last-minute advice on how to deal with ancient Greek gods and who he should rather not provoke (not that he planned to change anything about himself. The world would survive him and his antics – time was a loop). Turned out that all the gods had known he would find a way back eventually, but as per order of the Fates, no one was to help him.

That was also the reason why him declining the offer of godhood was not that big of a deal. All of them had known his answer already, seeing as they had met the older him (not as a god) already in the past.

It was all very confusing, and Percy didn’t know how knowing their future personas would influence his stance toward certain gods should he meet them in the past (future?). In the end, he would do what felt best. The past was already written, and he had obviously not destroyed it (would not destroy it?), so there were no real the-world-will-end-if-you-do-something-wrong stakes here. The demigod could live with that. (Really well, actually. It was one big worry lifted from his shoulders).

“Give us time to warm up to you, yes, little pearl?”, Amphitrite had cooed abashed during his visit, “You know that we will grow to love you, just have a bit of patience.”

“I’m gonna be antagonistic and mean.”, Triton hadn’t beaten around the bush, “I will challenge and provoke you. Do not rise to every bait and do not be too arrogant when you beat me in a fight, got it? That attitude was horrible to deal with.”

“Speak for yourself!”, Kym had cackled, “Percy was a delight to me from day one! We let loose so many great storms…you’ve got something to look forward too, brother! Oh, and don’t forget my favourite dish is meat tart with pine needles. You’ll need it.” Her wink had been more than exaggerated, but he saved that information even through his laughing.

His father had been the last one to bid him goodbye. “I only regret not having the time to rebuild our bond in the present to what it was in the past…. But the memories persevere, and I will treasure every moment I had with you.” The god of the Sea had drawn him into a surprisingly tight hug and then leaned their foreheads together as he whispered, only for him: “I will do things that you hate. I will earn your ire and wrath in the name of what I think is right. Please, Percy, find it in your kind heart to forgive me my transgressions once more. I will grow from them, I promise.”

“I’ll try.”, the demigod had answered.

Seeing as they had already exchanged hugs and goodbyes, his sea family was now only here to watch him leave (and getting one, very last, look upon their brother or child).

“You remember the Adress of the post box? And the second one in case of the first one closing?”, his Mom dreaded, flitting around him like a hummingbird and straightening his chiton. Percy smiled indulgently, but rolled his eyes: “Yes, I do. I wrote them down on parchment and my arm to copy somewhere once I’m there. Should I tattoo them in my skin?”

“Don’t be ridiculous! You will not get a tattoo!”, Sally Jackson swatted at his head lovingly, before her eyes turned soft and she grabbed his face, “At least not until you have thought about it for like… at least three months!” Percy saw the wetness in her eyes and pulled his Mom in a hug when she once again started a little tirade about all the things he should know. That had become a trend for them, once the day he would leave was decided. He listened quietly to it all and vowed to follow each of her instructions, as ridiculous as they were.

When she finally let go of him and dried her tears, she smiled wobbly: “I know you have trouble remembering things, so I wrote it all down in letters. They should be in the small wooden box at the bottom of your second bag. There is one for every birthday until you’re 40. I didn’t have the time for more, but…”

“Thank you, Mom.”, Percy interrupted and drew her into another hug. His heart panged painfully when thinking about leaving her, but very deep down they both knew that this was inevitable.

Nico also piped up from a few feet away: “We wrote you something as well. It’s in the same box, so if you somehow get extra money, pay Hermes for some letter to us as well, yeah?”

“Will do.”, he smiled at his cousin.

After one last round of hugs and teary goodbyes, the son of Poseidon breathed deeply for the final time. He shouldered both of the linen bags (filled with everything he wanted to take with him, including some hoodies, cookies – and their recipe- and the big photo album) and carefully planted the naked pearl on the beach. He had kept the silver harness as a memento, but it was still hard to raise his foot to stomp down onto the only gift he had from his Dream-Boy.

“Give my regards to Telemachus and tell him to take good care of you!”, his Mom cried openly now and Percy also felt the tears leaving his eyes. “I will. And I’ll write.”, he smiled as brightly as he could, “I love you.”

“I love you too.”

He stepped on the pearl and the world he knew vanished in a swirl of blue and green, smelling like honey, parchment, and destiny.

Notes:

So....yeah, no big quest or harrowing sacrifice needed XD (As if I have the patience for another side quest here XD I want the FLUFF)

I honestly am a bit proud that no one caught onto the reference about the pearl WAY before today ;D (but does that mean I should've been more obvious? Maybe... Oh well). That plot was brewing since the very beginning and I can't wait to read your reactions :D

Percy is on his way back everyone! And I am happy to announce that the rest of this fic will take place in ancient Greece <3 We're going back to the roots (and Telemachus).

Does that mean the waiting is finally over? ;P I guess we'll see in the next update!

Chapter 4: 'Rarely do I ask for favours' is coming to you on Wednesday, 16th of July

Suggestions, questions, thoughts and feelings are always welcomed and appreciated :)

Chapter 4: Rarely do I ask for Favours

Notes:

And we're finally here!

Enjoy the extra long chapter folks! But don't get too spoiled XD They won't always be this big <3

The first thing tingling PERCY’s senses was the smell of salty ocean and fresh rain, followed quickly by the gentle sound of crashing waves and grinding sand. The air felt worlds cleaner than anything New York or Camp could offer, and Percy had almost forgotten how untouched nature had been in the old days.

He was all the more amazed and pleasantly surprised by the beautiful condition of the sandy beach and the perfect turquoise shade of the sea. It only took a second to realize that he was standing on the same shore where he and Telemachus had originally talked about his Mom, and where the prince had found the fateful pearl that had been his ticket back.

He was in Ithaca…

For real this time. No dream or translucid body, no time crunch or deadline and no immediate danger on the other side of his consciousness.

He had never felt freer.

Percy chuckled, overwhelmed by all the feelings in his chest, ranging from bittersweet longing, to giddiness and excitement. He was really here. He would see Telemachus again! His prince was waiting inside the palace only a few miles away.

His legs were already moving in the direction of the tree line, when a strong tuck at his ankles made the demigod stop and look down. His confusing fell away when he saw two strings of water clinging to his legs, leading right back into the ocean.

He should’ve seen this coming.

A bit amused and only slightly exasperated, Percy turned around. He was already looking toward the open sea, where (as expected) the tall figure of his father materialized out of the water like an upside down waterfall. The god mixed his shapes once more between human and monstrous, donning the black edged arm with spikes and clawed hands, as well as the divine eyes and a fishtail that resembled a shark. Halfway submerged in the ocean, he was leaning on his trident heavily. The god of the Sea had an expression of disbelief and cautious hope on his face, that exploded into unguarded happiness and relief when his eyes found their sea-green counterpart in the demigod’s face.

“Hey Dad.”, Percy smiled quietly and with a tilted head. Poseidon gasped and moved several feet closer in an instant, changing his tail to legs to make his way further into the shallow part of the beach. The water strings around the demigod’s feet became tighter, as if afraid that he would vanish if they left him, and Percy let them be for now.

He had no clue how much time had passed since he had disappeared from here.

With sinking dread, the son of Poseidon imagined a twelve-year-old prince greeting him, but after a second, he decided it wouldn’t matter. Whether three months, three years, or even three decades had passed, he would find his groove with Telemachus again (even if his heart stung a bit while thinking about a grandpa-Telemachus). They had fit so seamlessly together before, it was unimaginable that their chemistry had vanished in something so inconsequential as time.

Luckily, his worries were buried soon, because Poseidon drew his attention with a breathless sigh, now only ten feet away: “Percy…my son.”

They stared at each other, lost for words or simply overwhelmed by the surprising situation. The demigod didn’t remember clearly what their last conversation had been and what their current relationship was. Some memories were hazy or had merged with dreams, and it was difficult separating the two versions of his Dad he knew.

In the end, Percy did not have to speak, because Poseidon was more than happy to fill the space between them. “You were gone from my reach, little pearl. I searched the whole earth for you. No one knew anything. I would’ve continued forever if the Fates had not intervened.”, the god of the sea hastily explained, before his tone became soft and careful: “Where have you been these past three years?”

What a loaded question for a time-traveler. Well, good thing that he had direct instructions from the Fates to not mess up more than necessary. Percy didn’t know who he’d even wanted to tell the truth. Now that he would remain here, it didn’t seem to matter as much to keep all the mystery and secrets.

“I…don’t know if I am allowed to tell you.”, the demigod said lamely, knowing how weak that excuse was, but with a bit of luck, his father was too focused on making a good impression to inquire further (their relationship had still been strained when he’d been transported back, right?). He was proven correct.

“Stay vague then.”, was the instant answer. The divine, pupilless eyes scanned over his body, cataloging all the changes he had gone through and all the little scars he had earned on his arms, hands and legs. The biggest one by far was the one on his face and the stab wound in his side (both remains of the mutiny though, so maybe Poseidon already knew about them). But the latter was covered by the white chiton. Still, the god furrowed his brown and lifted his hand as if to touch him but instead settled on remarking: “I see the remains of battles on your skin…Who made you suffer?”

There was an invisible threat in his tone that made Percy feel a lot of different things. Namely warmth for being cared for and amusement that his father’s tendency to fight his children’s battles was still going strong. But Percy did not need that protection. Not anymore. He had grown up, fought a war, won countless fights and killed monsters even some gods dared not to face.

It still felt good, hearing his father was willing to rage a flood upon his enemies. He was way more invested in his family in ancient times (or simply had more freedom to do as he pleased, without the big dick breathing down his neck).

“To many.”, the demigod said with a melancholic grin and shook his head, “But I beat them all. I survived every challenge and fought every foe thrown in my way.”

The god absorbed his words, carefully weighing them in his head and probably coming to the conclusion that they were true. His swirling, mighty eyes caught the grey streak in his hair, lingering in silent shock.

“You carried the sky.”, Poseidon stated eerily calm.

Percy mirrored his father’s farce of being unbothered: “I did.”

“For how long?”, came the next question instantly, and after shortly inner counting, the demigod guessed: “A week?”

The king of Atlantis inhaled sharply, his expression switching between disbelief, pain and pride. A weird mix, until he finally settled on resignation: “You cannot tell my why?” Percy shook his head and honestly said: “I’m sorry.” (Telling his father, God of the Sea, that a second titan war was coming, centuries in the future, couldn’t have any positive outcome at all and would be of use to no one. Keeping his mouth shut spared him a lot of headaches and heartbreak for now. Reliving the thing wasn’t on his bingo card for the day.)

The silence between them was only interrupted by the soft waves and distant cries of birds. It wasn’t tense, but also not completely comfortable and Percy found himself waiting with interest of how his father would react to all the new information. Whether or not he would force an answer (not that it would be successful, if Percy was one thing, it was stubborn and resistant to angry gods).

But Poseidon did not get angry or frustrated or even cold. He seemed to accept the limits of the questions he could ask and changed the subject seamlessly to something else that appeared to gnaw on him: “Are you going to disappear on me again?” There was no judgment in his tone, but he tightened the grip on his trident.

This was a question Percy could answer with an honest smile: “Not if I can help it. There is a promise I have to keep, and people I have to find.” That settled the god and made him relax a bit. He opened his mouth, but stopped before whatever lay on his tongue could escape. A curious expression of slight embarrassment flitted over his face and Poseidon rubbed his free hand over his mouth while he admitted: “I saved those humans you were so fond of. Send them in the way of some merchants. They should still be alive.”

And even though he already knew that, it felt really good for his father to say it again. As a reward, Percy gave him his brightest smile, and it felt damn good not having to fake it for the first time in weeks. “Thank you.”

The god relaxed even further upon that reaction. He tilted his head, eyes bright and focused on his son when he spoke: “I had hoped that…maybe it would earn me your goodwill and grace.”

Well, there was no reason for Percy to lie. He didn’t have the energy to spare for useless emotions. He easily held his smile and said: “It does. I’m tired of holding a grudge. What I saw since-…let’s just say I get what you meant now. About Ruthlessness. I tried to be like you-“

“I never wanted you to turn out like me.” Poseidon tried to interrupt him indignantly, but the demigod just raised his voice a bit and continued: “-but it didn’t work out. I cannot look away if others suffer unnecessarily. But I do not give third chances. Those who didn’t used their second one died by my sword without my regret.” Whether his father was proud or disturbed by this admission was impossible for Percy to discern, so he did not even try. By simply waiting through the silence he gave them both the time to process.

Finally, the god of the sea broke the quiet with a halting request: “I would love to hear everything you can tell me about the time you were away…would you join me in Atlantis?”

It was a big thing. To be asked to enter the underwater kingdom as a bastard, and a mortal one at that.

Percy grimaced and looked back toward the tree line, which hid the palace and city of Ithaca. His promise burned in his chest far hotter than any wish to reconnect with his sea family. One was immortal, having no problem waiting a little longer, but the other he had missed for three long, agonizing years.

There wasn’t really anything to consider.

“I want to. Really. But…there is this boy I have to see first. I want to establish a life here, and I’ll need a bit of time for that.”, the demigod ventured without hesitation, meeting his father’s eyes with determination. He would not be swayed, and he for sure would not let himself be dragged against his will. No matter how dark the aura of the god had turned. Or how close the churning storm clouds above them came to the shore. He would not be intimidated.

But there was also no reason to deny the god fully. Because Percy wanted a connection to them. Just not right now. So, he came up with a solution: “Why don’t we compromise? I will come with you for one full day of the week and-“

“Four.”

“Two. The whole weekend.” Their eyes clashed in a battle of wills. Both of them weren’t known for giving in, but in this situation, the demigod held all the cards. (At least under the premise that Poseidon didn’t want to force something and destroy the fickle trust between them). And indeed, the god gave in with a heavy sigh: “Very well…Then I will expect you here in five days’ time. Do not make me look for you.”

That threat was very real. But Percy was high from his victory and could not contain his cheeky smirk when he snorted: “Wouldn’t dream of provoking a god.” Poseidon’s gaze was more than skeptical, but with a raised eyebrow, he drawled: “Good…”

From behind his back, the god drew a small token.

It was a charm of a trident made of bronze and attached to a little ring. The whole thing was as small as his fingernail, and it took Percy a second to recognize the token as an earring. 

“Before you leave”, the god of the sea began, “please take this gift. It will put my mind at ease to know you are well.” The young man blinked perplex and stuttered: “I don’t have a pierced ear.”

His father smiled weakly and snapped his finger. A small sting in his left ear was all he felt before the weight of the charm pulled on his lobe. Percy craved a mirror to check out his new accessory, but vainness would have to wait.

He had a friend to visit.

“Thanks Dad.”, he smiled to his father and then stepped out of the water’s grip, “Bye!”

“I will be waiting, Percy.” Were the ominous last words of the god, before he vanished in a storm of seafoam.   

-

There were some good and bad news for the son of Poseidon. The good one? Finding the city of Ithaca was pretty easy. He just needed to walk the small stone path and then take the right turn (the left would lead directly to the back of the palace, heavily guarded and NOT the entrance he wanted to take this time. Percy would visit Telemachus properly, not like a thief or a secret in the dark). The bad one? Getting even somewhat near the palace was impossible for normal citizens (if you weren’t some invisible specter from the prince’s dream). There was no sign to point him in the right direction and the small streets were very confusing to follow.  

Another good thing was that no one in the city gave him a second glance. Maybe he had done a fantastic job at fitting in (debatable, but hope died last) or, which was the most likely possibility, the city was just so big that not everyone knew every face and they were used to frequently new visitors (-stupid suitors-). The corresponding bad thing to that was the ever-watchful guard by the gates to the palace grounds (it took Percy over an hour to find the right way and entrance), turned everyone away that did not have an invitation or was one of the suitors sent by nobility. Both things Percy did not have or wanted to be, so he was turned away the second he opened his mouth. And they weren’t very friendly about it either.

It had been five guards, all older them him and equipped with swords and shields (one had a spear). After briefly analyzing their postures, it was an educated guess that the son of Poseidon could’ve beaten them in a fight, but he did not want to start his stay here by being antagonistic and drawing the wrong kind of attention. So, he only sighed over their rude words and left.

Well, at least Telemachus was somewhat well protected. Even if it proved to be a pain in his ass right now. Wasn’t there some kind of time for open appeals by the people? He could’ve sworn Telemachus had complained about not being allowed to sit in on those yet…  

Maybe he should try again after nightfall after all? He knew the hidden paths to the prince’s balcony better than anyone (except Telemachus himself), so he stood a chance, but getting caught would ruin everything (being a criminal was not a great start for staying close to a prince), so he should probably think about that plan some more.  

For now, Percy took to aimlessly wander through the city of Ithaca, his whole life thrown in two heavy bags on his shoulders.

Ithaca was a beautiful city. He had noticed that already when he was looking for the way to the palace, but now that he took the time to truly appreciate the scenery and buildings, it became clear that the kingdom was a human paradise. Clean streets with little to no homeless people flitting around (as far as he could tell) and the bustling noises of peaceful negotiation and trades. Right in the center was a big marketplace, where all kinds of things were sold, from jewelry to metal, woodcarvings or food. Fabric, spices and trinkets were strewn around on white cotton sheets on the ground and children (as well as a few street dogs) were flitting through the legs of adults. In some of the really crowded areas glinted the helmet of a city guard or some other kind of military in the sun, keeping an eye out for troublemakers or thieves.

Percy lost himself in the smell of delicious food and the sound of many different conversations, getting slowly used to understanding ancient Greek again. He didn’t buy anything, but was very entertained by a puppet play from an old man at the edge of the bustling market and gave him a small pearl as payment (courtesy of future Amphitrite, the demigod had a small bag of all kinds of valuable sea stones to pay with until he got some understanding for the currency. Maybe the Drachma he collected would have worked, but those were mostly for Hermes when he would deliver his letters). The man thanked him with big eyes and a deep bow, while Percy smiled and asked if he knew some place where one could rent a room for the night.

He was directed to the harbor, where a little inn was run by some disgraced soldier. “Not the fanciest place, but they always have room and the food is okay.”, the puppeteer had said and that was by far more than the demigod had hoped for. In his head, he was already picking out a good place by the beach to sleep under the stars for tonight, but an inn sounded even better.

The way down to the harbor was far easier to find than the palace, seeing as masses of people steadily moved from there up the city or back down after their business was done. He followed the slow flow for a while until he spotted the little sign of a bed and a tankard above a building a bit away from the main street.

The inn was decently busy, considering the sun had just started to set. Most of the interior was a mix of sandstone and dark wood (like the bar further back and some of the tables), with torches on the walls and candles on each table. A variety of stools and chairs (that didn’t fit together perfectly) manned the bar or were used by the few patrons. Two serving boys ran around with trays and mugs of some wine or mead and Percy clocked immediately how they avoided a rowdy group of man at the end of the room, unless they were called over specifically. Whoever was the owner of this place wasn’t in sight, but the demigod still made his way to a table at the edge of the room and sat down with his back to the wall. There were three windows leading outside beside the door and although the atmosphere appeared light and carefree, nearly every man was carrying at least one obvious weapon.

Not that Percy was any better. He sat down his bags behind him, keeping them in reach and the periphery of his eye to dissuade anyone from trying to rob him, but his steel sword (should he think of a name?) did not leave his hip and Riptide was hidden in its ring form.

He didn’t have to wait before one of the young boys (around 10, maybe?) was skipping toward him, lowering his head in an act of deference that left a funny feeling in his chest. The child had black, shorn hair and darker skin as well as brown eyes, his chiton had two small tears at the seam, but looked clean.

“Good day. How may I help you, Sir?”, he asked friendly. Being addresses as ‘Sir’ felt so wrong that Percy could not suppress as wince, but he got himself together quickly and cleared his throat awkwardly. With (what he hoped was) a gentle smile, the son of Poseidon pulled out a Drachma, noting how the eyes of the child widened and said: “I’d like a meal with water and a room for however long that will pay for.” The reaction of the boy upon seeing the money told him it must be worth enough for at least one night, but he was gambling a bit, trusting his luck to get him through his first real transaction without outing him as absolutely lost with the currency.

The server swallowed loudly before answering with a small stutter, his tray pressed to his chest: “I’d have to ask the owner about the room, but I could bring you your meal while you wait.”

“That would be great, thanks!”, the demigod smiled.

He leaned back in his chair to wait, his eyes sweeping through the room once more before settling his focus on the group of men a few tables over. There were four of them, all drinking heartily and playing some kind of card game. Their shouts were loud enough to echo through the room and from their slurred speech, it was obvious they had been here for a long time. Percy narrowed his eyes in displeasure. Those men reminded him so much of Gabe that he felt his defense rising automatically and he needed to really focus to get his muscles to relax again.

He was just about to look away and try his best to ignore them, when a dark-haired one grabbed for the serving boy who was just walking by (the same one that had greeted Percy), pulling him harshly to their table by the arm, probably leaving bruises, before screaming for more wine. The boy nodded fearfully, but just when he passed another man a bit too closely (blond and burly and with an eyepatch), a hand snatched him by the neck.

“What’d you think you doing, rat?”, roared the wannabe-Cyclops, “Stealing, aye?! Just wait till I’m through with you!”

Percy was on his feet and moving before his brain could chirp up that it was probably a stupid idea to get into trouble this early in his stay, but the child had tears in his eyes by now (whether they were from pain or terror was unclear) and he would not stand for that. The child had not stolen anything and from the malicious gleam in the assailant’s eyes, the man knew it as well.

Wannabe-Cyclops shook the child like a ragdoll, much to the amusement of his companions and just when he turned to his frightened and cowering victim with another sneer, hand poised in a mocking strike, Percy reached their table.

Without hesitation and quick like a striking snake, the son of Poseidon closed his hands around the man’s wrist like an iron shackle, pressing right into the nerve and making him yelp in pain, releasing the boy. He may have heard bones grinding and loosened his hand minimally, but the confused and disapproving frown on his face stayed. The blond guy was probably about thirty, with a small belly and patchy beard. He had no other old scars or any indication of past injuries beside the eye patch, which was pretty suspicious, but not the point right now. The other three had gone silent upon his interference and the demigod used it to make a decent attempt at solving this civilly. 

“What’s your problem, man? We both saw that he didn’t steal anything.”, Percy tried to speak calmly, but an undertone of disgust was still perceivable. The serving boy had ducked immediately behind him and out of reach.

The man was not amused to be interrupted. He came to his feet like a shaking bull, obviously tipsy and not in complete control over his body when he ripped his hand out of the demigod’s grip. Percy let him leave. A bruised ego was not the way to go here.

“Hah?!”, eye-patch guy slurred, “Stay out of this punk! He stole my gold coin, I saw him with it a minute ago!”

The demigod threw one sharp look back at the boy, that had the him violently shake his head. The child’s pleading eyes darted between Percy’s old table and the four men, giving him a hint as to what Eye-Patch had most likely seen. His calculating gaze flipped back to the man. One last time he tried to reason with the drunk: “That money was mine, as payment for their service. You should-“

“Liar!”, roared Eye-Patch as he stumbled forward, fist raised. Percy could not suppress an annoyed sigh while he prepared to get this bastard to the ground quickly and efficiently. One sidestep and a small push against his ribs was enough for the blond to crash onto his knees. Percy had taken a small step back and out of Wannabe-Cyclops space and rubbed his temple in annoyance. Why was it always him that got into these kinds of situations?

Still, he did not want to mess his chances up here in Ithaca too much, so he pushed down the irritation and said with false calmness: “Look buddy, we both know the truth. Just get back to your game.”

By now, the other three had gotten to their feet as well and just when the son of Poseidon was sure that a fight was unavoidable, a sharp male voice cut through the inn: “What is going on here?”

The demigod turned around to what he hoped was the owner, only to stop mid-breath when his brain registered just who exactly his eyes were seeing.  

It was obvious the man had aged. There were a few more grey streaks in his dark hair and the wrinkles around his mouth were more prominent, but he still had the same stance and slightly mocking tilt of his head, as well as the sharp eyes and small mouth.

Percy’s heart jumped in his chest.  

He was not the only one to recognize the other. The man’s eyes became wide like saucers and his defensive posture fell away instantly while his jaw dropped in disbelief. He blinked a few times, before whispering hoarsely and with badly hidden pain: “It can’t be…P-Percy?”

The demigod grinned back immediately, bright and happy: “Hey there! Long time no-“

His sentence was interrupted by a fist that came right for his cheek.

Notes:

Yeah, who do we think is that guy? ;P

As you can see, if won't be that easy for Percy to reach his Dream-Boy, even though they're in the same city AND the same time XD Oh well, guess we'll be waiting a little longer then ;P

Suggestions, questions, thoughts and feelings are always welcomed and appreciated :)

Chapter 5: Old friend(s)

Notes:

Well, you all get an early update because I am *this* close to reaching my next word count milestone and reading your comments might give me the motivation to push through ;P

(And I made a deal on Discord, so here it is (: )

Enjoy!

Let it be said that PERCY’s jaw would have been broke if it weren’t for his years of combat experience, war and his inhumanly good reflexes. The demigod was somewhat impressed by the precision and strength the drunken man could still pack behind his punch, but that didn’t override the need to knock that disrespectful human’s teeth out.

They were just in the middle of a heartfelt reunion, for gods’ sake!

The son of Poseidon scowled hard as he evaded the attack swiftly, moving his feet right in the path of Eye-Patch, to make him stumble again, while simultaneously catching the next punch from another guy with his hand. He tightened his hand over the knuckles until he could feel the bones resistance crack and the bald man (that was stupid enough to intervene) folded up like a sag of potatoes right onto his knees with a pained wheeze. Percy did not let go as he tilted his head to get a glimpse at his old friend.

“Are those your regulars? I would just hate to cause trouble and leave a bad impression.”, the demigod asked lazily, and the underlying message was clear through his crooked smirk.

Can I fuck them up or will there be consequences?  

Telesophorus, in all his snarky and critical glory, snorted derisively and answered: “Yeah, but I think they’ve had enough for today, so feel free to escort them out. Actually…”, the former soldier turned around to the other occupants of the suspiciously quiet room and said with his best no-nonsense voice: “I’m sorry, but we’re closing for the night. If this inconveniences someone greatly, come back tomorrow for an apology nightcap.”

Percy grinned and led Baldy around by his still caught fist like a dog on a leash. To the other two, still standing, he quipped: “You heard the man. Get out before I make you.” When his captive’s back was right to the door, he pushed him in that direction before letting go, making the man flay around like a chicken for two seconds before he found his balance. His two buddies had more braincells and made for the exit themselves, but not without throwing him some hateful and vicious looks, that the demigod answered with a cheeky wave of his hand.

Once they were out of reach and the other patrons made their way to the door as well, Percy spun around to Eye-Patch, who was quietly seething on the ground, red with humiliation. In one last attempt to end this altercation on a somewhat friendly note, the demigod held out his hand to help the other one to his feet again.

“Sorry for that.”, he smiled with all the charm he could muster, “No bad blood on my part, though.”

The response he got for his trouble to play nice was a wet patch of spit right on his fingers. The wannabe-Cyclops scrambled up and slapped the hand away with a sneer and Percy also lost all his forced politeness. As the man pushed past him, trying to shoulder check the younger, the demigod did not move an inch (he didn’t even notice the contact all that much, if he was being honest) and by that forced the other to make his way awkwardly around him. Just when Eye-Patch turned his back (not without giving one last stinky eye) to Percy, the son of Poseidon scoffed and flicked his wet hand subtlety in the man’s direction, making the spit leave his hand completely and splashing onto the dirty chiton of the other’s clothes. Right over his butt. The wet stain looked like the idiot had pissed himself and that gave Percy a petty feeling of vindictiveness.

“Asshat.”

His wide smirk froze for a second when he noticed the wide-eyed stare of the serving boy right on him, flicking between his hand and the stain, as Eye-Patch left the inn. In a truly reckless display of confidence, the son of Poseidon winked conspiratorial to the boy and put a finger over his mouth, gaze imploring.

The overwhelmed child nodded slowly and jumped a bit when Telesophorus addressed him gruffly after the last patron had closed the door behind him. “Chares, I want you to run to the dressmaker. Tell Zeno it’s urgent and that he better move his old bones here fast. Then go to the barracks of the city watch and call for Perimedes and Elpenor, they should be free right now. Ask them to fetch Hyginus if he’s not busy within the palace and then to come here as if the gods were behind them…they very well may be.”, the last part was muttered very quietly, but the boy (Chares) still heard it, his jaw growing slack as his brown gaze flitted between Telesophorus and Percy. He nodded shakily and with a hasty bow, before racing through the door. The old soldier just had enough time to scream: “Go home after that! Come back tomorrow.”

The demigod was bemused and giddy by this turn of events, but a bit peeved at the same time. With a mighty eyeroll he commented: “I bet he believes I am some kind of God now. Thanks for that.”

“Aren’t you?”, the soldier asked with a side-eye, making Percy grimace a little. “Nope.”, he replied, “Still only halfway there.”

“I see…let’s get you something to eat while we wait for the others.”

-

Turned out that all the awkwardness of seeing someone after years of no contact left quickly once a hearty meal was between them and the joy of seeing each other brushed away all the other feelings. It was surprisingly easy to fall back into their old dynamic. Telesophorus was a bit antagonistic, but well-meaning and his gaze spoke everything his mouth refused. Mainly how glad he was for Percy to be back.

The soldier answered questions about the inn easily, saying that he took over after they came back and how he learned how to cook from his sister decently enough to not run off all the patrons before hiring his nephew and another boy to help with serving.

They skirted around all the difficult topics for now, still waiting for their other friends for those conversations, but after the demigod had complimented the food and the inn enough, the mood still turned a bit somber. Telesophorus said that the building had belonged to Straton before the war, and that it had taken a bit of work to get the thing running again.

“It’s my tribute to him.”, the man grumbled, “He was my friend. And I felt his life’s work deserved to be remembered. I did not want to return to being a sailor, so the decision was an easy one to make. And it works well to keep in contact with the others.”

A big rock settled itself in Percy’s gut with those words and he pushed the leftovers of his meal away. Thinking about all those that had still perished on their journey was a sore spot. Even after all this time and although the guilt had taken a step back, it was still burning parts of his heart like an old campfire. Especially the deaths of those he had known and cherished, but wasn’t close enough with to try and save.

Not everyone who had gone along with the mutiny was a bad person. Most had simply been desperate and saw no other way. But even so, after having had years to come to term with what happened, the son of Poseidon still believed that most of them should have been clever enough to see the greater picture of Odysseus’ actions.

Not that thinking about the king helped his mindset right now.

In the end, what happened was neither his fault nor his responsibility. He had been a child, tasked with the impossible (yet again). And for all the odds that had been stacked against him, Percy thought he had done good, saving a few of his friends. There were at least five reasons to be proud of, and it was that the young man clung too.    

“I know we’ll probably speak about it some more once everyone’s here, but I just need to say it now, Percy.”, Telesphorus then interrupted seriously, leaning a bit over the table to catch his gaze with honest sincerity, “Thank you for saving my life.”

The dark cloud of guilt and pain over his heart drew back, allowing him to accept the thanks with a small smile.

In that moment, the doors to the inn were thrown open and in all his grumpy-old-men glory, Zeno stomped into the room. He was already complaining before even giving himself the time to assess the situation: “What has your sword in such a twist that you think it justifies ordering me around like a common slave? Where is your respect for your elders, you pu-“ He choked on his words the second his eyes saw Percy sitting on the table, waving like a lunatic. Telesphorus beside him snorted amused when the older soldier gaped like a puffer fish for a few seconds.

In the end, Zeno raced over way faster than Percy had ever seen someone his age move, and pulled him in for a gruff hug that felt more like a wrestling grip. “Gods bless you boy!”, he exclaimed and made the demigod laugh happily. When he was pushed away again, not even the light slap on the back of his head dampened his grin, making Zeno complain: “Where in Hades have you been? Making your elders wait so long is disrespectful! What if the ferryman had already taken me, hah?”

Percy replied playfully: “Why, we would have needed to plan another adventure to the Underworld, of course!” His words made the two soldiers balk in outrage and the son of Poseidon let the next few reprimands about respect for the gods and the rules of their world wash over him good naturally, warmth spreading in his chest and a smile plastered in his face.

Elpenor and Perimedes turned up together, a bit breathless and without Hyginus, but that was overlooked for a bit, when both men screamed in joy upon seeing Percy, tackling him in tight twin hugs that felt amazingly like something an older brother would do. The ruckus of them talking over each other in questions and exclamations was soon shut down by Zeno, who screeched about manners, while Telesophorus got behind the bar to get all of them a drink.

The sun had already gone down once everyone was settled down around the table, tankards in front of them, filled with watered wine to ease every remaining tension (which was minimal at best). His friends all looked a bit older and gruffer, here a new wrinkle or grey hair, but all of them were well fed and smiling contently, quipping and riling each other up in a way that spoke off a great comradery.

Percy fit in seamlessly, even after his years of absence, and playfully accepted the comments and praises about his looks, seeing as he had grown up quite a bit from thirteen to sixteen, gaining height and muscles equally, as well as scars and (of course) his own grey hairs, which he was teased mercilessly for. “Just wanted to copy your style, Zeno! Grandpa is the new look I heard!”, the demigod gave back, and he did not even defend himself against the kick to his shin.      

Once the first bouts of banter and small talk were over, the mood became comfortable calm, and Perimedes took a deep gulp of his wine before saying: “Hyginus is not able to make it today. The prince has a bad day again, locked himself up in his room and the Queen worries. She wants him on stand-bye for now.”

This made Percy perk up instantly. With his brows drawn together in deep worry he asked loudly: “What wrong with Telemachus?!”

Shocked silence and confused blinking were the only reactions he got. When no one answered him at first, the demigod became impatient and the wine in their glasses vibrated slightly. He did not even feel the pull behind his navel for such small uses of his powers anymore, but the others definitely noticed. 

“Do you…know his Royal Highness? Percy?”, Telesophorus asked warily as he pushed his mug a bit away from him. The son of Poseidon was too focused on other things as he promptly waved the words away: “In a way…Please tell me what’s going on?”

Whatever his expression or tone revealed, it was enough for Zeno to get the man talking: “No one knows, really. We just get the gossip once a week from Hyginus. The prince has had a few months of being sad and reclusive for years, but this seems worse somehow. I heard he has only left the royal wing twice since his birthday half a year ago.”

“There’s nothing wrong with him physical. Hyginus has examined him three times already, but he doesn’t eat or speak much anymore.”, added Perimedes with a small shrug, but his eyes were sharp and trained on the youngest of their group.

“Some say his joy for life has vanished because he felt his father’s death.”, whispered Elpenor, “The suitors take it as their sign to double the efforts in charming the Queen. Not that she reacts much to it. Her thoughts are far too concerned for her son.”

The heavy silence his words conjured was interrupted by Percy’s sharp scoff. The demigod leaned back in his chair, arms crossed and expression tight with certainty. “Bullshit. Odysseus is alive.”, he stated heatedly, not even caring that he was revealing something about the future so casually. His thoughts were caught on Telemachus being unwell because of…something. And it irked him that he didn’t know what it was.   

“Do you know that for sure?”, asked Telesphorus breathlessly and all the soldiers leaned in, sparkling hope in their eyes that pulled the son of Poseidon back to the discussion on the table. For a moment his heart sank, but then he thought: Why the hell not?   

“Yes, I do. He will make it back; we just have to wait for a while.”, was his answer, making the men cheer and toast to each other in jubilant delight. Perimedes grinned happily and inquired curiously: “Will you go out and look for him?”

Percy shook his head with a pained grimace: “No. I promised him to look after his son and wife if I made it to Ithaca before him. At least until he returns. And I’ll keep that promise.”

Especially if Telemachus is ill. How can I make Apollo owe me a favor? He most likely won’t lose his keys to the sun chariot again... Is he even the sun god already?

His thoughts were interrupted by Telesophorus, as the man got them all back on track in the conversation: “Which leads back to the question on how you know our prince personally?”

The answer to that one would require a lot of soul baring and uncomfortable truths that may have him sound crazy and unhinged. Maybe a deflection could work? “Why do think you I do?”

Zeno scoffed patronizingly: “Please, we have seen you trying to weasel out of difficult question for years.”

“And you’re a bad liar.”, quipped Elpenor with a charming smile.

“Debatable!”, Percy tried to intercept, but he was blatantly ignored when Perimedes flawlessly took over the explanation: “Anyway, you are not subtle at all with your affections! Your eyes were practically storming when we hinted something was wrong and sparkling a second later in his defense. You are obviously…fond of him.” Even though he stumbled upon the last few words, the rest of his small speech was spoken in such certainty as if he had just said the sea was blue. No way for Percy to spin this some other way, and the heat on his cheeks only confirmed their suspicions.

“So spill!”, order Telesophorus as he rose to refill their wine.   

In one last, horribly weak, attempt to get out of this conversation, the demigod tried to reason: “I- It will sound crazy.”

Zeno snorted, before he let out the biggest full-belly laugh the young man had ever heard from him: “Pah! We have seen sirens and souls and holy cows, been chased by gods and attacked by monsters out of this world. We can take a little crazy, boy!” The others appeared equally amused. When his drink was re-filled and he took another deep sip, Percy accepted his defeat.

“Okay then...”, gave the son of Poseidon finally in with a great sigh. He moved in his seat to find a more comfortable position, before he began his explanation: “Demigods like me sometimes have dreams of… important people or things, like, actual seeing what’s going on in different parts of the world. They’re pretty random most of the time, sent by some deity who needs our help or just to give us relevant information for whatever Quest we’re on. Usually, the dreaming demigod is only able to watch whatever is going on. So…I started to dream about Telemachus after you picked me up on Polyphemus’ Island, and somehow I was, kind of, able to talk to him in those dreams? We became friends before I know who he was and…the rest is history?”

He was stumbling through something he had never needed to explain to anyone. All of the other demigods already knew, many of them even more than Percy, and his Mom had mostly talked to Chiron about all the craziness being a demigod entailed. So, he wasn’t sure how coherent most of his sentences were, but by the silence they created, there must’ve been something missing.

Or his friends were simply overwhelmed. That was a feeling he could relate too very well.

When someone finally deigned himself to reply, it was Elpenor that opened his mouth first: “Did you- Did you ever tell Odysseus about meeting his son in dreams?”

Percy cringed, because he knew exactly how the truth would be perceived, and he wouldn’t even be able to blame them. He had been selfish and self-centered at that time. He wasn’t surprised when his ‘No’ was immediately met with a ‘why’ from Perimedes. 

Trying to grasp words that would explain twelve-year-old-Percy’s thoughts without making him sound like the worst person in the world was hard, but his friends deserved honesty. (As did Odysseus, once the king came home). “At first…It was because I didn’t know, then because you didn’t know, that I was a demigod that is, and after that came out, we had so much on our plate that I kind of…forgotten about it?”, the son of Poseidon lowered his head in shame, but he still caught the quietly exchanged gazes of his comrades. It was obvious they did not believe him. But to his great surprise, they weren’t digging deeper and accepted his words for now, focusing on something else.

“Does the prince know you sailed with his father?”, asked Perimedes curiously.

This was somewhat easier to answer. Percy smiled (a bit proudly) when he said: “Yeah…he figured it out when we went to the Underworld. He’s one of the smartest people I’ve ever met! Honestly, I was kind of surprised I could keep it a secret at all.”

He may have sounded a little gushing, but how could he not when talking about his Dream-Boy? In the years he didn’t have his witty advice and gentle conversations, it became that much more obvious how bright and amazing the prince actually was.

No one would’ve appreciated him saying this though back home (mostly because few of them even knew that Percy had been traveling through time), except for his Mom (who’d put up with his rambling about the ancient prince more than enough), but now there were four individuals in front him who may appreciate knowing how smart the heir to their kingdom was.

Even if they all looked a bit flabbergasted right now.

Telesophorus took a deep gulp of his wine before stating dryly: “That…really is crazy.”

“But it makes sense.”, amended Zeno, face lowered and gaze thoughtful.

Percy’s interest perked up: “Really? How? Why?”

Telesophorus took it upon himself to begin their own story with the prince by saying: “Because it was his Royal Highness that received us when we first landed back in Ithaca. He got us alone in a room, hinted at knowing you and your heritage and told us straight up that we should be very careful in what we say about you and our travels.”

Elpenor joined as well, visible impressed with the prince: “He really is smart, came up with a whole story for us on how we got stuck with the lotus eaters before a merchant ship and its crew freed us and took us home.”

“We weren’t supposed to know anything else of what might’ve happened with our captain or the ship, to avoid everyone panicking and drawing conclusions.”, added Perimedes.

“Granted, we weren’t even sure how Odysseus could have survived our last… godly encounter, but we weren’t about to disobey a royal.”, grunted Zeno his own assessment.

“Especially since he settled us with the jobs and lives we now have here. Gave us enough money for our loyalty to not disgrace our families and get a head start at settling down. He was really generous and helpful, so we stuck to his story when the Queen questioned us.”, finished Telesophorus their tale.

“We got some shade for leaving out captain alone from the people, but that wasn’t anything that isn’t true so we can ignore it mostly.”, added Perimedes a bit sullen.

The demigod was deeply caught in the implications, head tilted and thoughts racing. A prickle of something important settled in his heart and he nearly missed Elpenor’s next words when it finally clicked.  

“We weren’t bothered much after that and everyone was happy.”

“It was Telemachus…”, breathed Percy in disbelief after listing to his friend’s recollections. His head was swimming in thoughts and feelings, all surrounding his Dream-Boy and how in Hades he might have known that it would be necessary to control the narrative of Odysseus’ voyage.

Had some god visited him to give a hint?... That was the only possibility that came to the demigod’s mind.

And that only hardened his resolve.

When he looked back up from his hands, all the eyes of his comrades were on him, waiting for whatever next action to be taken. It was so good, being together with his friends again (although most of them were way older than him).

“I need to see him.”, the son of Poseidon stated clearly, no space for other opinions. His gaze caught onto Elpenor and Perimedes: “You work with the city watch? Is there a way for me into the palace without sneaking in?”

Elpenor blinked a few times, before grimacing: “Unless you want to pose as a suitor…I don’t think so? But even if you could get in… no one is allowed in the wing of the royal family except the guard or the medic, and the prince does not leave his chambers often…”

“You could participate in the fighting contest in three weeks.”, suggested Telesophorus thoughtfully, “The Queen herself is always in attendance and selects a few promising men to become part of the palace guard, since most of them get driven off by the suitors after a few weeks. If you impress her enough, that may be your chance to get close to his Highness long-term.”

Zeno nodded and played with his beard: “You would be the youngest… but if you haven’t gone rusty by now, you have a decent chance at beating all of them. Most competitors have not seen real battle, and we know what you are capable of…Have you kept up with training?”

Percy’s heart bloomed with warm hope the further the plan got expanded. But the timeline made his heart drop regardless. “Three weeks? Isn’t there a faster way somehow?”, he knew he sounded desperate and whining, but nearly a month sounded like an eternity. He was finally in Ithaca, finally in reach of his Dream-Boy, and now he would need to wait even longer?

“If you want to see him without causing a security breach or expose yourself as what you are…yes. That is the quickest way.”, deadpanned Zeno with an eyeroll, “That means, depending on if you even can beat a few other participants and impress her Majesty... Have you kept up your training?”

Percy wasn’t cocky by nature, but after the second Titan war and him beating Kronos as well as Kampe in combat…a smitch of confidence wasn’t out of place, so he scoffed, a bit hurt from the insistent questioning. He had beaten all of them three years ago, did they really think he would not get better with time?

No, he definitely wasn’t pouting.

The son of Poseidon decided on answering as honestly as he could without revealing too much: “I can’t tell you much about where I’ve been or what I’ve done, so let’s just say that wars in the divine world are no less bloody than humans’. Believe me, my sword is sharper than ever.” Zeno and Telesophorus got his allusion instantly and grimaced in sympathy.

Perimedes look confused for a second but got it as well when Elpenor suggested with a gentle smile: “That’s good! We should probably still train together a bit. Perimedes and I have thought about competing ourselves this time. Palace guards get a very good wage.”

The other soldier scratched his chin thoughtfully and added: “Getting a read on where your skills stand in comparison to others could also help reducing your instinctive use of…other talents. I guess you don’t want everyone to know who your father is?”

That was a very good point he had not thought about until now, but of course his friend was right. Announcing himself as someone who had by nature a legendary status was not smart if he wanted a peaceful life.

“Definitely not. That’s a good idea!”, the demigod agreed before he turned to his right, “Say, Telesphorus, could I stay at the inn for a while? It would only be for five days a week. My Dad demands…family time on the other ones, and I can pay, of course.”

All of his friends stared disbelieving at him after he mentioned the God of the Sea’s need for ‘family time’, but the Innkeeper got himself together fast.

“Nonsense.”, he protested heartily, “You will not pay for anything under my roof, kid. Get your ass back in shape and join the guard to see your prince. You have done enough for us, time to give something back!”

“Yes.”, agreed Zeno in his gruff manner. He looked Percy over with a disgusted scoff before saying: “Do come over once you’ve won the competition. I will make sure you’re dressed acceptably when you meet his Highness. Can’t allow you to run around in rags like this!”

Percy beamed and his heart swelled with fondness. He really loves his friends.

“Thanks guys! I really missed you.”

Notes:

Who do we have here? (Nearly) All of the gang back together? Talking and scheming like in the good old times? ;P

You guys made me crack up so hard when everyone though it would be Telesophorus punching Percy XD I was very close to changing things, but I liked the fluff a bit better ;P

What do we say? Percy got a date with his prince! But he has to be waiting...waiting...WAITING (just like us ;P Aren't I nice?)

Next Chapter: 'What do you live for?' (Coming on Wednesday, 23rd of July)

Suggestions, questions, thoughts and feelings are always welcomed and appreciated :)

Chapter 6: What do you live for?

Notes:

Here we go: The Interlude that we all want to be over quickly XD

Enjoy!

Finding the first foothold in Ithaca in the form of his very supportive friends proved to be just what PERCY needed. Now that he had people in place who at least somewhat knew about his peculiarities, he could explain away his lack of insight concerning all those little details about basic life in ancient times with his heritage as a demigod raised in isolation. That allowed the son of Poseidon to ask all the questions he desperately needed answers to.

On his first full day, Percy made sure to hide away any evidence of him being from some other time. The room he was given was at the end of the hall of the first floor and had a very small balcony. Besides a bed and a small dresser, there were no other furniture, but it was more than enough for him. He put away his leather armor from Camp and put the other chiton he had gotten from the Aphrodite Cabin in the dresser. On the insistence of his Mom, the demigod had taken a few books in English with him (mainly a children’s book his Mom had always read him and one very heavy tome about the biggest happenings in ancient history – he had not looked at that one in more depth than a brief skim), which he hid together with the photo album, the wooden chest of letters and his stash of golden Drachmas to pay Hermes for his replies, behind a loose stone tile directly above the door in the ceiling. The few pieces of modern clothing he had brought weren’t incriminating enough to be hidden, so he simply let them be in the bags for now.

After making himself somewhat comfortable, Percy slipped down into the main room and pestered Telesophorus to be allowed to help with breakfast and got an impromptu lesson of money handling and the currency here out of it as well. The soldier told him about the different kinds of coins and how much certain things were worth so that the merchants wouldn’t pull one over him should he ever need to buy something. When Percy remarked that he had thought about taking up his old hobby of treasure diving, his friend warned him not to flood the market with valuable pearls or jewelry. But he did point him to a few people who might be interested in buying such things occasionally.

Soon after, both of the serving boys returned. Chares (Telesophorus’ nephew) and Nikias (the son of a fishermen who knew the old soldier from before the war) were both quiet children, but whether that really was their personality or just the expectations of the time, Percy vowed to find out. Their big and wide eyes looked at him in a silent reverence that made the demigod squirm and Telesophorus chuckle. He tried to ignore it and be as friendly as possible, but somehow that only made it worse. Especially when he snarked back at Telesophorus without a care for politeness after the man had made some comment about the saltiness of his eggs and ducked under the retaliating swat for his head.

That cemented him as…whatever made the kids look at him like he hung the stars.

Luckily, Percy could soon duck out of the uncomfortable situation when Elpenor appeared to collect him for their first training. The formerly youngest man of Odysseus’ crew had aged as well. He wore his experiences in a quiet confidence and certainty that suited him. In the three years they had not seen each other, Elpenor had mellowed out a bit. He still sent easy and joyful smiles the demigod’s way, but there was no more fidgeting and the skip in his step was missing. He looked like an actual and responsible adult now, with tamed hair and tanned skin and from the looks they garnered as they walked through the city, the very few women on the way agreed that he had become quite the catch.

These women were mostly covered in long dresses and cotton veils of different colors, but not even the flimsy fabric over the lower parts of their faces could hide their giggles and smiles when Elpenor and Percy passed them. The older women blinked after them with a fond eyeroll before pushing the younger ones back on the track of wherever they went.

Percy was happy for his friend to have grown into himself that much and voiced this as well in lighthearted teasing, when they passed one girl that actually stumbled over her dress after her eyes had turned toward them. The demigod smiled kindly at her (all too used to similar humiliations - he wasn’t the most graceful person aside from when he held a sword), but that only made her turn even redder and race away instantly.

He winked at Elpenor, but the soldier simply shook his head with a booming laugh before clapping him on the back: “Believe me, she wasn’t looking at me, kid. The women have already seen more than enough of old me. You’re the fresh meat. And one that stood up to a few very prominent figures yesterday, if I heard correctly.” The soldier ignored his spluttering when he steered them across another street before adding with a smile: “Get used to it. Ithaca is the capital of gossip. Everything you do will be watched and spread before midday.”

That was a terrifying prospect all on itself, but maybe…

Maybe some gossip will reach the palace and Telemachus’ ears.

Would the prince recognize him from those tales? He had changed in the last three years after all, and not only physically. But it was a possibility and most certainly the only good thing about being the center of attention (again). Maybe Percy could live with it if it was for the purpose of seeing his prince faster.

Three weeks felt so damn long already.

-

There were two arenas in Ithaca.

The bigger one was near the palace and only used by nobility to train or for special games and occasions (like the contest). The communal arena was much smaller and did not even have real seating, only a few rows of rough stone benches that would not fit more than a hundred people max. The ground was covered in dirt, not soft stand and a few patches of grass fought hard to come through the trampled down earth, making the floor uneven and difficult to navigate.

Not that that would be a big problem for Percy. He had fought in much more dire conditions.

The arena (if you really wanted to call it that) had a few brittle weapon rags that were pulled out every morning by the responsible city guard, as Elpenor told him. One of those was always present to overlook the individual training or small classes and make sure no one got seriously hurt. The guard on duty today was a man in his forties with a big belly and small stature, leaning heavily on a spear that was bending concerningly. He was taking a nap in the middle of the day and that told Percy all he needed to know about the level of fights fought in this place.

He and Elpenor were one of the firsts there, only two others had taken up a bit one space further away, one bowman, aiming for rotten straw puppets, and one sword fighter that just went through a few basic stances that looked wobbly and unsteady. The demigod clocked immediately that his feet were too close together to grant a solid stand. But he wasn’t here to train others like he had done before the war at Camp Half-Blood. He was here to gauge his own skills in comparison to mortal soldiers. Elpenor would probably be a good standard to set.

His skeptical look did not go unnoticed, and his friend nudged him playfully while whispering: “Not everyone can be trained by legendary war heroes. Focus on yourself. Let’s warm up.” Chastised, the demigod turned away and began jogging to get his muscles loose.

Percy wasn’t sure what he had expected from their first spar, but it sure as Hades wasn’t to disarm Elpenor withing the first two strikes. Both men blinked perplexed, equally stunned by the quick end as their gazes moved to the weapon on the ground simultaneously, as if that would change anything.

“Sorry?”, the son of Poseidon offered unsure when he bent down to get the other’s sword. They were both fighting with live steel, as they always had on the ship, forgoing the brittle wooden swords from the racks. Their weapons were roughly the same size, Elpenor’s a bit longer and heavier, but well balanced and Percy swung it around for a second before handing it back.

“It’s okay.”, breathed the soldier with a mix of awe and vexation. He shook his head with a self-deprecating smile as he added: “Maybe tone it down for us normal humans? Like…a lot?” Percy laughed awkwardly and got back into position. He was lucky that no one had noticed his first try, seeing as he was apparently still in war-mode internally, not holding back and bringing his opponent down as fast as possible. Fortunately, Elpenor hadn’t registered as a true enemy in his brain. They might have had to clean up blood otherwise.   

After that disaster, they both decided to take things slow. Very slow. Snail-paced, really. Exaggerated movements and too long reaction times helped Percy to get back in the groove of fighting for style and honor, not survival. It must’ve looked really funny, like two absolute newbies swinging their swords to an invisible choreography, instead of real sparing, but the demigod couldn’t care less. He liked going back to the roots. To repeat the basic motions slowly and deliberately, instead of instinctively and in the heat of a battle. It made his body more conscious about the muscles it needed to strike from various angles and made him feel far more in control of his power and speed. And it was surprisingly exhausting.

Elpenor smiled the whole time, correcting his own stance or grip to mirror Percy and after maybe an hour of going at a pace that even an old granny could’ve evaded every strike (no disrespect to old ladies, those had another kind of fire burning in their bones!), they slowly sped up a bit, including shuffling feet and sparse dodging.

It was still in slow motion, but at least they had gained some form of dynamic again. Now, they weren’t only concentrating on the arms and weapons, but including their surroundings and possible movements. It was actually…really fun. Like they rehearsed some kind of dance, watching the other move and then react in a way that was maybe not the most efficient, but the most exciting, forcing them to think on their feet and find counters that demanded creativity instead of brute strength.

It gave Percy a good impression of their differences in skill and stamina, making him realize a few of his own patterns that he needed to dispel since they had gone unrecognized until now. Those had only worked against prior opponents because the demigod was either overwhelmingly fast or unrelenting, or because his control over water made up for the weak points he had created through the patterns. Seeing as the son of Poseidon did not plan (or need to) to use those advantages, their spar was a nice opportunity to experiment with new movements.

When they finally reached a pace that made their swords clang every three steps (still slow in Percy’s eyes, but far more reasonable for everyone else), Elpenor was sweating like crazy and panting hard. They took a break and sat down on one of the stone benches.

The arena had filled over the course of the morning. A few pairs of warriors were sparing now, giving them curious glances from the side but ultimately left them alone. Watching them helped Percy develop a sense for the timing and patterns of human fights, which were surprisingly different from the spars at Camp (or the encounters with other demigods he had on the battlefield). Half-Bloods had naturally quicker reflexes, more strength and a higher speed (same as most monsters), but in Percy’s case, his advantages were boosted by his ability to sense liquids and their movements passively around him, making him oddly perceptive of all people in his vicinity. Not to mention how a quick splash of water re-energized and healed him almost completely, making him a beast of stamina and endurance for even mythological beings to face.

Yeah, holding back now was not an option, but a requirement, if he did not want to stand out like a shark among fish.

Sadly, Elpenor needed to leave around midday to begin his shift as a guard by the harbor, so Percy packed up as well and strolled back to the inn for a quick meal and to help with whatever preparation was needed for the evening.

-

The days after passed pretty quickly. Besides sparring, alternating between Perimedes and Elpenor, or training his body without a weapon, the son of Poseidon didn’t have a lot to do and he quickly annoyed Telesophorus with how much he followed him like a lost puppy. The innkeeper finally sent him away to bother Zeno, leading to the dressmaker cursing his name and ordering Percy around his shop to help carry fabrics or crates. He was taught how to mend the holes and tears in clothes properly, but even that did nothing to diffuse the jittering feeling in his bones, screaming at Percy that he still had way too much energy left.

It was a relief for everyone when the weekend came. For Elpenor and Perimedes, because both men had complained more than once about sore bodies and screaming muscles after their training (which was still going very, very slow for the sake of everyone’s sanity and pride) and for Zeno and Telesophorus because they could finally do their trades in peace. Percy was simply glad to finally have an excuse to dive back into the enticing ocean, following the call he had ignored since the day he landed on Ithaca’s shore.

-

The water felt awesome.

It felt like home. It felt like a hug. It was the single most amazing feeling ever, except for his mother’s embrace or maybe speaking with Telemachus. But diving into his father’s domain was for sure somewhere high on the list. Now that he thought about it, Percy had actually quite a lot of things nowadays that made him feel good.

Huh, weird.

Anyway, the ocean welcomed him with warm, playful currents and the vibrations of a mighty song from deep below, ringing right into his bones in way that made the warmth in his chest expand instantly through his whole body. A week of not using his powers (and not even allowing himself to think about them, if he was being honest) and Percy felt ready to burst. He couldn’t remember a time he felt this much energy and it took a bit until the demigod realized it was most likely related to the increased power everything mythical had in ancient times. At the end of the battle for Manhattan, the son of Poseidon had felt somewhat similar mighty, Kronos at his feet, caught in his body that Percy controlled through the liquid in his veins.

Being able to control blood (and more precisely the immortal kind – ichor) was an ability the young man had not thought about favorable for a time.

Kronos’ words about him being a monster, and abnormality, had rung in his head long after the Titan was already scattered again. He knew that the modern Olympians were most likely aware of his talents, but no one had mentioned it, and Percy had adapted as well, feeling like speaking about it would make his freakishness real and force him to confront the views and opinions of others about it.

Some things are not meant to be controlled.

And while that may be true, the son of Poseidon had since accepted that he did not feel bad about what he could do. It was part of him; just another ace up his sleeve, something that could help him protect those he loved.

It always depends how we use the abilities given to us.

Once again it had been his Dream-Boy that saved Percy from self-hatred and gnawing fear of his own powers. He would choose what to do with it. And he chose ruthlessness, but not cruelty.

Thanks to a lack of monster attacks in his most recent past, that also meant that the demigod didn’t yet have volunteers to test the limits of this power, so he refrained from doing anything with it. Controlling Kronos’ blood had already been a mighty rush of endorphins, and Percy had seldom felt more powerful as when his enemy was trapped by the heat in his chore and nothing else but his will.

But diving into the sea of ancient Greece felt actually really close to that.

The son of Poseidon let himself drift with the currents, not really having a preference for where to go. His father would find him either way, so he joined a school of fish further outside the reef on their way to a particular tasty plankton spot (as one of the older fish happily shared with him). On the way there, he was distracted by a pretty lemon shark, who nudged him with her snout and asked shyly to play fetch with a big bone from some long dead sea creatures. Percy agreed instantly. After using his powers to throw the bone far away, he then proceeded to command the sea to propel him in a different direction, making the shark (who he was allowed to name Judy) hunt after him with her bone.

That cat and mouse play continued and became even more fun when a few of Judy’s friends joined. A swordfish (called Thais) had a few ropes from a net tangled around his nose that Percy helped with and after that he became his greatest adversary in the game (thanks to his snout). Burning energy by playing with fish and swimming through the ocean was far more satisfying than slow-motion fighting with his friends. As helpful and sensible as starting slow was.

Percy had lost all sense of time when he felt the ocean shift massively around him, making him dizzy for a second before the powerful presence of his father settled somewhere to his right. The demigod ignored him for a moment in favor of saying goodbye to his new friends and telling them he would come back soon to play again. Judy nuzzled his face gently before swimming away. When Percy turned around to his father, a carefree and happy smile was still on his face, and he made his way over with a little extra twirl through the water.

“Hey Dad!”, he called, “You’re late.”

Poseidon had once again donned his more human features, with the addition of a deep blue fishtail and a slightly longer beard, but his eyes looked mortal, with pupils and sclera, a near exact copy of Percy’s own. Right now, they radiated warmth and gentle awe as they watched his son glide effortlessly along the waves.

“I am. But you seemed to have found good company to entertain you.”, said the god (he did not apologize, but that was okay for now. Percy wasn’t really angry, playing had been fun).

The good mood of the younger man appeared to help the King of Atlantis relax a bit. It was obvious that he was a bit unsure about their dynamic after their last encounter, but Percy truly wanted to start a good relationship with his father.

“They were! I felt pent up all week. Playing was a great way of getting a bit of energy out. I was surprised that not using my powers would make me feel so restless.”, the demigod admitted freely, not even attempting at staying still, zooming around the god in lazy circles, while the deity’s eyes followed his every movement.

Before an awkward silence could ensue, Percy asked curiously: “So…are we going to Atlantis? Or do you have something else planned?” He longed to know what would count as ‘quality time’ to an almighty being, especially in ancient times, and a tiny piece of him hoped not to have to meet the rest of his paternal family this early. Rubbing elbows with Triton and convincing Amphitrite to like him sounded like a future-Percy problem.

Luckily, Poseidon was equally eager to have some father-son time, because he said: “Maybe next time. Would you like to go deeper? There is a mostly deserted sea trench further down. We could…play a bit with your abilities? I would like to see what aspects of my domain you have inherited.”

“Sounds good to me!”, agreed Percy with an easy smile.

Notes:

Well, what do we say? ;P
Who is ready for some father-son-bonding?

And because I am generous and don't want you to wait three weeks (like Percy), I'll give you an extra update on Friday, the 25th and then one on Sunday, the 27th of July.

After that we are going back to the Wednesday / Saturday schedule.

Suggestions, questions, thoughts and feelings are always welcomed and appreciated :)

Chapter 7: What do you try for?

Notes:

Early update everyone!

One step closer to the reunion XD A baby step is still movement, right?

Enjoy :D

Goofing around with the literal god of the sea in a deep trench far down in the ocean hadn’t been on his bucket list until now, but it was definitely something Percy wanted to do again. Poseidon was surprisingly chill once they’d reached the darker parts of the sea, so far down that only a sliver of sunlight reached them. Thanks to his heritage, the demigod could still see perfectly clearly, but he was sure that his irises were glowing like little lanterns. His fathers’ did as well.

The god had commanded the currents to dispose them somewhat halfway down the trench, whose rocky walls were covered with half dead corals or sharp mineral chunks. They passed the hull of a sunken ship on the way down, disturbing the fish and mussels, who came out to see who would dare to venture this deep into the sea. When they saw their King, the fish mumbled a few respectful greetings before quickly scuttering back into the ship.

Now they were simply floating, separated from the outside world and Percy felt unexpectedly giddy at the prospect of getting to experiment with his powers. His father appeared more relaxed as well and with a lazy smile he moved his hand in a wide arc behind him.

“Let’s see if you can keep your balance.”, was the only warning the demigod got before he was pushed back and upside down by a jet of warm water. A startled laugh slipped out as Percy automatically reached for the warmth in his chest and with a small tug in his gut, the waves caught him upright again. With a challenging smirk, the younger man tried to copy the movement of the god and sent his own water-whirl back. Not that it reached Poseidon before he dispelled it with the flick of a finger.

After that, the game was on. The first few minutes were utilized to carefully test the others (mostly Percy’s) level of focus, force and control with soft waves that did nothing more than ruffle his hair or spin him around like a leaf caught in a current. It was like a very tame version of a rollercoaster, but soon the frequency of the water attacks increased, as did their power.

Percy was grinning and whooping as his father conjured his own version of an amusement park made of invisible water slides and obstacles. Soon, the demigod twisted and turned fluent around most of them, the water aiding him in controlled boosts or focused, but sharp turns. He even got the opportunity to send a few watercannons back at his Dad, but the god easily avoided them or changed their direction back to Percy. It was obvious that raw power would not get him the satisfaction of a hit, so the young man decided to try a different approach.

Their little game became more intense.

Percy moving faster and faster while the waterjets from the god increased as well. One grazed the demigod side briefly, before the boy twisted gracefully out of the way right by the wall of the trench. The water slammed into the rock with full force, making the ground around them tremble and a big chunk of stone was blown away, directly at Percy.

“Woah!” He instinctively raised his hands to protect his head from the massive rubble and pulled at the ocean to get him away, while a warm rope-like thing wrapped around his middle simultaneously and slung him out of the danger zone. The combined force catapulted him far further than planned, making the demigod collide in a tangle of water and limbs with his Dad. Both father and son stared with wide eyed shock at each other, before watching how the stone sank harmlessly into the dark water of the trench.

After a few seconds, the demigod realized that the rope had not loosened around him, and a quick glance down made him let out a startled choking sound. Because it wasn’t a rope, but a long black tentacle that came out of Poseidon’s hip, changing his tail back to the squid appendages from their first meeting. But that wasn’t even the most bizarre thing, because all the tentacles were hopelessly tangled and twisted around each other, Percy and Poseidon, capturing them in a net of the god’s own making.

The boy couldn't help himself. He burst out laughing, tears of mirth welling up in his eyes as he weakly punched his Dad’s chest. The god breathed a deep sigh before saying with absolutely no infliction: “I guess that was a bit too much power.”

“You think?”, wheezed the demigod, out of breath from laughing so hard. “Maybe it’s my turn now to play whack-a-mole? I want to be able to do that too.”             

After a judging look as if to gauge how serious his son was, the god shrugged and detangled them from his own limbs before coaching Pery on how to correctly accumulate water pressure. They moved from simple blast over to cutting jets and even the basics of creating whips. For hours, they stayed in that trench and when night truly fell, Poseidon simply carved them a big space out of the walls in the form of a comfortable cave. From wherever gods conjured things, the King of Atlantis managed to get furniture out of corals and anemones and a dolphin even brought them dinner made from seagrass and some kind of mushy flesh Percy decided not to ask about.

Sitting in their own little lair, completely hidden away from everyone else, the demigod felt settled and warm. The thought that Poseidon had created something like this only for the two of them made him unable to stop smiling and he found himself gushing helplessly over their training and his progress, pestering his dad for even more tips. Poseidon listened with quiet intent, focused on everything (and be it a stupid joke or pun) his son said, making him glow with happiness.

“You should learn how to wield a trident.”, remarked the god after they had eaten their food and settled down into a smaller space of the cave, decked in blankets and pillows. Poseidon shrunk his form a little more to fit better, but part of his tentacles still spilled over Percy’s legs (not that he complained).

The demigod grinned: “I’d like that! But can it please be underwater? Training on land is such a bore recently!” His voice had changed into a whiney tone, and he really felt like a petulant child when his father chuckled. He agreed easily and then proceeded to ask what made him so frustrated with fighting on land.

That led to Percy explaining how he had spent his time this last week. Catching up (as far as he could with all the secrets he had to keep) with his old friend, finding a somewhat semi-permanent residence and picking up training again to prepare for the contest. He lamented how unused he had grown to fighting without the need for survival and how his battle-reflexes were hard to contain, but also talks about how indulging them would make him stand out too much because of his strength and speed (which humans simply could not achieve most of the time). That for now, slow-motion and choreographed spars was all he could manage without exposing himself and, as nice as it was to relearn the basics and the tighter control it allowed him to have over his muscles and movement, that fighting this way was simply not stimulating enough for his brain.

“I feel like I am actually getting worse.”, he closed his little rant and flipped his hair out of his eyes frustratedly. Even though he was many miles underwater, the demigod had stayed perfectly dry. After a deep breath he admitted quietly: “I’m afraid of losing my touch and growing slow…What if a monster finds me and I am so unused to fighting them that it poses a real danger to me or my friends?”

His father, who had listened until now mostly silent, hummed. “We could test that tomorrow if you want. Find a lowly monster near a coast and see how you fare.”, suggested Poseidon thoughtfully and Percy perked up instantly. “Yes, please!”

That he would ever LOOK for a monster to fight him, Percy could’ve never imagined. Especially after the war. But with the knowledge of his dad having his back (and seeing it more like a test than a real fight) made the thought easier. He was not going to be thrusted in front of another army, expected to deal with them single handedly. This was only to soothe his self-doubts and be sure he could still take them if necessary. It was the perfect solution to his fretting.

The god interrupted his musing when he asked in feigned disinterest (that sounded painfully fake): “Why do you train like this at all? Why limit yourself and your skill just for some mortal contest?”

Percy felt his face heat up instantly. The way his father sounded both confused and skeptical only highlighted how crazy his plan would sound for an immortal, who never had to go out of his way for anything. If gods wanted something, they got it. Mostly without really working for it.

And while it would be a really embarrassing conversation for Percy to admit to his father that he was doing all of this just to see a boy (even if to him, it wasn’t just ANY boy, it was Telemachus! His best friend. The main reason for him coming back at all), the demigod was not actually ashamed. And he had no incentive to lie, so he tried to force the redness back down before speaking (it did not work, his face was still glowing with heat).

“Ah… You remember I said I had to meet someone?”, the young man began haltingly. After receiving an acknowledging hum from Poseidon, Percy continued. Slowly and trying so very hard to sound casual (and not gushing like he had always done when speaking with his Mom about his Dream-Boy), he said: “Well, that person is a boy. My best friend. We met through some crazy demigod dreams when I was traveling with Odysseus. We could communicate through them, and they were fairly often, so we grew close quickly and he…he is really awesome, Dad.” The son of Poseidon looked up and he was pretty sure the sappiest expression ever was branded on his face.

Percy could practically feel the pink in his cheeks and the sparkling in his eyes, but Telemachus always triggered that reaction when he thought or spoke about him. And as much as the young man had sworn not to start praising his friend, he couldn’t stop the next words from escaping in an excited rush: “Talking with him is so easy and he just gets me. Like… he listens and gives really good advice. He never judges me or my actions, but he also isn’t a pushover. Always saying his opinion and, Dad, honestly, I’ve never met anyone more clever, or witty or-“

The dumbfounded, jaw slackened face of his father made him stop immediately and Percy only clocked now that he had once again missed the point of no return by miles. The water must be nearly boiling around his face right now.  

No way his father was gonna let his little …talk (?) go without a comment, so he quickly pushed on to the actual problem. In hopes of distracting the King of Atlantis from his son’s obvious feelings, the demigod rushed on: “R-Regardless, he is…also kind of the prince of Ithaca? And the palace is pretty much guarded all around the clock. Telemachus doesn’t know I am here yet, so the contest is my only chance of meeting him without sneaking in. Because the best fighters will be selected by the Queen to join the royal guard and if I manage to impress her, I won’t only gain access to the palace, but also a place to stay and the perfect position to protect him. So I really, really need this to work. And if I have to fight and move like a drunken snail so that no one finds out that I’m the son of a God- which would just bring the exact kind of attention I’m trying to avoid- then that’s what I’ll do. - No offense.”

His breathing was a bit ragged after that literal word vomit, but at least he had explained mostly everything now and could die in the aftermath of his own embarrassing rambling. Percy ducked his head low, ears and face and neck burning. All the blood rushing through his head made him slightly dizzy. Waiting until the hammer fell in form of his father’s reaction was actually worse than being called out directly.

The demigod had not expected to be feeling that jittery while he waited for the god of the sea to do or say something.

When it finally came, it was in the form of a quiet and serious question.

“You- You really like this boy, don’t you?”, Poseidon asked with an unreadable tone and Percy lifted his head to at least get a read on his expression. The King of Atlantis looked thoughtful and serene, maybe caught in some memories? At least it wasn’t furious, angry or disappointed. (Or mocking. He did not know how he could have survived being mocked right now. His feelings were way too intense for that.)

But his father’s question was as easy to answer as swimming was: “Yes. He is one of the most important people to me. Seeing him again is the reason for me being here.” Even with all the confusing feelings surrounding the prince of Ithaca, Percy knew for sure that he wanted to see Telemachus at any cost. To speak with him again. To share his thoughts and mind and be received with open arms and a smile.

Yeah, Percy wanted his Dream-Boy back.

Urgently.

(And if the flutter in his belly and the jitter in his bones meant there was something else hidden underneath all the fondness and happiness of being friends witch such an amazing boy…let’s just say that Sally Jackson and Greek mythology had raised him to be pretty open-minded).

While he watched his father process his answer, nodding slightly at each word, not surprised but also not judging, the demigod came back to a question that had burned in the back of his mind since the start of the day. Maybe now was finally the time to ask it. (And it would be a good opportunity to evade teasing for now. Distraction worked a lot more often than people thought).  

“Actually, Dad…I’m curious.”, began Percy with a tilted head after enough time had passed, “Why haven’t you asked me again how I managed to vanish and where I’ve been? Not that I want you to ask that! But…I expected you to be a bit more insistent…If that makes sense?”

Poseidon hummed pensively, before focusing his glowing eyes on his son. After watching him for a few silent moments, the god of the sea then spoke: “The Fates called for a council meeting the second your presence came back into our world. They were…very insistent about all of us attending immediately and then revealed how your thread was at first woven into another part of their canvas that they had yet to work on. They did not spell it out, but most of us know what that means… A few wanted to question you immediately, but Lachesis threatened, quite effectively, to make the lives of all of our still unborn children miserable and short, should we consider doing something like this.” A small smiled played around the edges of his expression, showing that his father was partly annoyed and party proud of their interference regarding Percy’s (and the future’s) protection. One of the god’s tentacles slowly crawled over his calf, engulfing it in warmth, but the young man didn’t mind. He was much more invested to hear the rest of Poseidon’s words.

The god continued with an absentminded face: “The Fates aren’t usually so invested in a mortal’s life, so the council decided to let it rest for now. But even despite that decision, the Moira made every god and goddess present swear on the Styx to not ask question about your…situation. Our freedom and access to you are not restricted, so maybe expect someone else to drop in or mess with you from time to time. And remember that just because we cannot ask, does not mean you could not slip up yourself.”

That warning set itself deep inside Percy’s mind and he vowed not to forget it. Being careful when dealing with gods was already important before, but now it became even more pressing. If his divine family wanted to get information about the future without being allowed to ask, there was no telling with what schemes they could come up with.

While the demigod mused over the words, Poseidon was not yet done with his report. He scoffed: “Anyway, Zeus, of course, demanded an explanation as to why you were allowed to dabble in our father’s domain this freely and the Fates’ answer might interest you. Atropos was adamant that you are no threat to our pantheon in any way and that your presence here is their reward for all the things you accomplished under their guidance and for the better of us all. I dared not ask for more specifics, but it is obvious that you fought hard and long to receive such a blessing. The Fates are seldom this generous.”

That was indeed interesting. Because while the Moira themselves had not helped him get back, they also did not stop him, and their words had given him the hope to try in the end. Why those old ladies didn’t simply tell him how to get back (if this was to be a reward) was beyond his comprehension, but there was for sure some garbled reason.

Maybe something about free will and decisions of humans or whatever it was that made mortals much more flexible in their lives and happiness than gods. Either way, Percy didn’t really care for the convoluted thoughts of the three ladies. He was here. He did not have another Prophecy hanging over his head, and his main goal for now was to get a spot in the palace guard.

What a normal plan for once, he mused.

And maybe he also wanted to get to know his divine family better. Now that they were actually allowed to be part of his life. (Percy would have set the goal to change that stupid rule, but the fact that it had remained in his youth was proof he would fail anyway, so why even try? It was already done).

Poseidon obviously agreed with his silent sentiment, because the god leaned a bit closer to Percy and caught his gaze before saying seriously: “In the end, I do not care for their shenanigans and plans. I’m just glad for this second chance to get to know you. I will listen to everything you’d want to share about what lies ahead, but I am much more curious about you. About the person you are. What makes you laugh and what makes you rage. What inspired you and where your passions lie. I want to know my son. And not the hero you surely are, or whatever deeds you did to bring me honour. All of that can happen someday else. For now, you are more important to me.”

Those words made something gentle and warm bloom in his chest. A connection built between father and son as they looked each other in the eye, searching for insincerity or deception, but only finding twin emotions of hope and fondness. And love. An Emotion so great it survived time and space. Something so inherent of life, that Percy felt his whole being expand upon receiving this kind of attention from his father. Finally. Fully. After all this time of hope and wonder.

No more Zeus coming in the way, no ancient rules stopping them from interacting or speaking. They could actually build a connection, a relationship. Like a real family.

Even if that family came with teasing. A twitch in the corner of Poseidon’s mouth was the only warning Percy got, before the god grunted amused: “Well…Seems like I know one passion already.” He gave the demigod a look that spoke more than a thousand words. But his father still found it necessary to groan: “But Percy, did it have to be the son of that pesky Odysseus?”

Through the hearty laugh of the god, his son’s head grew hot like the sun, blood flushing his cheeks and a look of utter, horrifying betrayal and embarrassment passing over his cheeks. With the flick of his finger, the demigod sent a yet of cold water in his father nose, making the king of Atlantis splutter for a second.

Percy used the break to try and find words: “Telemachus is just…just…” He had tried to say something witty, but thinking of his friend softened him immediately, making it hard to find words other than the honest truth.

With a deep and longing sigh, he whispered painfully sincere: “Yeah… it had to be him. He’s it, Dad. And, I think…it will be him for… I guess until he grows tired of me?”

Speaking words this clearly only emphasized the magnitude of his feelings.

The son of Poseidon was caught inside his own head for a while, trying to shift through the myriad of memories and butterflies.

Yeah, Telemachus was it for him.

A fact that Poseidon seemed to realize as well, making him give a bone-wary sigh. The god crossed his arms and grimace a small pout when he grumbled: “I hope for his sake that he proves worthy of your devotion.”

Percy instantly zeroed in on his father, brows furrowed, and body coiled. Tense and ready for action. “Don’t threaten him.”, he hissed harshly and then added for good measure: “If you make me chose, you won’t like the outcome. And please don’t talk about Odysseus that way again. He is my friend.”

Poseidon lost some of his cool as well, the sea around them beginning to churn, but as soon as the currents had drawn up, the god already got his emotions back under control. His eyes were sharp and calculated as he said: “I don’t want to argue with you, so I will let the topic of that man rest for now… As much as I want to hear more about your…friend, that Telemachus, I think it is time to sleep now. Tomorrow, we will hunt.”

That ended the discussion indefinitely, but Percy was actually glad about it. He did not want their first day to end on a bad note, and if he remembered correctly, there would come a time for a confrontation between his two…male guardians anyway. No need to rush it now.

Notes:

Who wanted Percy and Poseidon bonding? ;P

Who wanted Percy being a simpy little baby seal?

You got it both in this! XD Let me know what you think!

Suggestions, questions, thoughts and feelings are always welcomed and appreciated :)

Chapter 8: What do you kill for?

Notes:

Here we are!
This chapters marks a bit of a tone change, I guess? Be advised about the rating again.

TW: Talk about SA/rape

Enjoy ;P

Hunting monsters with the god of the sea was the single most pleasant way PERCY had ever met some of them.

The whole day they spent racing from shore to shore, on the prowl for a lone pack of hellhounds or a few Telchines, reminded the demigod a lot of the farming in single shooter games he had played when he was younger. Easy picking of easy targets to gain experience and get rewards. Because the monsters he faced were exactly that: easy pickings. None of them was even remotely a challenge for Percy to dispose of, making both father and son start to bet about how quickly he could do it and be back in the water. It became more fun after that, driving the demigod to do steadily more difficult manoeuvres or use his powers in creative ways just to decrease the time.

Riptide sung a lot that day and the son of Poseidon was exhilarated to not have to hold back for once, going for deadly attacks or lethal traps more often as time moved on. The strain using those caused was exactly the kind of exercise he had been craving.

After half a day of low-level monsters, his dad grew a bit bored, and they decided to tackle an opponent slightly bigger. Without even mentioning it, Percy knew that Cyclops and Laestrygonians would not be on today’s menu (simple because not all of them were bad in this time apparently? Or all of them held his father’s favor). But there was a big and mean sea serpent terrorizing one of the outer posts of Atlantis that the king wanted disposed. So who better to task with it than the bloodthirsty demigod craving to prove himself?

Percy’s fight against the serpent took way longer, but most of that time was because Poseidon found it incredibly funny to send little currents his way to mess with his balance or speed, giving the monster more opportunities to attack and forcing the young man on the defensive. At first, he was frustrated with his fathee, but he soon learned to adapt and anticipate certain interceptions, making it slightly easier to change his own pattern and finally, after like half an hour or so, he killed the beast with a decisive stab in the eye. Seeing the serpent burst into golden dust was satisfying as Hades and settled the gnawing doubt in the demigod’s heart for good.

He could still take monsters.

The day was far advanced by that time and Poseidon was needed back in court, so they saw each other off with a loose hug that felt like warmth and home (and doused him in the smell of salted caramel for at least half a week) before his father pointed him in the direction of Ithaca’s coast.

On the way back, Percy ran into Judy and Thais again and they played catch until the beach was on the horizon.

-

Turned out that vanishing for two days to have bonding time with the god that fathered Percy mad his friends nervous and high strung until the young man was back in their eyesight.

Granted, after the experience all of them had with Poseidon before, it was only logical to be worried about his bloodthirsty and resentful attitude. And it was also understandable that none of them believed Percy when he summed up their weekend as playful banter and therapeutic monster slaying. At least they stopped watching his every movement after all of them (individually) had made sure there were no wounds or injuries on him.

All of his friend acted like mother hens when he returned to the inn, to the great amusement of the few patrons, as well as Chares and Nikias, who took over the service while Telesophorus was distracted.

To Percy’s great surprise, another familiar face waited for his return. Hygnius took over the inspection for his bodily wellbeing immediately (of course) all the while his snug in a few hugs disguised as palpitation of his ribs, but the demigod did not call him out on it.

Elpenor and Perimedes could not stay long, having been given the night’s watch by the harbour, but both soldiers said how happy they were to have him back and that they could resume their training tomorrow morning, earning them a great sigh of aggravation from the young man.

Together with Zeno and Hyginus, Percy took residence at a table near the bar (so that they were to chat with Telesophorus when the man wasn’t in the kitchen). He learned that the medic had been filled in about everything they had previously discussed, making it easier to find a relaxed rhythm in the following conversations.

When he was asked in more detail about his time with his father (everyone avoided any other name or description of the god like the plague, only naming his relation to Percy or calling him barnacle beard – which the youngest found hilarious-), the talk turned once more toward training and the preparation for the contest.

Percy lamented about how he would need to start at zero again because of his relapse into old patterns during his time in the sea and the demigod felt his motivation sink to rock bottom. He contemplated throwing the towel and just try to sneak into the palace to see his Dream-Boy, when Zeno huffed unimpressed while taking a big swing from his wine.

“If you’ve got trouble keeping it down, why not give yourself a handicap? A blindfold maybe? Or binding an arm to your torso? Have you ever tried fight with the other hand? Could be a nice challenge for a few days.”, the dressmaker suggested, obviously joking, but his words were taking quite serious by the other two.

Percy’s eyes became wide in wonder as Hyginus hummed thoughtfully, his gaze slipping to Riptide (in ring form) and his steel sword. “That is actually a very good idea.”, the medic proposed, “You have two swords, why not learn fighting with both at the same time? You’ve got the strength and coordination. It may feel like starting from scratch at first, but it could be an advantage if others underestimate you.”

That last part made the young men perk up, forehead creasing as he analysed the tone of his friend: “What do you mean?”

“Your constant presence in the arena has been noted.”, Hyginus said with a telling tilt of his head, “Even I have heard rumours from guards inside the palace about some young upstart wasting his time, trying to learn how to swing a sword. He is said to be so slow that even a child would beat him.”

Humiliations rose inside Percy, burning through his chest and throat up into his head. He gritted his teeth harshly and the mug in his hand cracked. It took all his restraint to not shatter the hardened clay completely. Those words would have been devastating for his confidence, if he hadn’t spent a few days with his father, proving to himself that he was still strong and capable.

“We know it’s bullshit.”, Zeno grunted, his eyes showed clearly that the older soldier had noticed his reaction, “But Hyginus may be right. Learning to fight with your weak hand can be a goal worth pursuing for you and still generates an image of mediocrity for others to fall for. No one will clock you. And once the contest starts, the others are arrogant and ripe for picking.” To underline his words, the older man plucked a grape from the table between them and threw it into his mouth.

The candle in their table flickered, throwing ominous shadows while Percy mulled that plan over. It was a quick calculation that led him to an easy decision. Just the thought of slowing himself down deliberately one more day was torture, but the idea of expanding his skillset on the other hand…

The demigod clenched his left fist experimentally.

Time to start training for real.

-

Now that Percy knew he was being watched, being judged, being gossiped about, he felt the stares the second he stepped into the arena with Perimedes. The walk through the city had not been very different. Only few people were up this early, mainly women or younger girls on the way to one of the fountains or springs to wash clothes (the demigod had originally wanted to refuse when Telesophorus came to collect his laundry for his sister to wash, but after the man had explained that laundry was one of the only reasons for social gatherings amongst women, he had bitten his tongue and gave up his clothes). It was horrible how restricted some people were just because they had different genitals, but as of now, there was little Percy could do but treat the women as his mother had taught him.

With respect, reverence and kindness.

Which was why he instantly helped when a women lost her grip on the basket in her hands as they passed her on the streets. Before the fabrics could spill onto the dirty street, Percy already caught the container with one hand and his knee, while the other fetched a chiton that was drifting to the ground. He collected everything quickly and made sure the woman was okay, before giving her the basket back and leaving with a respectful nod. Perimedes didn’t say anything, but his gaze spoke loud enough.

And Percy did not care one iota that he was acting strange or unusual. Not in this instance.

-   

The arena was still quite empty, but there were a few more people than last time. Most likely because the contest was in two weeks. The demigod tried to ignore the many eyes on himself when he followed Perimedes in his warmup jog around the perimeter. He had told his friend that he would change his sword hands for the foreseeable future and to please not make a big deal out of it (or laugh too hard when he would inevitably fumble with it).

Fighting with the sword in his left hand felt…strange. Not wrong per se, but definitely weird and offbeat. They started with the same slow movements as last week, but this time, Percy was thankful for every extra second he got to correct his grip or stance to accommodate the new angle he had to take to deflect strikes. More than once, he sat the wrong foot first and then needed to duck ungainly to avoid being hit.

It wasn’t challenging physically (except for his wrist, who was unused to the new movement and hurt fiercely after two hours) but Percy’s brain had to work overtime to accommodate the change in pace and rhythm. His reflexes were still great, but so trimmed to react to a right-handed attack or defence, that they sometimes led him right in the path of the oncoming strike, and not out of it.

Perimedes was kind enough not to comment, but he also wasn’t gentle, pushing the younger man further and further, not pausing or giving him time to doubt his decision. The result wasn’t great that first day and his body was littered with little cuts and darkening bruises he could have avoided easily, if the demigod hadn’t been so focused on getting his left arm to cooperate. But one dip into the sea and Percy was as good as new (not that he would be able to do that very often, now that he was watched by the other trainees, but the energy boost was desperately needed today).

Percy was more than tired after that and locked himself into his room for the rest of the evening, paging through his photo album and feeling bittersweet melancholy. After going down for a quick meal, he began writing his first letter to his Mom. He did not send it immediately. It wouldn’t make any difference for the future, and he was too exhausted to deal with a godly visit right now. Maybe after the contest he could send a few letters at once?

-

The next two days passed in a similar fashion, but at the end of them, Percy at least felt like he had made some progress. He could hold onto his sword now without being disarmed every second spar and his wrist had grown used to the rotation and weigh of his weapon. The spars were still slow, but more evenly paced and with every passing hour, the demigod’s movements became more fluent and refined. He was on a very good path to be ambidextrous someday. Even considering his stamina and dedication, it was utopian to expect him to master it in a few, short weeks completely.

He would need to switch hands again for the contest. Just to make sure he would really win.

Either way, Percy also used his time in the arena to observe his future opponents (if all of them joined anyway). Most of them were mediocre at best and probably 90% could’ve been beaten by every demigod in Camp Half-Blood, but for mortals who had not seen war, a few indeed showed promise.

But a group of three men in dark chitons and with ragged beards was not among those promising.

All of them had darker skin and darker hair, and their jeers echoed across the space in a subtle show of dominance. The thing that drew Percy’s attention the most was the fact that they were smart. It was obvious that they were here to observe instead of training and the way they sparred lackluster with each other only underlined it. Not one of them showed their true strength or skill. Percy recognized the drawn shoulders and tense wrists for the same restraint he had tried to show at first.

The unknown proficiency made them a tick more dangerous than everyone else in the arena, but the demigod was not overly anxious. Their footwork was trash, relying too heavy on strength and one good push would make them topple over like dominos. No matter how weak they tried to appear, the patterns in their movements were too constant to be show.

So, it wasn’t the possible danger they posed that captured Percy’s focus, it was what left their mouths in mocking sneers.

And it made him want to drown them all.

Slowly. Painfully.

And this time, he wouldn’t fear feeling their last moments. He would relish in it.

“I’ve got our first payment this morning. It’s an encouragement to stick to the plan.”, the man with startling blue eyes (that contrasted harshly with his skin and hair, making him look like some kind of ghost) mumbled a bit more subdued, but still loud enough for Percy to hear.

The demigod was just going through another step sequence. His back was to the three men, but an inconspicuous look revealed the smarmy smirks of the other two.

A man with a high and squeaky voice tittered in response: “Those suitors sure have money and time enough. Lazy pricks.” One quick glance showed that he was the tallest and thinnest of the bunch, like a weed.

The third man answered with a thick accent that slurred his words nearly unrecognizable: “As if you wouldn’t take the opportunity to wine and dine on the crown’s cost while having the nicest ass in all of Ithaca dangling in front of your face all the time.”

“Whose are we talking about? The prince’s or his stuck-up bitch of a mother’s?”, the Ghost answered jeeringly, an unmistakable hunger in his voice.  

Percy’s muscles locked up instantly. The warmth in his chest filled his whole body in seconds, the gushing of the ocean became louder and louder, even though they were miles away from the sea. Or maybe it was the blood that suddenly ran unbearable hot through his veins.

Calling, enticing him to let loose.

He wanted to turn around and pummel them into the ground, not even caring if it were with his fists or swords or their own teeth. Seeing their disgusting blood wet the dirt would be the most satisfying thing ever. And it would be deserved.

The sky above darkened sinisterly and the only thing holding the demigod back for now was the indecision on how to make them eat their words most effectively.

There were so many weapons at his disposal. The waterskins on their belts, the sweat on their backs, the spittle catching in their mouths-

His senses heightened and the thrum of power inside him let him feel the liquid inside their bodies moving sluggishly. Percy just needed to yank and-    

“Both good. But I like mine juicy and young. So you can keep the Queen.”, came the answer flippant answer from the accented one. His teeth were crooked and more than three were missing, causing his slurred speech. He was small and fat. The perfect punching bag size.

The demigod felt the first drop of rain hit his cheek, soaking up directly into his skin. He did not even notice that he had stopped moving until Perimedes was directly in his face, eyes wide and terrified. His friend gently gripped his left wrist, the one with the sword and held on tightly.

It wouldn’t even be an effort to rip himself free.

But Percy didn’t want to hurt his friend, so he refrained, his brain still lagging behind a bit.

There were no thoughts in him. Just feelings and pictures of mayhem and bloodshed.

Perimedes said something, his face drawn together tightly and his pupils blown wide. Percy could see the sea-green blaze of his own eyes reflected in the brown irises of his friend. Bright and dangerous.

The only words reaching him were the ones of Squeaky, the weedy tall one. “Did you hear that she refused to be touched by anyone since the king left? She must be dripping for a man.”, he said, sealing his fate and drawing the strings of their immanent death tighter.

There would be no second chances.

But somehow, Percy’s body remained frozen, caught up in his own morbid need to hear the end of their conversation. If this was a plan to hurt his Telemachus, the demigod had to know it.

“For sure. It’s no wonder the suitors are so pent up.”, that was hideous-teeth guy.

Ghost cackled and the metallic sound of a sword being sharpened sliced the air: “As long as it’s loosening their pockets, I am fine with that. Once we’re in the guard, they will pay good money for a bit of alone time with the servants.”

Not one of the three noticed that the sky had turned an eerie green, collecting clouds and sending a slicing wind through the arena. The sea roared louder, their blood moved faster. Just a little. Just to make them sweat. Just to make him feel more in control.

“Or with the prince. I heard he never leaves his room anyway. No one would notice him having visitors.”

“And it’s not like he could even do anything but take it. That one isn’t a warrior at all. Bet he is getting wrecked regularly by the suitors anyway. You think he’s loud?”

They would die.

Their Fate was sealed. Atropos could cut their strings right now.

Because even if they somehow, by a miracle (or godly intervention), survived his wrath and hate today, their vile and loathsome words would never be forgotten. And not even Chaos himself would be able to save them. They would die by his hands. If not today, then at the contest, in front of those they had mocked and jeered and disgraced. He would give his prince their heads, their deaths a sacrifice to his Dream-Boy’s wholesome being, only worthy of being worshiped by those who had proven themselves to him.  

Percy would drench the sand with their blood and make them weep in agony for every word they had ever spoken, before cutting them into tiny pieces to feed the pigs. Their deaths would be a massage, an example of the future to all those who would dare to raise a hand or abominable words against those he loved. He would become a mirror of his father. Ruthless. Without mercy.

For those men, he would be the monster. Ripping. Tearing. Killing.

And he would enjoy it.

…

The sky was pitch black. Thunder boomed.

Faint screams reached the edge of his awareness.

Rain came crashing down like a tidal wave, wetting everything thoroughly in seconds.

The demigod felt the raw power of the water rush through his veins. There was no stopping him. He turned around, stretching, clawing for the warm feeling of pulsing, red, live-sustaining-

“Percy!” The cry came together with a sharp sting on his cheek. The son of Poseidon reeled back, blinking, before recognizing the face in front of him.

Perimedes. A friend.

A terrified friend, eyes full of horror and shaking with his whole body, but still standing, still by his side.   

“You need to leave!”, he called in desperation, pointing toward the harbor. Percy felt his prey slip away with the rest of the crowd, down the city, to escape the storm. His storm. But the warm pulse of their blood was like a beacon, letting him feel where exactly they were running. He easily could-

“You'll drown all of Ithaca! Think of Telemachus. Go!”

.

Telemachus.

.

Telemachus - My Dream-Boy.

The warmth lost some of its painful burning intensity. Percy breathed deeply, fighting against the crashing waves of his wrath, wrangling it back for a moment.

His Prince was still here. Still waiting.

Waiting for him to show up.

Nothing bad had happened yet. (Hopefully)

Please let nothing have happened yet. Let him be save and sound.

Killing the rats right now would not help anything but give him more problems and headaches. He needed to be patient. Needed to see his Dream-Boy first. Make sure he was safe. That their future together was set in stone. And then, then he could-

Perimedes was right. Percy needed to leave. Right now. Because for all his logic, the emotions churning through him were too big to be contained forever. They needed an outlet. Soon. Something would be destroyed by his powers for sure, and it couldn’t be Ithaca.

Without wasting another second, the demigod whirled around and raced through the street. He didn’t care about who saw him when he reached the coast and threw himself into the water, directing the currents to take him away as fast as possible.

When he felt the coldness and darkness of the deeper waters, Percy finally let go.

The ocean exploded.

Notes:

Well. We met the rats...

Who cannot wait for the contest like me? ;P

 

Suggestions, questions, thoughts and feelings are always welcomed and appreciated :)

Next update: Tuesday, the 29th of July.

Chapter 9: What do you fight for?

Notes:

Who wants destruction, death and violence?

TW: Destruction, Death and Violence

Enjoy XD

It was PERCY’s father who found him in the end.

But only after the demigod had already destroyed a deserted and half-dead coral reef in his rage. Chunks of ripped apart stone and dead biological mater swirled in the water around him, which was tinged grey from the stirred-up sand. A crater of the size of a ship was torn in the ground, cracking the ocean floor like a spiderweb. And while most of his initial fury had retreated behind his other feelings of disgust and fear and aggression, the mix of power and emotion was still boiling high in his blood.

No living soul dared to venture closer. Percy had felt them all swim away frantically in the back of his mind before he let the first wave of unlimited anger rip out of him. But now, panting and still very much dangerous, the god of the Sea didn’t hesitate to materialize next to his son.

Poseidon had obviously forgone any plan to look even remotely mortal when he’d felt the sea ripple and strain under his son’s influence. The deity’s upper body loosely came together in two arms and a chest, while fins and scaled covered the skin in a glowing canvas of blues and greens. His head was covered in black spikes, only showing the two deep, shining holes of his eyes. But it was the lower half of the god that was truly different than normal, because everything under the belt took the form of a mighty hippocampus, including hooves and tail (all equally spikey), swishing agitated and causing minor whirlpools. The King of Atlantis was massive, not even trying to reduce his form as he loomed over his demigod child.    

“Perseus.”, addressed the dark voice Percy, sending shiver and chills down his spine, but not breaking him out of his emotional turmoil. The deliberate use of his full name tingled a dark part in his brain, that preened at being recognized as a destroyer right now.

His father saw him for what he truly was. And was not judging him for it.

The demigod tilted is head, but wasn’t able to move his muscles anymore without releasing the second wave of destruction that was boiling in his bones. His rage had not yet cooled enough to give the reigns back to reason. It still resided to deeply in his heart.   

“Are you back to yourself?”, asked Poseidon calmly, moving around him in a protective embrace, shielding the young man with his ginormous body.

Percy unclenched his jaw to let out a guttural hiss: “No.”

The statement vibrated through the water unopposed for a moment, until the god breathed in deeply. His teeth were sharp and dangerous when he gave his son an understanding smile that was neither gentle nor soft, but pure intent: “I see. I will get you somewhere to let lose.”

In the blink of an eye, the demigod was swished away by the sea, pulled along the currents at a neck breaking pace that only soothed his need to move (-to do something-) somewhat. Percy lost track of what part of the ocean they were in after a few seconds, concentrating on the supernova in his chest to not implode immediately. He still had a mental tracker on those rats and the pumping of their blood made his teeth ache.

He needed to stop their hearts, needed to bleed them dry and watch the life leave their eyes to be sure that they were never able to touch-

Percy forcefully slammed that thought away, focusing on the warm water around him as his father reached whatever he had been aiming for. The sea felt as empty as before, all aquatic life had deserted this part as soon as they had smelled his rage in the water. To only alive things around them were-  

“Those ships belong to slave traders. They didn’t offered anything for a save passage or paid tribute to me. I thought you might appreciate a target that reacts to their deserved destruction.”, explained Poseidon with a sharp grin as he pointed to the three keels above them. People were moving around on the vessels, the liquid in their bodies clearly marking their existence in Percy’s eyes. He zeroed in on them like a predator watching his prey. Drool pooled in his mouth as he imagined tearing the wood apart and sinking those other disgusting humans.

Yes, slave traders may deserve the toned-down version of his anger. But there were also…

“The slaves.”, he gritted out, head swivelling from the ships to his father, pleading. The Stormbringer rolled his eyes in an exaggerated gesture before sighing deeply. He waved his clawed limbs in playful annoyance before answering his son: “Will be spared if you wish it.” He sounded a bit like a child who was asked to clean up after his playtime.

It made a sliver of amusement rise under all of the hate and fury. The demigod demanded his compliance with a simple: “Yes.” and ignored the next eyeroll. Poseidon then drew back a bit, giving Percy room and space to work with. 

“Very well, I’ll take care of it.”, the god conceded and then added, with a darker voice full of anticipation: “You can let go now.”

And Percy did.

All the rage and hate and disgust exploded into a whirlpool of ripping waves that would’ve made even Charybdis jealous. Gaining speed and volume, the rushing water nearly drowned out the panicked screams of the humans, as the sky turned black and green, unleashing a stormy hail that gave the chaos a rhythmic background beat.

Percy was reminded of the first storm he had witnessed in Greece and how trying to control it had felt like conducting. The same experience, now only a hundred times stronger, made the demigod raise his arms in a command, silent and intense.

Waves crashed, water build, rain poured. People screamed and pleaded and cried, while wood chipped and creaked ominously, as the sheer pressure of the storm began to rip at the ships, making them sway and turn like little ducks in a bathtub with a toddler.

And Percy enjoyed being the toddler in that metaphor.

With the knowledge and trust that his father would save all innocent slaves, the demigod lifted the lid from his boiling powers, letting the warmth and burning pull swarm his mind. His body a mere conductor for the divine might of the sea, he let himself be pushed along with the storm. The currents carried him safely from one tidal wave to another and Percy made sure to inflict as much damage as possible each time, throwing the ships against one another until one mast broke and fell into the sea with a deep splash.

A body followed shortly after.

The first time it happened, Percy stopped immediately. Hanging in a limbo between one wave and the next, his eyed found the thrashing person, fighting against the sea pulling him down. Pain shot through his heart like a spike and the young man instantly called for the ocean to help the person, to lift him up to the surface.

Then he saw the whip on his belt. Crusted over with dried blood. His guilt vanished.

“You will save all the slaves and everyone under the age of twenty.”

Percy did not recognize his voice as he addressed his father. It was far deeper and had a weird vibrating quality to it that made his brain rattle. And was he speaking louder? Or was that an echo? Poseidon did not seem concerned, even as his grin turned a bit sharper. His Hippocampus-tail swatted the demigod’s head, leaving a sting behind. The massive head of the god bowed down to him, growling into his ear: “Do not talk to me like that. I may comply for now, but you will ask next time. I am not a god who’s bossed around by a baby seal.”

The insult and threat both lost a lot of seriousness when Poseidon ruffled his hair with a warm little wave, before drawing his gaze back to the ships, where more people were thrown overboard by the stormy tides. Percy indeed saw how a few were plucked away from the debris by invisible water-hands and then disposed of on the surface outside of his hurricane and in the swimming distance of an island.

While he returned to causing mayhem and chaos, the demigod was a bit more himself again and used the few braincells he had to direct the broken mast into the ex-slaves’ way. It would be stupid to expect all of them knew how to swim.

After his conscience was appeased, Percy had no more reason to stop his storm from raging and ripping the ships apart. He lost himself in the feeling of water and waves, pulling on his hair and clothes and his very essence to become part of them. And he somehow did. With closed eyes, the demigod immerged himself in the feeling of rising with the tide, of surfing on the currents and of crashing with the pressure of thousand gallons of saltwater. It was his hand that ripped apart planks and mast, his teeth that tore through sails and the rare chunk of metal, and his breath that swallowed the crying mortals down into the abyss.

When Percy came back to himself, his raging wrath was settled, his breath came in exhausted puffs and the world slowly came back into the right focus. His father was still a looming presence above him, but he was no longer alone. When the young man’s eyes finally felt like they were back in his skull, he blinked a few times, confused.

Because beside his father was a figure he recognized (and was only half surprised to see. They had messed with her domain after all).

Kymopoleia, Goddess of violent storms, eyed him up with thinly veiled curiosity. Her jellyfish hair mixed with Poseidon’s black strands as the daughter turned to her father, arms crossed and lips drawn into a pout. “That looked like fun!”, she said accusatory, “Why wasn’t I invited?”

-

Percy was too tired to listen to the excuse his dad invented to appease his half-sister. He was spent, exhausted in body and mind, which was finally, blessedly quiet. He only closed his eyes for what felt like a minute, but when he awoke in their little cave deep in the trench, time had passed and Poseidon was absent, having only left him a little note, engraved in a flat stone slap by the entrance.

My dear son,

You have been asleep for quite some time. I am needed back in court, but Kymopoleia has agreed to check in on you regularly and make sure you do not lose substance. I called upon my physician to make sure you are simply exhausted after that tremendous display of power and control, and he said that after a bit of rest, you would recover completely.
I would’ve taken you with me to Atlantis, but I was unsure whether that was something you’d be okay with and did not want to risk your ire.
You are, of course, welcome to join us at any time. You only need to follow the call of the seashells; it will lead you straight here.
It might be better for you to return to the surface for now. Your friends have started to pray to me, and it becomes bothersome. Please assure them you are alive first.
I hope you will wake up in time for your contest. Kym should have left some indication of time’s passing, if she isn’t there with you.  

I really enjoyed our little outing. Know that those you were determined to save have reached an island.

I will await you in Atlantis, Percy. Please do not make me wait forever.

In Love,
Dad.  

Oh, and I left you your spoils from our hunt last time. My best smith made leather armor befitting of a prince out of the sea serpent’s skin you slew. Please wear it at your discretion. 

Still groggy and not quite in control of his senses, it took Percy longer than normal to understand all of the words and their meaning. But when he finally got them together, his heart sank to the bottom of the trench. He looked around frantically, searching for another message and not finding anything at first glance.

How long was he out?

Their little lair gave no indication in itself, the corals and anemones shone colorful and slightly luminescent, tinting the space in a soft light. The cozy pillows and blankets in the corner were undisturbed, as was the table and little shelf. The only new thing was the bed he had rested in, and the armor stand by the entrance, easy to reach but hidden enough to not be in direct view from the trench.

On it, there was the most beautiful armor Percy had ever laid his eyes on. Seeing as the serpent had had turquoise skin, it was to be expected that the majority of the armor would be of the same color, but that didn’t mean the demigod wasn’t amazed by it. The breast plate was made from different pieces, fitted together like scales and outlined by bronze-golden applications. The color scheme continued in the arm and shin guards, as well as the shoulder pads. The armor glimmered in the water, catching the light fetchingly on the scale-pattern. It looked like an ancient treasure, expensive and royal in make. Like something a king would wear, not dear-old-Percy.

In all his wonder, the demigod nearly forgot his original worry about time, until his foot caught on a rocky stone halfway down to the entrance. He looked down and saw five other stones in a perfectly even line that had not been here before, and a sharp metal plate leaning against the wall. The writing on it was a different scripture, sharper and smaller, chaotic and hard to read. Luckily there wasn’t much.

I am mortally offended!
You'll find a way to make it up to me, brother! I expect a proper apology for the cruel exclusion from such a great hurricane. (We could create so much mayhem together, sweet child…) And a thank you for my effort of watching over you! I will not forget this, so you better won’t as well.   

The pure dramatic aura the whole message excluded settled the churning in his gut a bit. If Kymopoleia was in the mood to write something like this instead of cursing him, it meant she was most likely just looking for attention and recognition. Something Percy was very willing to give to his half-sister. But not now, because the five stones could either mean days or weeks and if he had missed his chance of seeing Telemachus, Percy would accept his sister’s invitation to another vent-session immediately.

But all hope was not yet lost. If five days had passed, he still had a chance to make it to the contest. Depending on the time, he may have a few more hours to get back to Ithaca and compete.

Or the contest had already begun, but that was truly the worst-case scenario.

Percy had never swum faster. Propelled forward by the waves and guided through the currents, he made for Ithaca. On his way, he was even able to hitch a ride from a very friendly pack of dolphins, who chittered happily and allowed him to hold on to their fins and raced each other the be faster. The demigod had no idea what time it was, but when he came up to the beach it was late morning and the sun had not reached its highest point yet. Hope bloomed in his chest.

The demigod shook off the last remaining water drops and rushed over the golden beach, making it in record time to the outskirts of the city, only slowing down enough to not look like a maniac as he jogged through the mostly deserted streets. Percy felt his heart speed up when he found the inn empty and locked, meaning his friends were already on their way to the palace arena, where the contest was being held.

Without further ado, the boy dashed up the streets toward the palace gates. He wasn’t sure where exactly the arena was located, but as soon as he saw the stone walls surrounding the grounds, a steady stream of chattering people pointed him in the right direction. There was no rush among them for now, giving Percy enough time to easily slip through the cluster of men and woman talking excitingly.

The arena was impossible to miss, as after a few bends, the tall sandstone building rose above the green treetops. It resembled a small Colosseum with its circular structure and entrances on several sides. A small stone plaque announced that participants should use the southernmost entrance and have their registration ready.

Percy’s heart stopped. He could not remember that Perimedes or Elpenor had mentioned something of a registry. Blood rushing through his ears, the demigod stumbled around the arena toward the south entrance.

Maybe he could sneak in somehow? Fake a name? Should he hope his friends were not yet here and use one of their names? But what if they asked questions he couldn’t answer?    

His panic proved to be unfounded, because between all the buff and half naked guys standing in line to be let in, Percy saw the telltale sight of two breast plates stamped with the sigil of the Ithacan army. On the ship of Odysseus, they were found countless times, but only a few possessed the original nowadays. Especially here.

After pushing between two growling men posturing in an embarrassing display of forced masculinity Percy could only role his eyes at, the demigod indeed got a look at his two soldier friends, standing in line with grim faces, looking around searchingly, but hopeless.

“I’m here!”, the son of Poseidon gasped out of breath as he skidded to a stop by their side, hands on his knees and fighting against the dizziness and his burning lungs.

“Percy!”, Perimedes called with audible relief, clapping him soothingly on the back and rubbing his arms. Elpenor came into view with a big jug of water he offered the young man while saying: “We nearly gave up hope. Do you have your equipment?”

The demigod tapped the steel sword at his belt before he took the water, sipped two times and then doused himself with the cool liquid. He felt his muscles relax immediately and the warmth in his chest hummed contently.

Seeing as he just came out of a days long restorative sleep and a long swim in the ocean, the small boost was enough to get him to nearly 100% capacity again. Not that Percy thought he would need it all in this contest, but it was always better to be overprepared.

When he raised his eyes, he saw Perimedes grimace: “No armor? That could be rough. If you had said something-“

“The bigger problem is that I have no registration. Didn’t know we needed one.”, the son of Poseidon interrupted. He was honestly not really worried about the missing armor. He didn’t plan to fight like he had in the spars. No point in holding back here (except to not go for the kill, that was against the rules as Zeno had told him once). He would use both his stronger hand and all the reflexes his divine blood had given him. It was pretty unlikely that one of the mortals would be able to actually harm him, and if they did, it would be more for show than anything else. He had a Queen to impress after all (but not so much that she could suspect something was different about him, so maybe he would need to pace himself after all).

That was, if he even was permitted to participate without being enrolled.

But his friends saved him once more when Elpenor pulled a crumbled bit of parchment from behind his breastplate. He grinned at the demigod: “They opened it two days ago. We've taken the liberty to register you. Your father is unknown, but your mother is one of Zeno's numerous nieces. No one will ask for details, but we've listed the name Silicia. Sounds similar to Sally, I hope that's okay?”

“You guys are the best!”, beamed Percy before pulling both of them in a quick hug. Perimedes sighed strained as he said: “Age 16 and sword as a main weapon fits, right? Gods Percy, you gave us all a heart attack. Just vanishing for days straight! We were worried sick. What if you hadn’t made it?!”

The young man winced and flipped a few strands of black hair out of his eyes as he said apologetic: “I’m sorry. I was knocked out for a few days and just woke up like two hours ago.”

“What happened?”, asked Elpenor curiously, but with a short look around, Percy shook his head: “Later, okay? But I am fine, really. We need to concentrate here.”

“The both of us maybe.”, grumbled Perimedes with a fond headshake, “You will breeze through this. Just… Please spare us a humiliation, okay?”

The demigod laughed and then it was their time to enter the Fighters' lounges. A bored guard with an amazing mustache took one short look at their parchments, grunted and then checked some boxes on his own little booklet. He scrutinizes Percy for a few seconds longer before commenting: “A bit young for the guard, aren't you boy?”

The son of Poseidon just gave his most innocent smile (he ignored the exaggerated shivers of Elpenor and Perimedes upon seeing his expression) and said: “Is there an age restriction?”

“Guess not.”, replied the moustache man with a furrowed brow and then stamped his registration like all the others, “Just make sure you parents don’t complain if you get a bit banged up.” Percy smile turned sharper when he took his parchment back. As he followed Perimedes and Elpenor into the tunnels of the arena he grumbled: “Just make sure those mighty men don’t come whining when they get beat up by me.”

Elpenor swung an arm around his shoulders and snickered: “Calm down. You get your chance to show all of them who’s the shark soon enough. Just leave some of them for us to impress the Queen as well, we would really like to join you in the palace guard.”

“It would be nice if you had my back.”, the younger man mused with a bittersweet smile, “Like old times.”

Perimedes appeared on their other side and said with an encouraging slap on Percy’s back: “We can stick together as long as possible. It’s an all-out brawl fight every time, everyone against everyone, but they stop once the last five or so are remaining.”

“That’s gonna be us then.”, decided the son of Poseidon confidently when they made it to a bigger room full of stone benches on sandy ground. A few beat up straw puppets allowed for some last-minute training and there were many more participants than expected. Their little group drew back into a corner, observing the others while Elpenor mumbled: “If you need to take us out to make it to the end, do it. We owe you more than we could ever repay, and seeing your prince is important to you. We can just try again next time.”

Percy was just about to shake his head and shut that idea down, when he caught a sight in his periphery that made him freeze instantly. Three men. One tall and slender, with a squeaky laugh, the other plump and with hideously crooked teeth and the last one with light blue eyes that gave him a ghosty look.

The rats.

Percy’s blood was burning before his brain even realized what was going on, and it was only thanks to Elpenor’s tight grip around his biceps (his nails digging deep enough to leave dents) that stopped the demigod from stalking forward and slashing his sword through flesh and bone. Then Perimedes stepped in his vision, taking his chin in a painful grip, forcing his sea-green eyes to focus on his friend.

“Deep breaths.”, the soldier whispered, and through an inhumanly amount of self-restraint, mixed with pain and the promise of later retribution, Percy managed to let go of most of the tension in his body and relax into the safe hold of his friends. The son of Poseidon closed his eyes and concentrated on the blood sloshing through the bodies touching him, calm and steady, anchoring him.

When Elpenor felt him relax, he loosened his grip and Perimedes made a cautious step back. Percy looked at his friends, but some part of him was still clocking every breath and movement of the rats. “They’re mine. Do not come in the way.”, he warned darkly and with all the gravity of a leader, who demanded obedience. It was the tone he had used in the battle of Manhattan with the other Campers and in the fight against Hyperion and Kronos.

His friends exchange a telling look, before Perimedes cautiously said: “Killing is not allowed in the contest.”

“And excessive blood spilling will be punished as well.”, added Elpenor equally quiet.

Percy smirked, sharp and dangerous (and maybe a tad unhinged): “Maiming does not need blood.”

Perimedes expression was a mix of wary, exasperated and a bit calculated. Then he sighed deeply and mumbled: “Just don’t overdo it. You need to impress the Queen. And she isn’t one for senseless violence.”

“Noted.”, was the only concession Percy was willing to give, before a deep voice called them all to attention.

The contest was about to begin.   

Notes:

The contest is finally about to begin! I let you wait long enough, I guess ;P

Let me know what you think of vengeful Percy. Did I do him justice? :D

Suggestions, questions, thoughts and feelings are always welcomed and appreciated :)
Next update: Thursday, the 31st of July.

Chapter 10: I fight for us

Notes:

Hey everyone! *Comes in with a package and looks down at the label*

Who ordered blood and violence and.....simping?
Oh, we got a surprise appearance as well!

Enjoy the nearly 4.5k that might make you want to scream XD
(If so, please let me know in the comments!)

PERCY’S jaw dropped when he got his first good look at the site of the contest.

The arena really was like a Colosseum of ancient Rome. Or future Rome, in this case. Countless tiers of pale stone grandstands stretched skyward, framing the elliptical sandy arena. The first tier began just under three meters above the ground, protecting all spectators from whatever was happening below on the battlefield. The decorations were simple but elegant and carved into the stone. Three entrances were distributed along the lowest section for fighters to enter the ring. Only one was in use now, as all the contestants spilled into the arena.

Percy felt like he was in the movie Gladiator, as he watched the whole procession with wide eyes. It smelt like old sweat and dried blood when they walked through the tunnels, but once they passed through the entrance, the scent was added to by cleaner air and slight dust from the sand. His blood began to pump excitingly.

Then came the noise.

Hundreds upon hundreds of people were up in the stands, screaming, talking, laughing, betting. Their voices created a canopy of busy chatter that was nearly overwhelming, even without all the hot blood rushing in excitement and giddiness that registered at the edge of Percy’s consciousness. The onslaught on his senses didn’t stop while the fighters entered the arena completely. On the contrary, the atmosphere exploded even more, making the demigod wince slightly.

He was not the only one turning around in slow circles, taking in all the people and sudden attention, but it was obvious that most of the fighters were used to this kind of ruckus. Despite the heady feeling of being cheered on (the demigod had no illusion that most of the spectators were rooting for someone else, or simply the bloodshed itself) he drifted back to his two friends, taking a position slightly in front of them naturally.

“Attention, attention!”, called a loud voice from the balcony on the opposite of the arena. Everyone turned around to look at the man, dresses in the finest, dark green silk, who stood at the edge of the ancient VIP-box. The elegant stone railing separating the balcony from the other tiers only reached the man’s thighs, making sure that the people residing there could still see all of the action below. In his hands was a mouthpiece that amplified his voice to be heard above all the other shouting. 

“Dear citizen of Ithaca, dear guests and dear competitors, all rise for her Majesty, Queen Regent Penelope of Ithaca, wife of the great King Odysseus, and their son, his Royal Highness, Prince Telemachus of Ithaca!”

All the air instantly vanished from Percy’s lungs.

His heart stopped, only to resume racing in the loudest possible way, drowning out everything else. The screams of the crowd grew distant. Whatever else the Announcer said was swallowed by the blood rushing through his ears, as the sea-green gaze of the demigod sharply settled onto the balcony.

Searching. Hoping. Praying.

His mouth was dry as the desert, when under the shadow of the red sun sail a person moved to the front of the balcony.

Queen Penelope was as pretty as the reports, drawings and the single vision he had seen made her out to be. Flowing caramel hair, that glittered like gold in the light, framed a symmetrical face blessed with even lips, a dainty nose and two huge eyes in the color of burning sapphires. The Queen wore a beautiful dress, colored in the lightest purple, that left her shoulders free, where a sheer white shawl sat comfortably, covering her hair and back. Her golden accessories glinted in the sun as she raised her hand in greeting. An expression of cool calm and a reserved smile graced her features, before she sat down elegantly in a highchair in perfect view of the arena.

Percy didn’t notice any of that. He spared the Queen only a passing glance in his search for the person he truly (desperately) wanted to see.

It was like a reverberating shock through his entire body when he finally stepped into the light.

Ethereal, beautiful like a painting, the prince moved across the balcony, robbing Percy of any ability to think or feel anything except the overwhelming rush of home and comfort and desperate, all-consuming longing. Like a caged bird, his heart fluttered wildly in the demigod’s chest, begging to break free and fly to the other, as his eyes hungrily drank in the sight of his Dream-Boy. Finally in reach.

Finally, here.

For real.

No dream or vision.

Breathing was an unnecessary function in the face of such beauty. For the air would only be knocked from is lungs again when his unworthy eyes next laid their gaze upon this creation of the gods.

His Prince had grown.

Of course he had.

It had been three years for both of them.

But Percy was still reeling from the undeniable proof of time’s passage in the form of broader shoulders (were they now covered by even more freckles? Percy couldn’t wait to find out…) and cheekbones sharp enough to cut stone. Telemachus’ skin was tan (but still pale compared to Percy’s), his chocolate brown hair now reached his chin in soft curls, that were held back by a golden laurel wreath (how he longed to feel its softness between his calloused fingers) and he wore a perfectly cut chiton in sky-blue, matching the white and golden accents of his jewelry and belt, as well as the detailed embroidery.

He cut a mighty fine figure up on the balcony, looking exactly like the prince from all the fairytales Percy had read when he was little. But a flash of white around Telemachus’ throat drew his eyes away from the way the young man’s clothes flattered his form.

The necklace looked out of place, way too casual for the splendor of fine fabric that dressed him. The big shark tooth dangled enticingly between the prince’s collarbones.

Like a claim, like a statement. Visible to everyone.

He still wore Percy’s gift.

Openly. Proudly. Unafraid of judgment or contraire opinions.

The son of Poseidon felt the heat of possessiveness deep in his gut. A silent purr that grew louder with every second the tooth touched his Dream-Boy’s skin. 

The demigod mourned the fact that he could not see how tall his friend had actually grown, as he fluently sat down next to his mother. Would the son of Poseidon need to look down to meet his enchanting eyes or would they be on eye level?

Thinking about eyes, it was noteworthy that Telemachus didn’t look down into the arena once. The gaze from caramel-colored irises was fixed straight ahead, only briefly scanning the crowd before turning back to the balcony. The prince looked bored and absent-minded, not listening to whatever the Announcer or his mother were saying as he stared into nothingness. And while his beauty was indeed radiant, it was also obvious how lifeless everything else about him appeared. Empty eyes, expressionless face, not one hint of the smiling and witty boy Percy had met in the meadow or his room so many times.

Telemachus looked like a puppet, only going through the motions that were expected of him. No passion or drive behind the movements and so devoid of any emotion it stabbed Percy in the chest like a hot knife. He understood the worry of Hyginus and the Queen instantly. Everything in him screamed at the demigod to do something, to make the prince look down, to catch his eyes, to show him that the wait was over. That Percy was finally here.

Finally home.

But there was no way for him to draw this kind of attention, especially seeing as in that moment Telemachus pulled out a thin book from his chiton and skimmed listlessly through the pages.

The son of Poseidon wanted to curse. Badly.

He didn’t notice how the rules of the contest were explained (the gist he had gathered before was: fight everybody at once and who remains standing at the end may have a chance to make the cut – and Percy intended to make that cut now more than ever) or how the Queen wished all the competitors luck in a drawling voice that spoke off cold detachment.

The only thing capable of drawing him out of his wistful trance, starring at Telemachus, was the sword that nearly beheaded him. It was thanks to Elpenor pushing him out of the way that he was spared from that fate. His friend choked out a warning, half laugh and half hiss, as Perimedes engaged the attacker in combat immediately, drawing him away.

“We need to concentrate here.”, mimicked Elpenor mockingly and swatted after Percy with the back of his hand. “Get your head in the game and stop swooning!”, the soldier ordered sharply, before pushing the younger man around to face his first opponent.

Still a bit dizzy, the demigod parried a sloppy strike from a mace, before twisting the tip of his sword down. That forced the other man (with a truly impressive beard) to follow his movement and got his head bend down to the perfect height to slam the pommel of his weapon against his temple, knocking him out. Just stepping over the downed body, another fighter already came up to take his place. The shield he wore became a nuisance for Percy, until the demigod rolled under his spear attack and punched the man straight in his unprotected kidney (not all the competitors wore full body armor), making him groan and lower his guard. One good strike with the flat side of his sword had this man down as well.

Taking a short breather, Percy saw that Elpenor and Perimedes were both fighting in his back, building a loose triangle that allowed more reckless maneuvers because their backs were protected. The next two opponents the son of Poseidon disposed of equally quickly, before his gaze wandered once more to the balcony. The Queen watched the chaos in the arena impassively and Telemachus sat slumped in his chair, hand against his cheek and eyes glued to his book.

The wind breezed through his hair, making the dark tresses swing enticingly and when the prince crossed his legs absent-minded, he exposed a sliver of pale thigh that sent a warm tingle down Percy’s spine. The demigod swallowed hard, before he ducked under another attack, drawing blood for the first time when the other man moved hectically and right into the path of his sword.

The original plan had been to only cut the strings of his breast plate, but the shallow wound on his shoulder wasn’t too bad of an outcome, because it distracted the fighter long enough for Percy to knock him out as well. As of now, the pommel of his sword had seen more action than the blade, which was really telling about the skills of the other contestants.

“Didn’t you say you wouldn’t hold back?”, panted Perimedes when they ended up side-by-side against a really big man (that had startling similarities with a bear, both in size and strength). Without the need to talk, the soldier went low, striking the bears thigh, while Percy jumped high, aiming for the biceps and after delivering two other cuts against important tendons, the man went down and waved his hand in a sign of surrender. “I’m not.”, answered the son of Poseidon confused, earning him a scoff from Perimedes. His friend pointed at his weapon with a mocking smirk: “Then why are you fighting with your weaker hand?”

“Huh?”

But when Percy looked down, he saw that it truly was his left hand holding the sword. Embarrassment flooded his ears and neck hotly, and he swatted after Perimedes weakly when his friend cackled. Both of them were swiftly drawn back into fights, but the demigod stubbornly decided to not switch hands mid-battle if it wasn’t necessary. It would give his advantage away. Instead, his eyes were once again drawn to his Dream-Boy.

Actually, it would be pretty easy to reach their box from where he stood. There were wooden beams right under it, sticking out into the arena, and if Percy jumped high enough, he should be able to reach their lowest point. Vaulting up the beams and then walking to the balcony would be child’s play and then he would finally be able to draw Telemachus into a real hug. Could feel his warmth and smell his distinct scent and whisper in his ear how goddamn much he had missed-

“You’re really useless today!”, snapped Elpenor in his ear, pulling him back by his tunic and out of the way of another strike. “Stop being an idiot and help us end this. You can see your lover boy soon enough after that!”

The demigod ducked his head, cheeks colored in embarrassment as he mumbled an apology and got back to the fighting. By now, the ground was littered with prone bodies, and the few conscious, but eliminated contestants were huddled together by the entrance to stay out of the way with their various injuries.

A quick scan through the arena finally drew his undivided attention back to the fights. Percy saw that there were only seven people left standing. Besides the three of them, there was one man swinging two axes (who was locked in combat with Perimedes) and the three rats. The sight of them got his blood boiling in seconds and with a quick snap of his head, he sent Elpenor to engage the sleezy tall bastard. His friend followed the command immediately, drawing the lanky rat away from his friends. That did not go unnoticed by Ghost and Hideous, who jeered with deep laughs when they turned to face Percy. The demigod scanned their surroundings with cold precision as he listened half-heartedly to their taunts.     

“You? Want to take us?”, snorted Ghost with an arrogant smirk, “What a joke! We’ve seen you train these last few weeks, boy. Go back home and suck on your mother's teats before we break your pretty little face.”

“Don’t know Xanthos. I for my part would love to see him beneath me, wriggling and squirming. His bloody ass could be a good starter before the main course.”, cackled Hideous and his beady eyes darted up to the balcony.

The world slowed down as Percy fletched his teeth. With a lazy swirl, his steel sword switched hands without any real thought on his part. A low and dangerous chuckle, that was more growl than laugh, escape the demigod.

Oh, he would enjoy this fight.

Too bad it wouldn’t end in slaughter.

For now.

But this would not be quick. This wouldn’t be show either. At least not the one the spectators most likely expected.

This would be a warning, an example of what happened to those standing in his way. Those rats had not only threatened his prince (again) but also took to insulting his Mom?

Now was the time to pay them back. Graciously.

He peeled off the costume of the clumsy novice like a caterpillar's cocoon. Only, instead of a butterfly, Percy was reborn as a predator. Shark or wolf, he didn’t care. But he was the apex in this arena.

His back straightened, his muscles relaxed, and his gait became fluent and graceful. The demigod stalked forward. His eyes drifted from one foe to the other, evaluating their stances and posture, noting Hideous leaning heavily on his left leg as the right one was adorned by a beautiful cut down the calf, leaving a bloody trail behind. Sniffing out the weakness, Percy immediately took advantage of it, feinting an attack against Ghost, making the man back off, before twirling around on one foot and kicking against the injured leg of Hideous. The heavy man roared in pain and stumbled, as the awful cracking sound of his broken femur echoed sharply through the arena. 

Ups. Maybe Percy underestimated his strength a bit, but he felt nothing except dark amusement when the rat kneeled in the dirty sand. Rendering his left leg completely useless now.

The son of Poseidon could have broken his other leg instead, taking him out of the competition due to his loss of mobility, but that would’ve been too easy (and painless). Hideous could still forfeit, but the hateful glint in his eye showed the demigod that he had no intention of doing so.

Good.

The longer he continued to move the broken bone, the less likely it was that it would heal correctly. Giving the man a lifelong limb was a good start. The young man’s grin was sharp enough to cut stone as he twisted around the long sword that Ghost aimed for his head (definitely a lethal strike, if he hadn’t evaded it) and deflected the flimsy excuse of a strike from Hideous. The men surrounded him now from both sides, but that was deliberate on Percy’s part. He didn’t only want to win.

He wanted to dominate, to humiliate.

That was why the son of Poseidon stilled his sword for a few moments, only relying on his reflexes and spatial awareness to avoid the attack coming from both sides. He twisted and turned, danced around his opponents, neither exhausted nor out of breath, but the movements of the two men grew more sluggish. Ghost was the first to realize the futility of their attacks and stopped, just when Hideous lost his balance fully, stumbling forward. He fell with a cut-off scream directly into Percy’s space and the demigod had a split second to decide whether the man would fall onto the tip of his sword (most likely dying while it looked like an accident) or his fist. With a great sigh of restraint, Percy chose the fist, ramming it into the balls of his foe and twisted sharply for good measure.

There would be no reproduction for this man. Ever.

While the burly rat went down with an embarrassing high scream, movement in his periphery caught his attention.

The incoming strike of Ghost was intercepted by Perimedes. Percy didn’t even twitch, having felt the approach of his friend as well as the attack of the blue-eyed man. Their blood pumped warm and hot and really freaking loudly.

“Thanks.”, the son of Poseidon said flatly when he straightened and cracked his neck a little. With an innocent hum he said: “Why don’t you go and help Elpenor. I got this one.”     

“Do you?”, came the sharp reply with a side glance to the crying and vomiting man by his feet, leg and nuts hopefully useless forever.

It wasn’t a question whether or not Percy could beat the last bastard, it was more an inquire if he could do so without killing him. The demigod hummed nonchalant and sighed: “Yeah. No killing or excessive violence, I promise.”

He sounded petulant even in his own ears as he stepped forward to take over the fight. Perimedes drew back instantly, clapping his back admonishing: “And no maiming.”

“My…you ask too much.”, now Percy was actually whining when he deflected the next strike easily, eyes not even on his opponent. The rat growled like small dog, stepping back a bit in preparation for his next attack. After another stern glance from Perimedes, the younger man finally gave in and said: “I’ll try.”

When he turned back to Ghost, the man had somehow gotten his hands on a second weapon. Besides his long sword, the man now wielded a wicked looking morning star on a long chain, making him an even greater pain in the ass, seeing as he could now attack long and short ranged. And from the smug way he scoffed at Percy, the man knew it too. Twirling his sword once more in challenge, the son of Poseidon glanced around and found himself the advantage he needed.

The fight began with Ghost swinging the morning star, showing exactly how much power his muscles packed, but, in his arrogance, the man forgot where exactly they were standing. Luring the rat further toward the walls of the arena was easy, especially after Percy made sure to dust off his acting skills and making sure he looked slightly overwhelmed. In truth, the son of Poseidon couldn’t even grasp his luck, when his back met the sandstone and Ghost was once more circling the weapon around his head.

This time, when the morning star came down onto the demigod, burying itself deep into the wall, the young man jumped high, drawing his knees in to be higher than the weapon and using the wall as a springboard. With a nimble kick against the chain of his weapon, Ghost was pulled forward, out of balance and in the direct path of Percy’s knee. The crunch of a broken nose was music in his ears, as the son of Poseidon landed on top of the older man. With his feet, he captured the legs of the last rat, pushing them down and widely spread, while one arm was caught under the bodyweight of them both and the other was pressed into the sand by his knee. Percy’s own hand was holding his weapon millimeters from Ghost’s throat, a triumphant and contemptuous smirk plastered on the demigod’s face.

Through his broken and bloody nose, the man wheezed and choked. With eyes full of tears, he tried to spit at the young man, but a small pull on his powers, and the liquid remained trapped inside the man’s mouth.

“By the gods…who are you?”, Ghost coughed, a tiny hint of fear sliding into his ice-blue-eyes.

Percy really, honest to all the gods, needed to bite his tongue very hard to not let slip what was on his mind. But no one besides him would get the ‘I am your father’ reference and no matter how much he wanted to blurt that sentence, being called crazy was just not worth it. But it was hard. So very hard.

The amusing twirl of his lips must look even more deranged than his smirk had, because the bastard tried to jerk away, giving the demigod even more space and leverage to work with. Percy leaned in, until his head was beside Ghost’s. Nose nearly touching the sand.  

“I can be lots of things.”, he purred, letting a hint of the dark desire to just kill this man and be done with it seep into his tone, “For now, I am just the person you pissed off by disrespecting the royal family. But if you don’t watch yourself, I will become jury, judge and executioner for all the disgusting things you and your little band of bastards think about in the safety of your home. I know your little plan with the suitors. I know all the vile ideas you fantasize about. Do not presume you’re safe just because you survive this day. Be grateful for every second in your useless little life after this, because the moment I feel that you misuse my gracious gift, I will be there to take it back. No man or stone or weapon can stop me, for I am your darkest moment. Remember me, Xanthos.”

With one last shove into the thighs and bicep of the man, Percy came to his feet gracefully, shaking his limbs and taking stock of his (very minor) injuries. Not one of the fighters had landed a clean hit, which was an amazing ego boost.

A short look around showed that his friends were also done with their opponent. He was knocked out a few feet away, and after one last sweep of the perimeter to make sure no one was getting back on their feet, the son of Poseidon positioned himself with his friend in front of the balcony, looking up to await the Queen’s judgement.

The crowd was going wild around them, screaming themselves hoarse with questions and praise and sheer adrenalin from witnessing such an intense fight. But not one of the standing warriors deigned them with a look and when the Queen stood, her presence silenced the whole arena.

Percy waited with bated breath, his eyes flickering to Telemachus again, but the prince was still only looking at his book. What an earth was he reading?

A little spark of disappointment flitted though the demigod upon realizing that his friend hadn’t seen any of the feats he had showed in the arena, and the petty part in him was already planning a chance to show him a few tricks firsthand, but the calm voice of Penelope ripped him away from that daydream.

“I congratulate those last three standing. You have impressed me with your skill and wit.”, the Queen said gracefully. A hint of amusement flickered over her face when she addressed them again: “It is not often that we see such a good example of teamwork and camaraderie. The palace guard will be all the better for your presence in it, but first, there are a few questions I would like to have answered.”

The crowd began to mumble, showing that this was not a regular occurrence. Perimedes and Elpenor drew closer to Percy’s back and the silent support made his hectic beating heart slow down a bit. But his cautious feeling was proven right, when the steely blue eyes of the Queen found his own sea-green ones with precision. The demigod drew himself up and set his jaw.

If only some flimsy questions were standing between him and Telemachus, he would say anything to get him there.

“You are not from this shore, are you? I heard you just recently came to Ithaca.” It was more a statement than a real question, and Percy tilted his head in agreement, not sure what the Queen expected as an answer. Her curling lips said she was either displeased or amused, when she took a step forward, now standing directly above them by the railing of the balcony. As she looked down, her presence became even more queenly and with her well-practiced (and deserved) authority she asked: “Then tell me, stranger, why would you want to join the palace guard and its sacred duty to protect me and my son? You cannot know us, you have not lived under our rule for long, so how could we believe you to be loyal to us?”

This was it. This was the moment.

Percy’s heart nearly jumped out of his chest when he stepped forward, expression open and honest, eyes drifting back to Telemachus.

His Dream-Boy…still not paying attention.

He would need to make him look up. He longed to finally meet his friend’s gaze after all this time. He needed to. Desperately. Immediately.

His mouth was dry, but his answer carried nonetheless, strong and sure, but with the undertone of teasing.

“I have made promises to my Prince. It is time for me to keep them.”

The son of Poseidon saw the exact moment his words and voice reached Telemachus. His Dream-Boy’s head shot up like he had been slapped, gaze wide and searching, full of tentative hope. 

When caramel met sea-green, the whole world vanished, and Percy choked on his breath: “I’m sorry I’m so late.”     

Notes:

Well, well, well .... *evil Cheshire grin*

Aren't I generous? To give you Telemachus' presence at the contest? XD No one asked me to make him pay attention though...

Suggestions, questions, thoughts and feelings are always welcomed and appreciated :)
Next update: Saturday, the 2nd of August.

Chapter 11: I'm on my way!

Notes:

Surprise, surprise you little rascals ;P

An early bonus chapter! (This is me holding my end of the bargain from the discord! Do reduce my tally now, you hear me?! ;P)

Anyway, enjoy the pining!

(I heard someone asked for a POV change? - well, here we go!)

TELMACHUS could not, for the life of him, understand what he was doing here. It somehow felt like a punishment, following his mother through the rising morning heat down to the arena, accompanied by nearly half the royal guard as protection.

Of course he knew about the contests (which were just fancy ways of recruiting new faces to the palace’s protection as the suitors drove all the old ones off one by one), but that semi-regular occurrence had never warranted his attendance before. Usually, his mother made decided by herself, which competitor was promising and headstrong enough to join the other soldiers in their service of protecting the palace. But for whatever reason, she had decided that he was to join her today.

Telemachus seldom found interest in things like competitions nowadays (or anything, really), so being asked (forced) to leave his room for something so thoroughly tedious did feel like a punishment. But the Queen should have no reason to be displeased with him. He followed the instructions of his teachers, read all the books they assigned and gave every report back on time. He attended meetings without complaining, was polite to ambassadors and friendly to his peers. Even the suitors couldn’t have said anything bad about him or his behavior, seeing as Telemachus avoided them (and any voluntary social encounter) like the plague.

All in all, he was the perfectly adequate son and prince, doing his duties and following all the protocols to a T. Nothing more, nothing less.

Admittedly, he had missed one or two meals with his mother recently (in favor of locking himself in his room and staring at all the sketches of the face that haunted his every thought and moment), but it could hardly be the solution to force him out into this gruesome heat. She could’ve just asked him to spend more time together and he would’ve complied.

Not that Telemachus was inclined to spend his free time with anything else than lying on his bed, staring unseeingly at the ceiling and thinking about (longing for) the one person who would have gotten him out of his melancholy in seconds. The one person out of his reach (maybe forever).

Everything felt like such a chore right now. Eating, sleeping, doing his duties. All of it were just some checkpoints in his day until he could finally crawl back into bed and watch the seconds, minutes, hours fly by.

Hoping, dreaming, longing, waiting.

For there was nothing else for him to do.

And his mother should have understood the devastation of being powerless in the face of something as unrelenting as time the best. What quiet torture it was to live, day after day, in a trance that could only be broken by one person, but you had no idea when (and if) that person would come. All else phased into the background, until your mind and body could do nothing else but go through the motion until something pulled you out of that misery for a few precious minutes.

For Telemachus, it was his sketches and pages of written recounts from his dreams. The prince had nearly filled a whole book with all the things he had seen and heard, only realizing he had somehow (unconsciously) picked up a totally different language altogether, that most likely was not even used yet. Symbols and sentences filled his parchment, perfectly understandable to Telemachus, but so wholly different from Greek, that it made for one blissed week of distraction trying to formulate rules and Grammer to this language. He found that it became more difficult to write and speak it the more time passed. Soon, he would lose his grip on it completely.

Maybe he could relearn it one day with a partner to speak with.

But not even the enticing call of new knowledge was enough to pull the prince fully away from his vegetative state. Everything around him was dull, tasteless, muted, like the world mourned with him.

Mourned the absence of one Percy Jackson, son of Poseidon, savior of Olympus, demigod of the great prophecy, time traveler.

But above all: his best friend and confidante. His source of beautiful stories and epic adventures. The reason for his laughs and the one to make him think, really think about the world and its people, about problems and hardships and morale. His calm storm and fiery protector.

The boy he would give anything to see again.

But it wasn’t in his hands. And while Percy had promised to come back, even the gods had said that they wouldn’t help him in this endeavor.

But giving up hope felt like the biggest betrayal, and he wouldn’t do that even in a million years.

Telemachus needed to trust Percy, trust his Sea-Boy, even if it meant waiting sixteen (nearly seventeen) years or longer, like his Mom did for his father. Even if it meant waiting until his death, the prince would do it.

But that didn’t mean that time didn’t take a toll on him.

It was impossible that his mother, the Queen, and the cleverest person in the entire kingdom, hadn’t noticed his state of mind.

What an understanding they would have had for each other’s situation, could Telemachus only explain his plight to her. But missing a boy he only knew from dreams and visions sounded insane, and he didn’t want to burden her with thinking that about her son. She was burdened enough as it was. So, he suffered in silence, crying in secret over the pictures he had drawn of his friend.

The only reminder he had of Percy’s appearance.

Even after weeks of trying, it was simply impossible to get the exact color of his eyes, or the way the unruly black hair fell into his face right. But Telemachus had enough time to redo his sketches a hundred times if he wished to. And it helped somewhat, to work on something related to his Sea-Boy. It made the whole experience real, kept the prince grounded and was irrefutable proof for his brain that this friendship had actually happened. That Percy existed (even if it was in another time) and that he wasn’t the creation of his imagination in search of another hero to rave about.

His most precious shark tooth necklace was helpful for that as well.

Anyway, it must be hard for his mother, to see him withdraw little by little without knowing the reason. Without seeing the hole in his heart (shaped like a very special son of Poseidon) that sucks in all the joy and passion, piece by piece, until nothing remained but loneliness and longing.

Telemachus wasn’t stupid, he heard the whispers and rumors about him: How he always slipped into these episodes of melancholy and depression after his annual dreams of Percy (which was understandable! He just saw his dearest friend battle monsters, myths and titans in a Quest even the gods were wary of. It didn’t matter that his Sea-Boy was mostly unhurt and slid through hurdles like they were skipping stones. The principle was that Percy was struggling without him.)

How he switched between frantic research and listless wandering (directly after each dream, there was so much more information to read up on or new knowledge to process, Telemachus found himself unable to focus on anything else but making sure he had some form of recollection of the events and how they tied back to his time) and how it always ended with him isolated in his room, drawing people and places that not yet existed.

He should have seen the intervention coming from miles away (his mother hadn’t been subtle), but until today, he had actually doubted her resolve to haul him out of his room (and mind), kicking and screaming. Metaphorically. Telemachus was still a prince, a man of age now, and much too old for such undignified behavior. But all his sweet talking and politely refusing was pointless with his Mom. Even outright complaining didn’t accomplish anything, so he was forced to make himself presentable for their citizens.  That didn’t stop him from pouting though, as he was led through the grounds and to the arena.   

He knew the layout and structure of the building, having most of his training sessions since he turned sixteen here, instead of the training grounds behind the barracks, but this was the first time Telemachus saw just how many people could fill the space.

Most of Ithaca must’ve been cramped into the stands, roaring and clapping and screaming as they made their way up to the royal balcony. When his mother took the stairs first, the prince considered for a second to just slip away. She wouldn’t have time to search for him after stepping into the spotlight, and whatever admonishing speech he would have to hear afterwards, it couldn’t be more exhausting than being put through this farce. But one sharp look from Macar, Captain of the royal guard, was enough to dissuade him.

With a great sigh, Telemachus heaved himself under the sun sail, his eyes courteously scanning the crowd once, before he made for his seat on the left side of his mother and sat down with all the importance of a royal he could come up with under all the numbness. He didn’t really care if it fooled anyone into thinking he wanted to be here. What was one more rumor?

The son of Penelope also didn’t look down into the arena. He had no interest in anyone that joined the guard anymore, knowing they would leave in four months or less anyway. That was the whole reason why these contests became so frequent in the first place. And he wasn’t that interested in seeing man beating each other up, when none of them did so with any finesse or grace.

The fighting in the contest was always so dull, easy moves that were forced to work through brute strength, no creativity or tactics noteworthy (or needed) and after everything Telemachus had witnessed what battle could look like, if fought by the right person (the one, right person), all else lost its shine and simply looked like child’s play. A brutal one, granted, but spilled blood did not mean it was an impressive fight.

Luckily for him, the prince had been able to sneak a little notebook under his chiton before his mother had called him away, meaning he had at least some entertainment while the brutes punched it out amongst themselves.

He felt the disapproving gaze of his mother for a second, before she was expected to address the crowd and competitors. There was no need to listen, the speech never changed. The only indication of the fight beginning was the renewed vigor in which the people screamed. Telemachus ignored it all in favor of gently skimming the pages, where he had noted down all the little details about his Sea-Boy he had noticed during the dreams. It was in the strange language of the future, not for anyone’s eyes but his own, seeing as it was mostly lyrical waxing about the exact color of his eyes and skin or the way his hair grew out over the years, becoming long enough to be tied back at the end. He had written or sketched all the little scars and marks on his friend’s skin, insistent on remembering them all as a tribute to the hardships the demigod had went through.

Just when Telemachus had started a new drawing (one more of the hands that swung swords like they were simple extensions of his arms, gripping tightly and showing their hidden strength through the muscles and tendons visibly straining), he heard Captain Macar’s impressed whistle. That drew his attention, for it didn’t happen often that the rough warrior acknowledged someone’s skills, but his curiosity wasn’t great enough to abandon the beautiful picture of Percy’s hands.

His simply listened, as the soldier mumbled to his mother: “That one is decent. Quick and efficient takedowns without wasting movement. And his footwork is great.”

The Queen hummed in agreement, before adding: “You see the way he works with those other two? They’re already a unit.” Telemachus deliberated looking up to see who they were talking about, but then his mother sighed disappointedly and said: “But he’s sloppy. Unfocused. His friend already pulled him out of danger twice.” And that made the prince lose all interest at once. He got back to his drawing and ignored the Captain’s talking about how he could shape that contestant up with the right drills.

Time moved slowly for Telemachus and the background noise of ‘oohs’ and ‘ahs’ was not as entertaining as he had hoped. But when the cracking sound of the first broken bone echoed across the arena, the prince knew it was almost over. Because that kind of violence was only inspired when the cannon fodder was taken care of and the actual fighters remained. The rambunctious crowd screamed even louder as a reaction to something, just when Telemachus started sketching Riptide’s ring onto the left hand.

“That was brutal.”, commented Macar.

His Mom changed her position to get a better look and mused: “Must be some personal history. He wasn’t this violent with anyone else.”

The Captain huffed: “Emotional. Not a good quality for a guard.”

“But he is young and may grow out of it yet. Give me his registration, please.”

A flutter of parchment followed by the surprised hum of his mother. Then, the crowd exploded even more, drowning out all other sounds and Telemachus winced upon the volume.

Why was everyone so hyped up by violence?

At least that meant if was finally over, because his mother rose gracefully to address the still standing men as the victors.

The prince added the finishing touches to his drawing just as his Mom offered the usual platitudes and a place among the guard. He perked up when she changed her speech to ask one of the competitors: “You are not from this shore, are you? I heard you just recently came to Ithaca… Then tell me, stranger, why would you want to join the palace guard and its sacred duty to protect me and my son? You cannot know us, you have not lived under our rule for long, so how could we believe you to be loyal to us?”

A stranger competing for their guard? That was indeed interesting.

Just as Telemachus closed his book to finally give his attention to the fighters, a voice answered his mother, deep and calm as the ocean, but playful as the waves and so achingly, heart wrenching familiar, that it was like a dagger to the heart.

It couldn’t be.

Then the words bloomed their meaning in his mind like a delicate flower.

“I have made promises to my Prince. It is time for me to keep them.”

No.

NO.

It couldn’t be…

Telemachus looked up from his lap. Eyes searching, heart racing, soul yearning, hoping, praying.

Sea-green orbs, glittering like the most precious gemstones, met his own eyes.

And the world stopped.

The person down there in the arena grew to be the center of his universe in seconds, chasing everything from his mind, making all else meaningless.

The recognition was instant, like a puzzle piece finally clicking back into its rightful place, like a connecting string snapping taunt between them. And suddenly the world was bright again, shining, and so full of color, smell and noise that it felt like a slap in the face. Telemachus felt like he could finally breathe, like his body was awakening from a bone deep slumber to come back to life after years of being nothing more than a dull shell of a human.

Because down there, in all his roguish charm and with that beautiful, devastatingly crooked smirk, full of confidence and cheek, like he had jumped straight from his most recent dreams, stood Percy Jackson.

He was breathtaking.

The black hair gleaming in a blue hue under the shining sun, falling him into his handsome face, highlighting the otherworldly eyes, the perfectly straight nose and his flawlessly tanned skin. The scar under his eye had thinned a bit, but was very much still visible, giving him the look of someone brave, daring, but also showcasing his reckless nature aptly. He had grown quite a bit, maybe reaching about 6 feet, with a body sculptured by the gods. Clean cut muscles traveled over his strong arms and filled the dirty tunic he wore in a mouthwatering way, teasing the plains of his chest and abdomen with every breeze that made the off-white material flutter.

Hungrily, the prince drank up the sight of his Sea-Boy, noticing all the small details, the little things that had changed. His hair was cut a bit shorter; his jaw had sharpened and there was a glittering earring dangling from his lobe that Telemachus had never seen before. It was perfect. 

The son of Poseidon didn’t need a crown or other jewelry to state his importance. The way he carried himself, sword lazily by his side, back straight, chin up, showed how comfortable he was in his skin, how confident he was in his skills and his place in the world. Utterly unmoved by the attention of hundreds of gazes, a Queen among them, solely focused on him. 

And the way he looked at Telemachus…

Gods, how could a human show this much expression just through his eyes? The prince felt his knees grow week instantly when he caught the mix of insecurity, happiness, hope and longing, that was intertwined with something darker…The fire burning deep in the sea-green made his chest flutter and the warmth in his own bones increase tenfold, nearly unbearable in its intensity.

Percy was here. He was here. 

Just when his hands met the hard stone railing, Telemachus noticed that he had stepped unconsciously closer, barely hearing the next words the demigod spoke: “I’m sorry I’m so late.”

Like a flood, everything broke over the prince, his brain catching up with everything happening around him, while his heart still sung with the magnitude of the moment, of his friend finally being in his reach. It was a dizzying dichotomy.

A single tear escaped his eyes.

Telemachus felt the piercing and questioning gaze from his mother, noticed how Macar stepped closer (as if to hold him back,) and how the crowd was conversing in hushed voices, throwing calculating or inquiring glances his way. From a sole outside point of view, he knew that there had just been a brutal fighting contest and that his actions of stepping forward (him actually doing something, besides the expected friendly waving) was very out of the ordinary, but he couldn’t care.

He only cared for one thing. One person.

Percy.

Down there in the arena.

But his Sea-Boy wasn’t alone.           

They made a pretty intimidating picture, dirtied with sand and specs of blood, two fine soldiers dressed in armor befitting of the mighty army of Ithaca, following behind a young man without any name or title, but with scars and skills speaking of a hard life and unimaginable adventures, falling into the role of a leader as easy as breathing. And the soldiers let him do so without protest, because they all knew each other so very well, despite the years apart.

Percy looked like the leader he had been forced to be in the second Titan war. Strong and capable, but right now, his posture was also tinged with something else, something softer. And the way his eyes had not once strayed from Telemachus’ own, gave him the giddy feeling of the softness being solely his. A thing the mighty son of Poseidon only made available to the prince, his friend.

Even after all this time.

They must’ve silently stared at each other for too long, because his mother stepped beside him, a cool hand on his forearm. A warning? A question? A reprimand?

Telemachus didn’t care. He listened with half an ear as the Queen allowed all three of them to join the guard after a training and evaluation period under their sword master and that they were to report to the palace gates the next morning by sunrise. She then thanked everyone for their attendance and dismissed the citizens with a wave of her hand.

But all that was negligible for the prince. His sole focus was still Percy, who had made a step forward as well, hand half raised as if to call to him, but then one of his friends (one of the soldiers he had situated in Ithaca years ago after that first dream) pulled him away gently, sending Telemachus an imploring glance before jerking his head to the exit, where the fighter’s lounge was probably turning into an infirmary at the moment.

The prince understood, already stepping back after one last yearning look at Percy, who gritted his teeth but nodded to whatever the soldier whispered. His eyes didn’t leave Telemachus until the gates closed between them, cutting their connection.

Like a spell was lifted, Telemachus could finally move again, and he instantly whirled around, ready to take off to the lounge (to his Sea-Boy), when his mother stepped into his path.

“What’s going on? Do you know that boy?”, the Queen asked sternly, crossing her arms as she scrutinized her son with a look that usually made Telemachus want to spill all of his secrets. It was the look only a mother was capable of giving. Under normal circumstances he would have at least tried to give an answer, as evasive and vague as it normally was. But right now, his brain was mushy, unable to form words that weren’t desperate calls for his friend, or jumbled explanations that would make no sense either. He didn’t know what to tell her, didn’t know what he could or wanted her to know about Percy. What the demigod wanted her to know, how he wanted to play this.

Of course, Telemachus had made plans over plans on how to get his friend into the palace and into a position of importance to stay by his side. All depending on different scenarios on how Percy would make it to Ithaca, who was with him and what expectations and wishes the demigod himself had. But none of them included his Sea-Boy taking the initiative himself. And in all the ways he imagined introducing his friend to his Mom, doing so on a balcony after a fighting contest, and without even the chance to speak to Percy first, to see him, was not something Telemachus had anticipated.

It was also not something he wanted. And with the state his mental functions were in right now, it was all but impossible to come up with something that could only resemble being reasonable right now. The prince didn’t want to waste time trying to come up with an excuse. All he wanted was to get down there and finally, finally, meet his Sea-Boy face-to-face.

So, with all the desperation, yearning and overwhelm his heart produced, ready to burst out of the seams of himself, Telemachus looked into his mother’s blue eyes and whispered one word: “Please.”

He didn’t even know what he pleaded for, but his mother, amazing woman that she was, seemed to recognize something in her son’s face, for she sighed deeply, and moved to the side to let him through. “We’ll talk later. Macer, go with him. Be discreet, let no one-“  

Telemachus didn’t even hear the end of her order, because he was already halfway down the stairs. Only minutes away from meeting the boy of his dreams.

Notes:

We got Telemachus perspective of the happenings of last chapter :D Aren't they hopeless? Both of them?

Anyway, because I do not want to torture you THAT much with waiting for the *real* reunion, you will finally get that tomorrow: Saturday 2nd of August around 10:30 am MEZ.

Be sure to check it out ;P

Suggestions, questions, thoughts and feelings are always welcomed and appreciated :)

Chapter 12: He'll find you wherever you go

Notes:

Folks, here we have it: The *Reunion*!!

Just to let you know: I'm pretty busy this weekend, so I won't have time to answer all the comments from last chapter or this one, but you can bet your sweet butts I'm gonna read them all!! <3

Enjoy the moment we've all been waiting for! :D

The tunnels under the arena were pure chaos.

Groaning and whimpering man of all ages filled the space, being tended to by different medics and healers, while commiserating over their loss (whether they were talking about the fights or their dignity was of no consequences to TELEMACHUS, but by the way some of them talked, it was obvious they took their humiliation worse than the small wounds they had).

The prince’s head swivelled around like he was an owl, eyes sharp and scanning the crowd, hoping to catch a glance of dark hair, beautiful eyes or that devastating troublemaker-smile. On his prowl through the defeated competitors, he ignored the looks he garnered (some way more nefarious than others, but the intimidating presence of Captain Macar in his back stopped everyone from approaching), and listened attentively to the little snippets of conversations he could catch.

A few men were grumbling about something or the other being unfair or screwed (of course, their failure couldn’t possibly be their own fault), some whispers about his presence here, but a few losers spewed quiet threats and insults worse than the rest and it was those that got the prince’s attention. Because they were mostly addressed at a ‘barefaced-child-bastard’ and from the little Telemachus had seen, he thought that his Sea-Boy was the only truly young competitor this time.

“Cocky.”

“Arrogant brat.”

“Pretentious bastard.”

“We will get him back Xanthos, I promise. He stands no chance against all of us.”

“He will squirm and squeal once we’re through with him.”

The last one made the prince turn around, mouth drawn tight in displeasure, ready to insert himself in that conversation and make sure everyone knew just whose ire they would’ve to face if they even dared to look wrongly at his Sea-Boy (Telemachus wasn’t stupid, he knew he might not be that intimidating, but in the unlikely case that those people truly manage to hurt his friend, they would most likely face the wrath of a god – or more than one- and he would truly ravel in their deaths then). But before he could say something he might regret once his brain was booted up again, a gentle touch to his shoulder got the young man’s attention first.

For as second, he wondered why Macar allowed someone to approach him here, but then he recognizes the older man with the blond hair and stern eyes. It was Hyginus, the insistent medic that hadn’t been perturbed by his barbed words or borderline insulting behaviour the last time he was sent to examine the prince (a few weeks ago, when his mind had become even darker than before). Now, the man was looking at him with something akin to teasing fondness, eyes sparkling slightly when he leaned closer and whispered into Telemachus’ ear: “He said he’ll be waiting by the beach. To many unwanted eyes here.” 

The prince blinked, perplexed, before his brain kicked back into gear a bit and his eyes became wide. “You know…”, he breathed in disbelief and weak accusation, but he was interrupted by a private smile the medic sent his way. “Aye. Little troublemaker saved my rear more than once.”, Hyginus lamented exaggeratedly and then added seriously, “He’s been fighting really hard to see you again. Don’t let him wait any longer, your Royal Highness. He’s turned out a good man.”

“I know.”, Telemachus replied instantly as he was already making his way back out of the arena. No one attempted to stop him this time, and as he hasted his steps, the best and fastest way down to the beach (their beach) mapped out in his mind. 

He ignored the citizen still lingering around the place (most likely hoping to meet up with one of the fighters or get the chance to introduce their daughters to promising suitors -being skilled in combat always drew the ambitious fathers of lower families close-) and moved through them fluently, not even registering some of them jumping out of his way. He was once more followed by murmurs about how unusual he acted and that he hadn’t been seen this quick on his feet or purposeful in years.

Jokes on them, because the purpose for most of his actions had just returned and was waiting for him not too far away.

His feet carried Telemachus through the gardens and back out of a side entrance, away from the palace and down the cobbled path he hadn’t wandered since the time where he’ given Percy his present. A twinge in his stomach reminded the prince that he hadn’t seen the pearl on the necklace around his friend’s neck beside the beads, but there was for sure some kind of explanation for it… His Sea-Boy’s expression had been to openly happy for him to be cross with Telemachus.

Hopefully.

Unconsciously, the prince gripped for his own keepsake. The shark tooth Percy had collected and carved himself hung with a comforting weigh around his neck. He hadn’t taken it off once since the day his friend had given it to him, and touching the smooth material always calmed him, reminded him of the way their hugs felt in the throes of emotions.

He was only minutes away from (hopefully) receiving such comfort again.

The way down to the beach was empty and shadowed by the trees lining it, blocking out the midday sun for the most part. Ever step felt heavier and lighter at the same time, and even without the exercise running down, Telemachus was pretty sure his heart would be beating fast enough to jump out of his chest. When the trees finally thinned, clearing the path to the beach, the prince noticed two figures leaning relaxed against one of the trees. After just a few seconds, he recognized them as the two soldiers who had fought alongside Percy. Perimedes and Elpenor (if he remembered correctly) had also been part of his father's crew, and he had facilitated their entry into the city guard upon their return to Ithaca.

They tensed upon hearing his arrival, but when they also recognized the prince, their postures relaxed instantly. The slightly younger one grinned when he called: “He’s just through here, your Royal Highness. We made sure the beach was unoccupied.”

Telemachus felt his heart leap and his pace increased for the last few meters, until a sharp grip on his biceps stopped the young man, using his momentum to turn him around. Captain Macar looked conflicted and tense, one hand on the pommel of his sword.

“I cannot let you walk into some unknown situation, my Prince. Please tell me what is going on so that I may ensure your safety. Who are these people and who are you meeting?”, the guard asked in a demanding voice that raised Telemachus hackles instantly. The impatient humming in his heart roared loudly because he was stopped a second time from finally, FINALLY seeing Percy again and the last thread of patient in him snapped.

With a quick movement he twisted his arm free, and with a scowl that felt unfamiliar on his face, he addressed Macar. His voice came out clipped and was vibrating with unspoken emotional tumult: “I respect you a great deal, Captain, but have no right to demand any answers from me. You will stay here with these two and wait. Make sure I am not interrupted. Trying to stop me will result in consequences you do not want. I assure you, I am the safest person in all of Ithaca once I step onto this beach.”

He did not wait for the older man to react and instead pushed past him and the other two. Heart racing, mind scrambled and soul screaming, Telemachus stepped out of the trees and onto the golden beach.

The beauty of the place did not even register in his mind this time, because all of his senses immediately zeroed in on the person standing by the edge of the water. Waiting. 

Every effort Telemachus had made at painting his friend was destroyed when the blurry picture in his mind was compared to the handsome reality. Percy was like the coming of a new dawn. In front of the backdrop of his father’s domain, he turned around, sun shining in his back, highlighting all the perfect angles, making him appear bigger than the whole sky. The simple tunic could have easily been made from the most expensive silk and it wouldn’t have changed anything for Telemachus. The disheveled, jet-black hair was moving in the breeze, among it the thick grey streak he had gotten from holding up the sky for days (a feat no mortal had ever accomplished before). His tan skin was now, more than ever, painted by different scars, most of them almost unnoticeable. The prominent one across his cheek made him look dangerous despite the gob smack expression on his attention-drawing face.

Everything he had once found cute about his Sea-Boy had changed to handsome, as the boy grew from child to man, filling his build and eyes with the fruits of his hard labor and experiences.

Telemachus felt like he was once more caught in a dream.

He would be too hurt if all of this turned out to be an illusion.

But Percy was as real as the sand under his feet. And it was proven when the demigod opened his mouth to speak.      

“Dream-Boy.” A whisp, full of disbelief and hope and longing.

His smile was a weapon all on itself. Beautiful and earth shattering, as it radiated warmth and adoration in equal measures. Gone was the fearless warrior, the unshakable leader. The demigod had softened into something intimate, something gentle and caring and nervous, and more human than ever before.

It was as if the armor and power protecting his core had come apart, splitting only for the person he felt safe enough around to not hide any hidden part or sharp edge of himself. And that person was Telemachus.

Still, after all this time apart, Percy Jackson saw him as a safe space, as one of the only places he could be himself.

It showed in the little things; How his shoulders sagged, how his grin faltered for a second and how those unbelievable expressive eyes burned like molted lava in their intensity, sending a warm shiver down the prince’s back.

Telemachus was running before he even thought about moving. Closer and closer to his Sea-Boy, the distance between them shrinking even further when Percy got over his own shock of this moment finally (finally!) happening and started sprinting as well.

They collided like two mighty (but gentle) waves right there on the sand. Turning and twisting softly around each other, limbs locking together like they had done it a thousand times before.

Now Telemachus had his answer… Percy was taller than him, cradling him into his chest like something precious, one hand sliding meekly into his hair, dislodging the laurel wreath while the other caught him steadily around the waist when the prince’s legs gave out. Telemachus sagged into his friend, swinging his own arms around the other’s torso, pulling them flushed together with no intention of ever letting go.

Warmth and comfort were the only feelings in Telemachus’ heart. He felt Percy’s breath moving under his ear, heard the stuttering rhythm of the young man’s heart and the soft exhale that rustled his brown hair momentarily. Hundreds of butterflies lifted his belly, making the prince think he was truly floating for a moment, until he realized it was actually his friend taking all of his weight, steadying them both without hesitation or complaint. Instead, the demigod buried his face into Telemachus’ hair, breathing deeply and sending another tingling sensation through the prince, starting at the base of his neck and creeping down to his toes in a deliciously slow crawl.

His own breath hitched and the scent under the cooling sweat became apparent when he next got air into his lungs. It was difficult to describe the smell, being so uniquely Percy, but Telemachus got a hint of salty water and something sour, like perfectly ripe apples.

It was of no consequence, for the prince was sure no matter what his friend smelled like, it would be appealing to him simply because he could actually experience it now.

Percy was here. In Ithaca. On their beach. In his arms.

His Sea-Boy had kept his promise.

Come back to me. - Always.

“You’re here.”, Telemachus sobbed weakly, not lifting his head from its place on the other’s chest, instead pulling him closer still, “I can’t believe you’re here.”

“I’m sorry I took so long.”, came the answer from that lovely deep voice, rumbling through both their bodies, making the prince shudder. After taking another lungful of Percy’s smell, Telemachus finally found enough strength to draw back just enough to look into his eyes.

Oh, how had he missed these captivating sea-green orbs and the way they glittered under the sun. The warmth radiating from his friend was equally impossible to ignore, flushing the prince’s cheeks in something far too pleasant to be embarrassment. His eyes drunk in the sight of Percy’s face and eyes greedily, taking note of every little change that had occurred over the years, starting by the new length of his hair, the way his brows had become even more prominent, and ending at the little nick on his chin and the ways his eyes were still bright, but a lot less stable. The color was swirling and changing all the time now, rushing from a pretty turquoise to a dark blue and back in patterns the prince could have lost himself in for hours. They were so obviously divine that Telemachus questioned whether his friend’s heritage was a secret any longer.

When he finally got his mouth back under control, he said softly: “You idiot. I would have waited until the world’s end if necessary.”

“You didn’t doubt me?”, Percy asked full of wonder and anxiousness. Telemachus smiled and shook his head gently: “Not one second.”

“I am still sorry for not being here sooner.”, reiterated the demigod. His hold tightened around the prince’s waist when his face became a bit strained for a second: “I tried everything, but the gods weren’t any help. I did them a really big favor and asked them for a way back but they-“

“I know.”, interrupted Telemachus, his heart racing as his own nerves flared brightly.

He hadn’t planned to reveal all he had seen so soon, but to dull his friend’s unnecessary self-hatred and guilt, it would be worth getting it all out now. He did not plan for any lies to stand between them anyway. He hoped his Sea-Boy agreed.

The son of Poseidon stopped instantly, his brows furrowing: “You…know?”

The prince swallowed sharply, looking around to make sure no one was eavesdropping before leaning in and whispering into Percy’s ear: “Once every year since you left, I’ve dreamed about you. It… wasn’t like our usual dreams, though. You did not see me for the most part. But I was there, Percy. Always. Right by your side… When you took and held the sky, when you wandered the Labyrinth and fought for your Camp, and even when you defended Olympus and faced the Titan of Time. I was there. I saw it. All of it, Sea-Boy. I know. And I am so sorry you had to go through any of it.”

Telemachus tried not to be discouraged from the grip around his waist slackening or the audible gasp his friend made. He made sure to keep his own hands tightly woven into Percy’s tunic and his gaze steady as he met the searching eyes of the demigod. The way the son of Poseidon looked so lost for a moment was painfully familiar and reminded the prince of all the times he had come to him for reassurance or simply someone to listen. Even back then Telemachus had sworn to himself to not let Percy face whatever the world threw at him alone, to always be there for him and not leaving no matter how hard it got.

He wanted to be there for the demigod.

Through all the monsters and problems and misunderstandings. Fighting for their friendship and just keep talking, despite hurt feelings or uncovered lies. He had tried it once before when he found out that his only real friend was on the same voyage his father was lost on.

It took a few days to work through all the conflicting feelings of anger, frustration and hurt, but in the end, he decided to stick to Percy’s side, to trust his judgment and ask only what the other was comfortable to answer. He would be patient.

For his Sea-Boy, he could be anything.

And right now, it looked like he needed to be the one to guide their reunion.

“Waiting for you was hard.”, Telemachus admitted quietly, “But it was worth every second. Because you are here now. You came…home.” The last word was more question than statement, pointing back to the way the Fates had phrased it in his last dream, when the son of Poseidon had asked for a way back.

Whatever his voice or face showed, it was enough to get Percy back to himself a bit. His eyes found Telemachus and while he still looked insecure and overwhelmed, the grip on his waits tightened again and the hand in his hair wandered down to his neck, caressing the skin in an absentminded motion. And then Percy smiled, a bit hesitant and so unbearable soft it made Telemachus inside turn into mush.

“Yeah”, the demigod breathed, “Home. Thank you for waiting.”

“Thank you for keeping your promise.”

Unanimously, they pulled each other’s back into an actual hug. Telemachus’ head resting in the juncture between Percy’s shoulder and neck, nose pressed against warm skin, soaking up the demigod’s physical presence as if he could vanish any second and he needed to get everything burned into his mind to not forget one single detail. His Sea-Boy’s hand wandered over his neck and shoulders in small and gentle strokes, mapping out every inch, fingertips tingling and making shivers roll all over the prince. He became bolder as well, caressing Percy’s back, feeling the hard muscles move and the ridges of his shoulder blades stretch under the skin.

Their point of contact became less urgent, more reverent and the heat was a constant presence in Telemachus’ stomach by now, tingling butterflied included.

Even though none of them made a move to separate, the prince knew they couldn’t stay here forever, no matter how much he wished for it. Taking all the things that needed to be done and channeling them into resolve, Telemachus mumbled into Percy’s skin: “We should talk.”

“Yeah.”, his friend agreed.

No one moved.

“We could talk here?”, suggested the demigod after a few minutes with a quiet chuckle. Telemachus grinned a bit but shook his head: “It’s too open. Your friends are waiting, as is my guard.”

Percy grumbled unsatisfied, before finally pulling back. His eyes were darker than before and he pushed away a stray strand of Telemachus’ hair reverently, gazing at it for a long heartbeat. Then the demigod focused back on their problem. “The meadow?”, he proposed and after a short time deliberating, Telemachus nodded. “That could work. I’ll go with Macar and leave the back gate open. You need to sneak through the gardens, are you up for it? Do you remember the way?”

Now that devastating smirk was finally back on his friend’s face (it’s rightful place anyway, because no one else could look this handsome while also screaming ‘trouble’). Percy gave him a cheeky wink and purred confidently: “I could find the way in my sleep. Did so already, in fact.”

Telemachus laughed loudly, freely, for the first time in ages. After a weak punch against the other’s shoulder, he quipped back happily: “Who’s the know-it-all now?”

Notes:

How are we feeling after this rollercoaster? ;P

Suggestions, questions, thoughts and feelings are always welcomed and appreciated :)

Chapter 13: One day, you'll hear what I'm saying

Notes:

Hey there :D

Puh, that was a lot of tension being released in the last chapter, right?
We are moving steadily into calmer waters with fluff and love and our boys being silly ;P

Enjoy the chapter!

PERCY was the first to reach their meadow.

Even if it had been years since he last sneaked through the palace and out of the back, nothing had changed for the demigod (except that he was bigger now and needed to crouch lower to evade the patrolling guards). After entering through the gate Telemachus had left open for him, Percy found the way easily, ducking behind familiar statues and scurrying under low hanging bushes, playing the perfect game of hide and seek without being caught.

So, when he slid through the last gate (the one that never locked properly), the euphoria of finally seeing (and hugging) his friend again was supplemented by the adrenalin of sneaking around undetected (maybe he should have done this from the start, but then he wouldn’ have gotten the chance to beat up the rats…).

The meadow was just as beautiful as in his memories. Lush green grass, surrounded by dense bushes and tall palm trees that casted a beautiful pattern of shadows across the clearing, was complemented by colorful flowers, the gentle sound of distant waves, and a light breeze of cool air. It smelled clean and a few birds chirped happily in the trees despite it being rather late in the day.

The sun would go down in a few hours, and Percy felt a satisfying tug in his muscles, evidence of an adequate workout, as he sat down on the ground. The whole atmosphere screamed of comfort and calm (or maybe that was just his own association, since the demigod always pictured Dream-Boy as unmistakable part of the meadow and he was the personification of comfort...) With nothing else to do but wait for his friend, Percy closed his eyes and felt for the familiar warmth of his powers, flowing sluggishly through his chest and gut. His senses expanded immediately when he connected with that part of himself, making him awfully aware of the little water droplets inside the grass, as well as every living being around him. Tiny nicks for insects, a smaller vibration from the birds and some hare sneaking around and a noticeable humming from further down the path, where a single human scrambled their way up to him.

A smile was already on Percy’s face when he opened his eyes to watch Telemachus breaching the untouched nature of the meadow. His cheeks showed a pretty blush from the exertion of racing up the small hill and those caramel eyes sparkled when they fell onto the son of Poseidon.

After catching his breath, the prince of Ithaca returned his grin with a gentle turn of his own lips, before sitting down next to Percy without hesitation. Their knees were touching and when the brunette leaned back on his hands, his arm was also grazing the son of Poseidon’s biceps. The casual touch made him feel really warm, and it took a moment for the demigod to understand the words that were spoken to him.

“Sorry for taking so long. I needed to get rid of Macar and avoid my Mom. We have a few hours until my disappearance is noticed. Three, if I had to guess.”, Telemachus said.

Percy grimaced involuntarily and his brain decided to forgo any filter when he grumbled: “That’s not enough time.” His friend smiled softly and bumped their shoulders together: “It never is…but we will see each other much more often now, won’t we?”

There was some uncertainty in his velvet voice and the demigod immediately wanted to sooth the prince. He confirmed: “Yes. That’s why I became part of the guard.” It wasn’t by far his most impressive victory, but somehow winning a competition he decided to enter, instead of being thrown against foes he hadn’t chosen, made him prouder than beating Hyperion or Kronos. Weird.

But Telemachus somehow appeared to share that impression, because there was something like pride in his caramel gaze. Then, his eyes became hooded, and a teasing smirk graces the prince’s handsome features as he asked (playfully innocent): “Really? It wasn’t just to get my attention?”

Percy could not suppress a snort: “If that had been the plan, it was an epic failure. You didn’t even look.” There was some wounded pride in the demigod’s words that was only partly playful. He had wanted to impress his friend in the contest… so him not even looking once did sting a bit. But Telemachus had smooth over all of that with the way he had hugged him back at the beach. No one had ever greeted him this enthusiastically in all his life. Even his Mom mostly stuck to calm embraces and quiet words.

Either way, Telemachus picked up on his more hidden feeling (again), because he caught Percy’s gaze instantly and said with all the serious outrage in the world: “I would have if I knew you were fighting! You are a hurricane on the battlefield for sure.”

As flattering as the words were meant, they did not register as a compliment at first.

The son of Poseidon felt his mind slip back to the battle of Manhattan. On how he had destroyed the bridge and killed multiple demigods, how blood and dust became his second skin as he slaughtered his way through monsters and mortals. He saw himself beating Hyperion with Kym’s help, hurting a lot of trees and Nymphs in the process. But what ran through his brain in a continuous loop were the things he heard the other Campers whisper about him behind his back after everything was over and done with.

Scary.

Vengeful.

Merciless.

Inhuman.

Monstrous. 

At once, all the confidence he had in his sword skills turned bitter in the face of how terrifying he obviously was for others when he let it all go.

When he became as unrestraint as the sea, a true son of Poseidon.

He remembered the way the faces of people he considered friends had become guarded and careful when talking to him. How Conor had taken a step back unconsciously after Percy was caught up in a small prank of the Hermes cabin. The other kids may have appreciated him fighting on their side, but only because they were afraid of what it would be like to face him.

He was probably more monster than hero at this point.

Would he need to keep himself more in check? Ancient times made him even stronger so-

“Maybe it’s better you didn’t see it after all.”, Percy said somberly and evaded Telemachus’ eyes in favor of plucking a few blades of grass. But the retreat back into the safety of his own mind (and judgement) was not unnoticed. 

“Don’t do that, Percy.”, the prince chided gently and took the demigod’s calloused hands into his own (fair and soft. Untouched by war and hardship, Telemachus hands were those of an artist, a musician, someone kind). Once he got the sea-green eyes back on him, he continued: “Don’t draw back. Not from me. I’ve seen you fight and…I’ve seen you kill as well. I do not think any less of you. The opposite really! You were a force to be reckoned with. I’ve never seen anything more breathtaking!”

The words were hard to accept despite the obvious honesty of their speaker. It was easier to deflect than address the praise (even though it did make his belly tingle pleasantly), so Percy said: “Maybe that’s a good moment to ask…what exactly, did you ‘see’?”

The question had not left his head since his friend had admitted dreaming about his adventures.

And hadn’t that been a mind-blowing discovery? That maybe (maybe) Percy wouldn’t have to hide all of his past for the rest of his life? That there might be one person who knew, without him spilling the tea? What were the chances that the one being knowing about him time traveling - and some of what he did in the future - was none other than the closest friend he ever had? His Dream-Boy? Yeah, that was too good to be true.

It was simply impossible for the prince to know everything about his Quests and the war against Kronos, if he was still looking at him like someone worthy of praise and gentleness. Percy had done so many horrendous things. He had said goodbye to the morale of a hero by the time he had to face his own kind (demigods) in the battle of the Labyrinth. He had been ruthless and even cruel at times, exactly the thing Telemachus had said didn’t need to go hand in hand. But here the son of Poseidon was, having thrown that ethic out of the window as soon as one of his own was threatened.

Maybe his Dream-Boy had simply seen glimpses. Snapshots of important moments to get the story somewhat coherently together… Maybe he had only been there whenever Percy had felt him (though even those times were nearly countless, now that he thought about it). Maybe there was still hope that he’d be able to shield the prince from his darkest side after all.

His musings were interrupted by Telemachus sighing: “I don’t think I have the time to recount all I saw, it is a lot.” Percy’s heart sank. The more his friend had seen, the higher the possibility of him being distraught (disgusted) by what he had found.

Before the spiral could go even further down, his hand was squeezed, calling the demigod back to the present.

“If you really want to know, I kept notes and drawings from my dreams but…can we maybe pretend I know everything? You don’t have to keep any secrets from me, and I really don’t want there to be lies between us. I trust you and I promise I won’t leave, no matter what others might have said about your actions and choices.”, Telemachus reassured with the quiet steadiness of someone wholeheartedly believing his words. It felt like a soft blanket of comfort being thrown over the son of Poseidon.

But even now, Dream-Boy wasn’t done: “You are my best friend, Percy. I swear to listen and not judge you. I would like you to be able to talk to me about whatever you want freely. If I have a question, I’ll ask and you can still decide whether to answer or not.”

The pull to those deep caramel eyes was magnetic and the son of Poseidon was helplessly drawn to their silken call. Their gazes locked together like a bolt sliding into place. Not being able to move even the smallest muscle, Percy was forced to meet the firm (devastatingly beautiful) eyes, as Telemachus’ next words burned into his heart like a brand: “You don’t have to carry the burden of your past, the future, alone. I think I was shown parts of your hardships for a reason, and I’d like to hope that it was because I can be the person you can truly and unapologetically be yourself with. You came back for me. And I will do anything in my power to make it worth it.”

“How can you – Why would you trust me if you saw what I did?”, the son of Poseidon choked put.

His own shortcomings were countless and still weighed heavily on his soul. No way someone would willingly shoulder some of them simply for him. He never even dared to burden his Mom with all of the shitty things he had done. If Telemachus broke under his deeds, it would kill Percy more effective than any blade ever could.

But his friend wasn’t scared. He was so very sure when he stated: “Because it was you who did it.”

That didn’t make it any easier for the demigod. He felt the wet heat of tears stinging in his eyes and a scabbed dagger slowly turned inside his heart. But even though everything in him screamed to turn away, to run, before he could be left by one of only two people who really meant something to him (and had the ability to leave), the thrall of the caramel eyes was too strong. And his soul was too used to being around Telemachus, because Percy didn’t even flinch when the other man softly touched his cheek, catching a tear.

Still, the demigod could not stop the scathing words in his head from forming for real: “That’s exactly why you should hate me! I was your friend and did horrible things. Even to you-”

“Because you had to!”, the prince said, still calm, and his utter refusal to just accept Percy’s guilt infuriated the demigod. Heated hate (mostly for himself) bubbled to the surface as he shouted: “No! Even before that I…I killed, and I was ruthless and- and I lied to you!”

Silence settled over the meadow. And for the first time ever, the son of Poseidon felt like the warm sun and the peace of the place were crushing him. He did not belong amongst such beauty. Least of all the one sitting right in front of him.

Telemachus’ face was carefully hidden by his hair, but what he could see of the prince’s expression was calm, thoughtful.

Finally, after endless minutes, his friend (would he be able to call him that for much longer?) asked, serene and serious: “Did you lie about your name?”

“No?”, the answer came instantly, and Percy was very confused. The unexpected question had ripped him out of the spiral of his mind very effectively.

“Did you lie about being my friend?”

“No!” The response was even quicker that time and Percy felt slightly ill that his friend even had to ask.

“Did you lie about coming back to me?”

“No.” He was here, that much was obvious.

“Did you lie about who your father is?”

“No.” The demigod slowly grew antsy and frustrated with Telemachus’ questioning. Who cared about that, when he had done something much more grievous?

“Did you-“

Percy exploded: “I lied about traveling with your father! I didn’t tell you I was traveling with Odysseus, King of Ithaca, the whole time while we met in my dreams! I knew who you were, and I knew who he was, and I said nothing! Even though I was aware of how much you missed him. I knew you longed to know him, and I did nothing. You could have communicated with Odysseus through me all this time. You could have gotten some part of your father back, but -“

“Did you lie about other things being at play that prevented you from telling me the truth?”, interrupted Telemachus, his palm still gently on the other man’s cheek, but his fingers were digging tightly into Percy’s nape, grounding him and keeping their connection despite the boiling emotions in both of them.

The demigod leaned into the touch unconsciously and his frustration ebbed away when he confessed: “No? I guess. The Fates did tell me not to mess up their tapestry any more… but - but I could have spoken up about it a hundred times before that! So that’s more an excuse than a valid reason.”

It hurt. Confessing to his own misdoings was like pulling his teeth and cracking open his ribs to let Telemachus look at all the ugly and vulnerable parts of him. But the demigod knew he needed to get this off his chest.

He’d fucked up, and whether or not Telemachus pushed him away over that was not in his hands.

But the prince surprised him again with how utterly calm he was (why was Percy still surprised? His friend never had been one for raised voices and quick tempers. That was more his domain). 

“So why didn’t you?”, Telemachus asked, not judging, but merely curious, like they were talking about an unusual move at chess and not about Percy lying for many months. 

“What? I-“

The demigod couldn’t find an answer fast enough. Or maybe his confusion was evident, because his Dream-Boy tilted his head, their gazes still interlocked and reiterated: “Why didn’t you tell me about traveling with my father and that I could’ve spoken with him through you?”

“How are you so fucking calm?!” The words tumbled out of Percy’s mouth without any input from his brain. He was thrown into a loop of bewilderment upon Telemachus’ whole demeanor. He just didn’t get it.

Where was the raging anger, the bone-deep hurt, the eyes full of condemning?

Instead of all the expected reactions, there was only a sad smile on the prince’s face and the caramel eyes reflected the evening sun softly. Percy’s hand was squeezed again.

“Because I swore to listen and not judge before knowing all the facts. I didn’t expect to be tested this early, but if that is what it takes for you to believe me, so be it.”, Telemachus explained gently, but there was at least some strain in his voice when he pleaded: “So please, answer the question: Why didn’t you?”

Notes:

Sorry that this one is a little shorter :D I'm very bad at making the chapters have a similar length... I always aim for roughly 3k, but sometimes the story demands something different.

This chapter is part I of the conversation between our cuties ;P Tune in on Thursday, 7th of August to get part II :)

Suggestions, questions, thoughts and feelings are always welcomed and appreciated :)

Chapter 14: One day, you might understand

Notes:

Brace yourself for fluff and obliviousness, as our Communication-Kings tackle a few more issues of the past <3

Enjoy :D

There was nowhere left to turn for PERCY. This was the moment to reveal the full scope of his selfishness. If his Dream-Boy truly wanted to have all the ugly parts of him, he should get the honesty he deserved.

“Because…I wasn’t sure the first few dreams. Only after I asked your name, I knew the connection for certain and then-”, his voice cracked and made the demigod start again, “We were already friends, at least for me, and I never had a friend like you before. Someone who listened to me and quipped back and laughed and gave such incredible advice. I loved dreaming about you! having someone to talk to outside of my crazy life. Someone…just for me.”

The damn was broken and the words just kept flowing like a tidal wave: “I was selfish. I thought if I told you, all you would want from me would be retellings or stories about him. To deliver or receive messages. I was afraid I’d only be a pipeline to your father and that all the fun we had, all the calm I found with you, would be gone in favor of getting to know him. Which would have been totally valid. L-Like I said, it was selfish of me to deprive you of that. I…I just didn’t want to give my friend up, so I… simply didn’t say anything.”

Percy was forced to take a deep breath from the sheer lack of air and in doing so, he could finally rip his eyes away from Telemachus and down to his own lap. The son of Poseidon hadn’t even noticed how he started to tremble in short bursts. He would’ve gladly shut up, but there was still more to say, so he continued with a lowered head and hoarse voice: “It helped my consciousness that you never asked for any names specifically, or maybe that was just something else I told myself to ease the rightful guilt. And when you actually mentioned him, we were already on our way to the Underworld and I thought I could stall for a bit more time…Then the Fates told me to not mess up anything besides the journey and I became afraid that if I told you, their scorn and anger might be directed to you. I was safe because of my ties to the future, but I could not risk you getting the blame if I slipped up, so even if I had been ready to finally come clean, it…was just easier to keep lying.”

Now that everything was out in the open, Percy finally felt like he could breathe again, even if his heart was still stinging and a cold feeling kept creeping into his bones despite the warmth of the sun.

Telemachus didn’t force him to look up when he finally found something to respond with. And once again, it wasn’t what Percy expected: “But you never outright lied, did you? You omitted the truth.”

“Same difference, really.”, the demigod laughed, desperate and frustrated.

He felt hollow now, empty. Waiting for the judging hammer to fall. But this time it wasn’t Zeus dealing out some divine punishment. It was the Prince of Ithaca. And whatever he decided would happen. Percy wasn’t going to argue.

But perhaps he didn’t need to, because Telemachus shuffled even closer until their sides fully pressed together. Then, there was the weight of a head on the demigod’s shoulder and soft brown hair tickled his nose.

“For me it isn’t.”, Telemachus stated, lifting their intertwined hands as he started playing with Riptide’s ring. He gave Percy a moment to process, before he asked candidly (but not judging, more like…curious): “Would you do it again?”

And if that wasn’t the one-million-dollar question.

Percy thought back to those early days of dreaming with his friend. Their banter and jokes, the way they could relax and be quiet together, never oppressive, but more understanding, a deep connection the demigod couldn’t explain. Even after all the mythical things he had seen, their friendship still had something magical.

So, would he be able to sacrifice these days of comfort and calmness to give his Dream-Boy the connection to his father he always wanted?

“I-I wish I could say no for certain but…Maybe? Our friendship means so much to me. I should be able to cope with being second place, I think.”, the son of Poseidon finally answered in a whisper. He was being sincere, even if the dagger in his heart twisted again. If that was a real wound, he would have bled out long ago.

Telemachus hummed thoughtfully, splaying his hand against Percy’s palm, comparing their sizes carefully. The hands of the prince were thinner, more delicate, with elegant bones and long fingers, perfect for any instrument, be it for music or art, and the skin was unblemished and fair. In comparison, the demigod had darker skin, marred by little nicks and cuts, rough from handling his sword and coarse around the ball of the hands. His fingers were thicker, had a strong grip and still slip through Telemachus’ like water, settling against the warm flesh of his friend like they had always belonged there, sending a tingle right through his arms and down to his toes. A pleasing shudder rippled through the demigod’s back.      

“To be honest…I think I couldn’t.”, the prince spoke after a while. The sun had started its way down, tinging the world orange and pink. Percy came back to reality slowly.  

“What?”

“I thought about it long and hard and…You were my first real friend, Percy. I don’t know what I would have done to keep our friendship as undisturbed as it was.”, Telemachus confessed, matching the serene atmosphere with his soft voice, “If I had been in your situation, I might have acted even worse.” Dream-Boy squeezed their intertwined hands and turned his head, presumably to look into Percy’s eyes, but he still avoided the other’s gaze. The prince continued by saying: “So, thank you for being honest with me. I forgive you.”

Silence came over the meadow, stunned and waiting.

“This shouldn’t be this easy.” Percy voiced the first thought in his mind.

Whatever whirlwind of emotion had dominated his actions, words and brain until now was dispelled scarily fast, leaving behind nothing but empty space. The son of Poseidon felt drained and tired from all the talking and facing past regrets. But there was no more energy left in him to hold onto the guilt concerning his friend, when Telemachus himself dismissed it like this.

“Everything with you is easy for me.”, noted the prince with what was definitely a smile in his tone, making Percy sag a bit into their half-hug. The remark that followed was equal parts amused and serious: “And you have more than enough time to tell me about my father now anyway. I bet you have lots of stories to share until he comes home.”

The last crumb of resistance of being forgiven this quickly reared its head and made Percy say: “I promised you to make sure he reached Ithaca.” One more thing he had failed.

But Telemachus obviously had a different opinion, because he hummed: “You can still keep that promise. He will make it, right?”

“Yeah.”

The outcome of the Odyssey had not changed (and never would). Odysseus made it home in the end.

“Then that is all I need for now.”

Percy still couldn’t believe his luck. “You should be way angrier. Or frustrated. Or disgusted.”, the demigod remarked.

“We’ve already established that I forgave you lying to me. What else is there for me to be deterred by? I am still your friend. And I will stay until you send me away yourself. You are here. You came back. That is all that matters to me.”, Telemachus said with such conviction it made Percy’s heart jump painfully high. Dagger still lodged in it, but less painful.

“I can’t believe you mean that…after everything I did. If you actually saw-“

The prince did not give him the time to once more sink into self-hatred. He interrupted the son of Poseidon easily: “I did. Maybe not all of it, but enough. Nothing you did in that war disgusted me. You impressed me, amazed me.”

If the demigod had been brave enough to look down, he would have for sure seen the pretty pink blush on his friend’s cheeks, but there was still something in him that kept his gaze locked onto his own lap, where their hands were clasped around each other.

Telemachus wasn’t done: “I know you, Percy Jackson.” - So steady, so sure - “I have been by your side even if you couldn’t feel me. And I am still here. Please let me-“

“I could.”, whispered the demigod and swallowed harshly, “I think… I felt you. Sometimes. I saw you too. And…a lot of things would make sense if you’d truly been there - In the future, I mean.”

All the times he’d felt the warmth of someone’s touch without there being anyone, or the glimpses of caramel eyes and brown hair from the corner of his eyes came back to Percy. He remembered feeling strengthened during his days of holding the sky, the small, whispered encouragement and the obvious moments Telemachus had to have been nearby.

Most prominently were of course his dive into the Styx, where his Dream-Boy had pulled him out of the burning waters. His mortal anchor. The son of Poseidon recalled his friend’s face and words vividly. How he had been commanded to come back and how his promise had given him the strength to persevere.

And then there was the prophecy itself.   

“Protected by the soul asleep, with timeless help, a soul he’ll reap.”, Percy quoted, “That meant you, didn’t it?”

He finally turned his head back up to look at his friend’s side profile. Telemachus’ head still rested on his shoulder when the young man answered: “Yes, I think so too.”

No surprise about the strange wording.

Only one more proof of Dream-Boy actually having seen the future. And if that was actually, really true, he most likely had also been present for the rest of the war. Had been present during his stand-off with Kronos. More even…

“You really were there then?”, the demigod questioned with a whisper. He felt a mix of many emotions, mostly wonder and something that felt like pride. He clarified: “On Olympus, during the last fight…It wasn’t just my imagination?”

The prince of Ithaca tilted his head to meet the sea-green eyes of the son of Poseidon. They stared for a long time, trying to read each other. Before Telemachus confirmed: “No. I was there. I pushed the sword into Luke’s weak spot as you held him down with your powers.”

He couldn't have put it more clearly. This removed any doubt. The prince had truly dreamed about the future.

And more than that: He had even changed it. He had helped win the war and killed the mortal shell of the Titan of Time. Telemachus was the true hero of Olympus. And no one except him and Percy knew about it.

But his Dream-Boy didn’t even spare that fact an ounce of attention. He was more focused and something else and stole all of the air inside the demigod’s lung with it.

Serious and honest, Telemachus caramel eyes underlined it undeniable when he said: “You see Percy, I killed too. And not only Kronos. There was a boy on the bridge that aimed for your back. I killed him with his own dagger. I could never judge you for something you did to protect others.”

The simple way he phrased those words was devastating and finally stole all the wind under Percy’s sails, making the roaring monster of guilt and doubt and despair retreat into the dark hole it had crawled out from. The son of Poseidon felt all the lingering tension finally leave his bones for good.

The only thing left was warmth and contentment. And the grounding presence by his side. Unmoving and steady. There to stay.

As attentive as the prince was, his mind was still too caught up in his own train of thoughts to notice the massive shift in the mood. “To save or slay Olympus foes, a wish, a choice to end his woes. There was never a way for you to come out of that prophecy without killing someone.”, Telemachus said, still lingering on the wording of the prophecy. He added: “I do not condemn your actions. And that last line…

There were way too many things the son of Poseidon wanted to say. There was so much to address, to process. All the trauma both of them went through, parts of it even together, but they had time. There was no need to force all of those heavy things and difficult conversations right this second.

Maybe focusing on taking one step after the other would be enough for now. 

It was on Percy to shed a bit of light into the meaning of prophecy’s wording this time. In hindsight, it was ridiculous on how long it had taken him to figure this out. “I wished for a way to return to you, and I chose to take the chance when I finally found it.”, the demigod explained with a small smile.

Something relaxed in Telemachus’ expression upon hearing his slightly amused tone. The heaviness drew back a bit, making room for the comfortable, familiar atmosphere between them. A beautiful smile (that had a suspiciously teasing edge) formed on the prince’s handsome face as he turned around a bit, leaning his chin suggestively on Percy’s shoulder. There wasn’t much space between them now, only inches, actually, and the demigod felt Telemachus’ breath tickle his neck when the prince drawled, clearly joking: “And does it end your woes? To be here?”

“It really does.”, Percy responded instantly and deadly honest to boot. No need to hide how much he had missed his friend, and how precious the chance to see him again, live in the same time and space as him, meant to the demigod.

Telemachus twitched back, surprise blooming on his face, followed by a deep red blush. Some of his twinkling freckles were swallowed by the intense colour, but Percy found it a very charming expression. Something keenly satisfied hummed low inside his chest, vibrating through his bones. The feeling was as pleasant as the view, and Percy vowed to make his Dream-Boy blush more often, if this was the reaction he had to his fluster.

Furthermore, it was rare to see Telemachus speechless like that, swallowing hard and averting his eyes shyly. For a second, the son of Poseidon deliberated apologizing, he had not meant for his friend to become uncomfortable, but the prince got himself back together quickly, a quiet challenge in his caramel eyes.

Instead of continuing their teasing, the young heir decided to address something else: “How did you do it anyway? I mean, the Titan of Time pushed you here the first time and pulled you back again, but I never knew there was a way for mortals to travel through time at all. Especially without godly help.” The topic change was not subtle at all, but seeing the blank curiosity on his friend’s face made Percy want to indulge him for now (he still saved the picture of a blushing prince deep in his long-term memory).

The demigod grinned widely and leaned forward to bop Telemachus’ nose playfully with his own, mingling their breaths again and making the warmth in his chest (something totally unrelated to his powers) burn brighter. “I didn’t do anything. You did.”, he said simply, knowing how little that actually helped clarifying the matter.

It was still worth seeing the confusion on the face in front of him. There was a cute little crease by his mouth, whenever the prince thought very hard about something. “What?”

Percy gave in really quickly and had the mercy to say: “You gave me a way back.” Not that it was much more informative.

Telemachus obviously agreed when he drew back a bit and asked with an eyeroll: “I did?”  

Now actually wanting to explain his little journey back in time, the son of Poseidon said: “The pearl you gave me. It was magical. A travel pearl from the sea. My divine stepmother gifted me some on my very first adventure. If you step on it, it will take you where you need to be. Yours was the same and…turns out I need to be here. In ancient Greece.” Telemachus pulling away awakened something primal in Percy, wanting to chase the other, and he did so impulsively by leaning even further into him, steadying his body with a hand on the ground, invading the prince’s space and breathing: “With you.”

The blush upon freckled cheeks deepened, satisfying whatever had made Percy want to chase the other in the first place. But the demigod wasn’t sure he wouldn’t do so again.

Telemachus was obviously sick of getting flustered, so he escaped by falling onto his back, breaking whatever spell had caught them in each other’s orbit. The clean air filling the space made Percy come back to himself. Mortified by his brashness and courage to do something so…scandalous, the son of Poseidon turned away himself, feeling the heat creep up his own neck.

Thank the gods that his Dream-Boy did not make their whole … thing more awkward, but instead got back to the topic at hand. “So that’s why you don’t wear it anymore…”, he contemplated with a hint of sadness in the velvet voice.

Percy could understand that feeling very well. He had been devastated once he realized what he had to do to come back (and give up. No way there was another pearl like this in the world).

“I’m sorry I had to destroy your gift.”, he apologized with a painful grimace, but Telemachus shook his head nearly instantly.

“No, that’s okay.”, the prince said and then added with a deep breath: “It did exactly what it was supposed to do. Remind you of me. I will just have to find something else to give you now.”

That sentiment increased the constant tingling in Percy’s gut to something that made him unable to surpress the fond (and gooey) smirk fighting its way onto his face.

“You’ve got more than enough time now. I have nowhere else to be.”, the son of Poseidon promised, and both boys exchanged a hopeful smile full of unspoken feelings and thoughts. All of them positive and excited for what was coming next.

Notes:

I think I need to reiterate that I have absolutely NO intention of throwing our boys into an misunderstanding that won't be solved with a good talk EVER.

There will be stones and bumps in the road, but this is a train headed for happily ever after steadily. I want a good, fluffly, light-hearted story for Telemachus and Percy. (It won't work all the time, but not because of our boys and everything will have a good reason and nice resolve imo ;P)

Next chapter: 9th of August.
(There is a very curious mother running around...)

Suggestions, questions, thoughts and feelings are always welcomed and appreciated :)

Chapter 15: Penelope's waiting

Notes:

Editing this chapter was very tiring XD

Enjoy the 5k of conversation! Prepare for emotions, I guess ;P

TELEMACHUS snuck back into his bedroom undetected under the light of the rising moon. He knew that come morning, his grace period of being undisturbed and unquestioned would be over. He would be expected to break his fast with his mother for sure, and with the way she had eyed him after the contest, it would be accompanied by an intense conversation.

Hopefully she would send away her handmaidens for it. That would make it a lot easier to speak truthfully to her. Because, as anxious as he was by the prospect of her learning of Percy, the prince didn’t want to lie to her too much.

His Sea-Boy had been far too understanding when he confessed his wishes, giving him free range about everything he would want to disclose.

“I trust you Telemachus, one hundred percent. Whatever you think she needs to know, tell her.”, had been the words of the demigod, and the reassuring squeeze of their intertwined hands may have underlined that statement, but also led to another wave of heated fluster filling his cheeks.

Telemachus was mortified by how easily the other man had change the trajectory of his feelings and thoughts, simply by leaning closer or seeking a connecting touch. It wasn’t the first time Percy had done so, but over the years, their bodies and minds weren’t the only thing changed.

The prince was not stupid. He knew what a crush looked like, but it was something fully different to pine after a memory, and seeing the absolutely, devastatingly handsome demigod in the flesh (and having permission to touch said flesh unrestricted! Even if he wasn’t bold enough yet to use that permission yet…). Being trusted with all his secrets and what to disclose to his mother didn’t help in calming down his erratically beating heart at all. But it also filled him with pride and the warm certainty of their relationship being as strong as ever.

Knowing that some of the hardest conversations were behind them for now (and that they were still going strong despite all the complicated things between them) gave Telemachus the necessary confidence-boost to face the Queen of Ithaca that next morning with his head held high.

Even though he had not yet decided how much to tell his mother, stepping into her chambers didn’t feel like the execution he had expected. The table in the drawing room burst with enough food to feed a small army, especially since it was only the two of them partaking for now, but the prince knew that every leftover would go back to the kitchens and quarters to be consumed by their servants. Maybe that was why his mother always ordered this much food. The suitors that still resided in the palace could eat like an army every day and when the Queen wasn’t attentive enough, there sometimes wasn’t enough reserves left to feed the staff.

Another lucky thing for Telemachus was the absence of all the handmaidens, when he stepped past the guard and through the door. His mother’s chambers were some of the best protected in the whole palace, with thick doors and few windows that had no balcony and were too high for any mortal to climb. All her doors had different locks and bolts, making sneaking in impossible (except if someone destroyed the whole door, but the ruckus would alert everyone in the palace to what was going on).

“Please lock the doors behind you.”, the soft voice of his mother asked after the prince was inside. Telemachus complied immediately, sliding ever lock and bolt into place, making sure that no sound would echo into the hall and giving them all the privacy a busy building like the palace could provide.    

The Queen of Ithaca sat primly at her spot left from the head of the table (the place usually reserved for the head of the family, in their case the king, but it stayed empty in his absence), already sipping at a cup with some juice (she did not like alcohol during the early hours of the day). Her blue eyes were sharp and calculating, following his every move as Telemachus made his way over to her. He met her gaze calmly and leaned down to give her the usual chaste kiss on the cheek in greeting before finding his place on the opposite side of the table.

His mother hummed and gestured for him to serve himself some of the bread and cheese in front of them. For a few minutes, the ate in silent company, but the tension rose steadily, and Telemachus knew that the interrogation was about to start. The prince prepared himself mentally but was still caught by surprise when the Queen remarked something wholly unexpected: “I heard you came back late yesterday.”

“You knew I was out?”, Telemachus asked, caught off guard instantly and he thought about who could’ve snitched. No one should’ve seen him leave his room, but maybe there had been a maid in the gardens when he sneaked through there? A tight feeling coiled through his stomach. Had he been followed? Had their conversation been overheard by someone? Surely Percy would have noticed something with his superior senses, right?

His mother did not notice his inner tumult, but she did snort in a completely un-queenly way and sent him a teasing grin that relaxed him a bit. She wasn’t really angry then. 

“Please, dear, do not insult me. I know everything that’s going on in my palace. And you weren’t subtle.”, Penelope stated matter-of-factly but her amused eyes then became uncannily intense as she asked with faked nonchalance: “Where did you meet your…friend?”

That answer soothed Telemachus’ worries perfectly. Whoever had seen him leave hadn’t follow him. What he and Percy had spoken about was still entirely theirs. But the rest of his mother’s words…he obviously needed to work on his poker face and inconspicuousness. The prince took an intentionally slow bite of his bread to stall for time.

Did he want his mother to know about their meeting place up the mountain? Until now, he was pretty sure only him (and Percy) knew the exact way to their meadow, as it could only be reached by leaving the trail halfway up. It sat wrong with him somehow, telling anyone about their oasis of freedom and comfort.

That was why he finally answered with: “I would rather not tell.”

His mother pursed her lips, but indulged his wish with narrowed eyes, changing the topic of the conversation flawlessly.

“I see.”, the Queen took a calm sip from her juice before saying, only slightly reprimanding: “You know how dangerous it can be to go somewhere without the guard. The suitors are always looking for a way to gain the upper hand. I will not lecture you on something you already know, so just make sure to not be caught unaware. By anyone.”

It was a warning for him to be more careful, but no outright ban on sneaking out of the palace. In her own way, it was even approval of him taking his own autonomy serious.

Telemachus leaned back in his chair, finally feeling a bit more grounded in their exchange, having gauged his mother’s mood enough to know that she was actually more curious than worried about him meeting some unknown young man. Her trust in him was touching and helped the prince find his footing.

With a proud little smile, he could not surpress, Telemachus addressed her concern: “I can assure you mother, I am nowhere safer than in his company.”

“Is that so?”, the Queen asked skeptically, her sharp eyes scanning Telemachus for any sign of deceit. But when Penelope came up empty, now sure her son was speaking what he perceived as the truth, she hummed pensively: “I must admit, seeing him fight was impressive. He is quite accomplished for his age, but that does not mean he didn’t make mistakes.” The admonishment was soft, but even then, the prince felt himself bristle in Percy’s defense immediately. His mother couldn’t know, but the man they were talking about was not only a demigod son of Poseidon (one of the three most powerful gods), but also the mortal to had beaten Kronos, Titan of Time, in a swordfight, as well as destroyed Kampe, jailor of Tartarus, single-handedly.

No way any man or beast could actually harm him, if Percy decided to fight with his whole strength. 

Telemachus snorted derisive and said with no small amount of pride: “He held back. In a true confrontation, no one in all of Ithaca would stand a chance.”

His mother did not look very impressed, but the prince forgave her the disbelief. She hadn’t seen his Sea-Boy in the thick of a war, making monsters and Titans quiver in fear. Penelope then raised her eyebrow and inquired calmly: “Interesting…how can you be so sure?”

Ah…that was difficult to answer without going into the whole demigod-war-against-a-titan-in-the-future thing. Parts of that he could (and wanted to) tell her, but maybe going into the thick of Percy’s crazy life without some sort of smooth transition was a bit…unwise.

“I think that is an answer for later.”, he evaded with an uncertain chuckle, reaching for the grapes. The Queen watched him for a moment, before giving in again (it became kind of unsettling, her being so ready to shelf some questions and going with the flow he set, instead of demanding the answers she deserved).

“Very well. Let’s start at the beginning then.”, his mother gave him a kind and gentle smile, that was still curious and then asked: “Who is this boy and how do you know him?”

Telemachus should have expected that question, and he had, but now that he looked into his mother’s pretty face, saying that he dreamed about a boy for years that now mysteriously appeared in Ithaca sounded…bonkers. And delusional. And in no part like a healthy way to meet a new friend.

“Ah…okay, I trapped myself there.”, the prince admitted with a grimace. He rubbed his neck and decided for a different approach: “Can we go back to the other question? Why I am sure he is the strongest warrior in Ithaca?”

The Queen raised an eyebrow in obvious amusement and took a sip from her juice: “If you want.” She was really indulgent this morning (which was most likely her strategy to make him comfortable enough to spill everything she wanted to know, even if she had to wait for it.)

Well, no time like the present to test how much her goodwill could withstand the craziness that was Percy Jackson and his life.

“Well Percy is…blessed by the gods? Wait no, that isn’t right.”, Telemachus abandoned the notion to stay vague halfway through the sentence. He took a deep breath before starting again: “I want to be honest with you. Please keep what we talk about between us and don’t freak out, okay?”

That disclaimer was necessary on all accounts.

Penelope’s gaze stayed sharp and focused on her son. Her amusement turned to seriousness as she said: “I can certainly try. Who is this Percy, Telemachus?”

Oh boy, here we go.

There was no easy was to lead into this, so the prince decided to take the direct route to the core of all things Percy.

“His father is a god. A powerful one. Really powerful. We met about four years ago through some divine intervention. I never left Ithaca and he was never here, but we could… communicate to a certain degree. We talked, a lot, and became friends. He was traveling with…”, that was the first time Telemachus choked during his rushed explanation of facts. He did not want to give too many details about their time together (that was something that should only belong to them), but his mother needed a rough idea about how their dynamic came to be. And telling her where Percy had been during all of that was important. Not only because he needed someone to talk to about that, but also because his mother deserved to know. She had been waiting for 16 years to get reliable news about her husband.

So, the prince pushed through all his reservations and rushed to say: “He was traveling with father, with Odysseus. After saving him from a Cyclops, Percy joined him for a part of his journey home, before the gods called him away to help them with…something.”, another deep breath was taken before Telemachus ventured on, not giving his Mom the chance to intervene before he got everything out.

“I am sorry to be this vague, but it is not wise to draw the wrath of the gods, and I don’t know how much to tell you! Believe me when I say that Percy has done things no mortal, no other hero, has ever achieved. I know about some of them, and I truly trust him with my life! I asked him to come back to me once he was finished with his duties to the gods and, now he is here…in Ithaca. The promises he talked about during the contest? That was one of them. I guess he gave father another one, to look after us or something, but we didn’t have a chance to talk about everything that happened yet…”

After getting all of that out, Telemachus needed a few seconds to get back his bearings. Anxiously, he watched his mother on the other side of the table, searching for some form of reaction on her blank face. The Queen had leaned back in her chair, arms crossed, eyes lowered to her plate, brows furrowed and lips pinched. Her brown hair was intrinsically braided into some updo that was held by many golden clamps and bands that twinkle in the few sun-rays that penetrated the inside of the chambers. She looked ethereal (she always did) in her thoughtfulness.

Telemachus had always known his mother was the cleverest woman alive, her wit far greater than any of the scholars and men that crawled around the palace like they owned it. No matter who slinked around them, it was always the Queen pulling the strings. She was the mistress of the palace and the regent of Ithaca. She had fought and won many battles of barbed words and veiled threat and through them all, Penelope of Sparta had never lost her smile or effortless grace.

Seeing her this unguarded and lost in her brilliant mind showed how serious she took his words. But that did not reassure the prince in the slightest, quite the opposite really. He needed to hear her assessment.   

“Please say something.”, Telemachus asked uneasily.

When his mother raised her blue eyes to meet his brown ones, she tried to keep her face neutral, but the prince had seen her so often and in so diverse company that he could read her better than anyone else. The Queen was skeptical and guarded, but she had not made a verdict about his friend.

“This Percy…is a demigod, someone powerful. He traveled with my Odysseus before the gods called him away, and during all of this he communicated with you for years?”, she recapped incredulous, and Telemachus winced upon hearing the last part. When he nodded, Penelope grimaced. “Why didn’t you tell me?”, she asked, hurt shining through her voice like a beacon and the prince felt like the worst person alive, having disappointed his mother.

In this moment, Telemachus finally, completely understood how Percy had felt yesterday. Both of them having omitted something important from the people they cared about. And while he had truly forgiven his friend, having empathy for his situation and feelings, the prince wasn’t sure he would be afforded the same grace by his mother. But still, he wanted her to understand that it hadn’t been some failure on her part, but something he had simply wanted to keep close to his heart, untouched by others.

So, he took another deep breath and tried to explain his motivation as honestly as he could: “Because…it would have sounded crazy back then. You wouldn’t have believed me anyway and Percy…he is my best friend, mother. The only one who didn’t talk to me like I was a prince. He is brash and cheeky and unapologetically himself. He is not shy to speak his mind, to call me out, but he is also kind and considerate. He struggles with morale and what actions to take. He listens to advice and has asked me so many times for my opinion. He isn’t arrogant like the heroes in the stories; he knows his flaws and tries his best despite them anyway. He is loyal and fierce and brave. And he is my friend. My best friend. And he is finally here, really here. I could not risk you sending him away because you don’t trust him…”

A myriad of expressions flitted over his mother’s face, transforming her eyes from cold, to fond, to exasperated, to considering, before finally settling on concern like a curtain finally shutting close. The Queen got to her feet and moved around the table in one swift motion, kneeling down by Telemachus’ side, her head lower than his. The prince watched with wide and confused eyes as Penelope lifted her hands to cradle his face in them, like he was still a young boy in need of comfort from his Mom after a nightmare. It was such a soft gesture, full of love and care that the young man instantly relaxed into it, closing his eyes shortly to soak up the warmth.

But his peace shattered with his mother’s next word.   

“Was he the reason for you shutting everything out these last few years?”, there was something painfully hard in her voice, like she was already planning the downfall of whoever hurt him, and the next words did nothing to sooth his fears: “I cannot allow someone to be close to you that makes you this miserable!”

A jolt went through Telemachus, and he drew back immediately, eyes wide in shock and brain scrambling to find some way to react to this truly, horribly wrong conclusion. His Mom could not mean that!

“NO! I was miserable because he wasn’t close to me.”, the prince exclaimed loudly, his voice echoing through the chamber before he got his vocal cords back under control, continuing hastily, but at a lower volume: “Our communication became…scarce through circumstances outside of our control! I only saw him once a year on my birthday and every time…Mother, I know I was awfully absent and withdrawn, but that is not Percy’s fault! I missed him so much. The world felt so dark without him and I – I didn’t know how to deal with the darkness. I am still not sure what to do, but he makes my life better. Please do not try to force a separation. It won’t work anyway! We will always find a way to see each other now that we are finally in the same place. I cannot lose him again! I would much rather have your blessing in this than go behind your back.”

Telemachus had no idea why he was vomiting so many words and rants this morning, but maybe all the buried thoughts and feelings he had to keep in while waiting for his Sea-Boy to return were finally breaking free after years of being shunned away. He could be glad it happened while in the company of his mother. He didn’t even want to imagine what horrible embarrassing things he could have said if it was Percy on his knees before him.

The mental image brought heat to his cheeks, and an excited flutter nestled deep inside his stomach at the same time. He forced himself not to think about the handsome man looking up to him with those intense sea-green eyes, kneeling between his legs and smirking that infuriating smirk that made his bones weak and his heart stutter.

This was not the time for such thoughts.

Luckily, his mother interrupted his spiral down a very…unfitting rabbit hole when she sighed: “I…need to think about this.”

Telemachus rose from his chair to get down to the ground beside her, taking him to eye-level with his mom. She looked a little lost and the prince followed his instincts to draw her into a hug. The familiar warmth of her body relaxed the prince, and he also felt his mom burying her head into his shoulder. Both of them were a bit overwhelmed, clinging to each other, not knowing where to take the conversation now.

But this wasn’t anything new. It had always been the two of them at the end of the day. Mother and son against the people invading their home. Them holding down the fort until the King, the father and husband of the house returned to drive away all those presumptuous enough to think they had a chance to claim his legacy.

And while Telemachus also knew his mother was not yet fully comfortable with Percy or the idea of him staying close, she did not outright declare him unwanted or an enemy. It was tentative balance he was willing to accept for now. His Sea-Boy would charm his mother all by himself giving enough time.

He was wonderful like that.

Finally, Penelope got some of her carefully crafted calm back as she questioned quietly, as if afraid a noise to loud could break the moment: “You said he traveled your father…Does he – Does he know if Odysseus is still alive?” His mother was trembling slightly in his arms, muscles tense and jaw set, as if to prepare for the worst possible outcome. How relieved Telemachus was to be able to sooth her fears. 

“Yes, he is alive.”, he answered quickly, heavy with intent. And then, to bring the point home, he even dared to explain: “Percy has met…a lot of very…influential deities. He knows some things that haven’t happened yet and he said, he promised, that father would make it home. He will come home. We will see him again, mother.”

“How sure is he?”, the Queen asked, still doubtful, but there was something like hope in her steely eyes when she leaned back to meet his gaze. It was a feeling the prince knew very well. He smiled confidently: “As sure as the sea is blue.”

“And you trust his words?”

“I trust his words, his actions, his heart. I would lay my life in his hands without question if he asked me to.”, Telemachus vowed, full of sincerity. It was the truth, after all. He had seen Percy through highs and lows, knew his anger, fear and hurt as well as his own. Had seen his Sea-Boy rage and ravage and kill, but was also heartachingly familiar in the way the demigod hugged him, how all their sparrings were tinted with care and controlled strength, how every accidental touch was gentle and an apology never far from his friend’s lips.

Whatever feelings cursed through his chest must’ve somehow showed on his face, because his Mom caressed his cheek with an indulgent and understanding smile, that somehow looked longing and melancholic.   

“Oh Telemachus…I know this devotion very well.”, she breathed to her son, “I always hoped for you to find something like your father and I had, but loving a demigod is dangerous.”

Time stopped for the seconds it took the prince’s brain to reboot. His heart stopped and his mind was to occupied with the first part of what his mother said to even acknowledge the rest. “L-Love? W-Who is talking about that!? He is my best friend!”, Telemachus stuttered, face heating up and even without the amused grin of his mother, he knew that the red in his cheeks must’ve betrayed him.

“And Odysseus was mine before we married.”, the Queen stated.

“That is different!”

But was it really? Telemachus could not allow his brain to go down this track. He wasn’t ready to face whatever feeling the demigod conjured in his belly. They had just met for the first time in real life! No matter how close their relationship already felt, surely making jumps this wide was complete rubbish.

But his mother did not allow him to avoid this topic completely. Gone was the indulgent Queen, now his Mom was like a hungry wolf, having smelled his evasion like a bloody steak. She knew she had struck gold, and her teasing smile did nothing to hide her smugness.

“Is it? I saw the way you jumped from hearing his voice alone after the contest. I am your mother. I know my son, and the way your eyes lit up like the sun was finally warming you again after seeing him was not subtle at all, dear one.”, Penelope cooed, mushing his cheeks between her hands like he was a toddler, making him draw back in embarrassment.

“I-I-“ Telemachus didn’t know how to react to her words, too mortified and embarrassed by being so easily seen through. Luckily, the Queen graciously stopped her teasing in favour of pulling him back into a gentle, but short embrace.

When they detangled again, she looked at him softly and pushed a strand of hair out if his eyes with kind understanding: “It is okay to not have a name for it now, but you care for each other deeply. I see it in the way you speak about him.”

Her eyes were serious when his Mom touched their foreheads together in an intimate gesture and she said: “You gave me lots of things to think about, but despite all those…complications, I am just relived to have my bright and happy son back. If it takes a legendary hero for that…well, I guess you could have chosen someone worse to be your forever.”

Her honesty made Telemachus feel slightly guilty for ever drawing back from her in the first place and he kissed her cheek once more in a silent apology. After that, he bashfully shook his head and laughed weakly: “Mother, you are absolutely wrong here! I may have some…tendencies, but Percy doesn’t see me that way in the slightest. I promise that such things are very far from his mind. Especially with me!”

And while it hurt to say it this bluntly, the prince was very sure it was the truth. The faster he accepted that his silly crush was most likely not mutual, the better for his poor heart. (Something deep down in him whispered that even then he would never get over the handsome hero completely, but maybe he could move on to someone more on his level. The small affections that were between them right now had to be enough to sustain his longing heart.)

But his mother obviously had a different perspective. She snorted undignified and shook his shoulders as he reprimanded: “Do not insult my intelligence, Telemachus. I saw the looks that boy sent up to us even without you being aware of them. He nearly got decapitated trying to get your attention!”

A shing of pointless fear jolted through his spine, but it calmed just as quickly, knowing the situation was over. And there was no way Percy had ever truly been in danger. Even distracted, the demigod could have swept the floor with everyone in that arena.

(Telemachus hated himself for not seeing the spectacle firsthand! Now he always had to rely on other’s accounts when thinking about his Sea-Boy fighting to get his attention. The romantic corner of his heart swooned helplessly.)

The prince shook himself out of his daydreams and uttered with all the confidence he could: “But you can’t know for sure! He may have been just happy to see me again.”

The disbelief was clear in his mother’s eyes, but with a world-weary sigh she replied: “I guess. But I would not give up hope. You need to show your intentions clearly. Men are so awfully thick when it comes to subtle gestures. Your father was such a hardhead, he needed it spelled out that I wanted to marry him before he actually acted on his feelings. Your Percy does not seem any brighter.”

That insult should have triggered him to defend his friend, but he saw her point and grimaced in agreement: “He for sure never noticed or minded me getting close before.”

That made the Queen raise her eyebrow again. With a weird mix of curiosity, seriousness and teasing she asked: “How close are we talking? Do we need to change our conversation topic to something different, son? I know we talked about what to do with girls but-“

“NO!”, Telemachus spluttered, scooting back to wildly shake his head, cheeks burning, “I am thoroughly educated in those things, mother. Thank you! And we never got that close.” He felt slightly breathless, and his head was spinning with pictures and sounds that came and went within seconds. He never wanted the ground to open up and swallow him as desperately as right now.

But the Queen was not reassured. She tilted her head thoughtfully (he missed the amused coil of her lips completely) before musing: “Are you sure? Getting intimate with a boy requires a bit more preparation than usual. Shall I send oils up to your room? I do not want you to get hurt during-“

“MOTHER! I am fine! We are fine! I know everything necessary if it ever goes that far. Which it has not! There hasn’t even been a kiss yet.”, Telemachus screeched, hands waving widely and face ready to explode from all the blood crowding his cheeks. He ignored the little sting of disappointment in his heart, but the Mom-shark in front of him had sniffed blood and noticed his little sulk instantly.

Her grin turned smug and amused as she suggested: “Ah…If you want there to be one, I think it is on you to take the initiative. It is lost hope for you to wait on him, if Percy is truly as oblivious as he appears. And knowing he traveled with your father for a time does indicate him not having the best role model for recognizing romantic interests.” She looked highly satisfied with herself, and while Telemachus was still vibrating with humiliation, he could not fight the fond smile as he saw his mother this carefree for the first time in a long while. She looked happy and thoroughly amused by his plight.

“I- thank you for the advice, but I like the way things are for now. He has just arrived, and we just found each other again. There is no need- I don’t want him to be uncomfortable.”, the prince finally got out and he meant every word. Whatever (IF there) was something further to be explored between them than friendship, they still had a lot of time to do so. (All the time, Telemachus secretly hoped).

Penelope smiled brightly and laid a comforting hand on his shoulder. She said: “That is good. I am sure you’re going to figure it out in time. Let’s see how he settles into his new duties of being a guard. Once he finishes the basic training, I’ll make sure to have Macar assign him to your person as often as possible without raising suspicion.”

Warm love bloomed in Telemachus’ heart upon his mother’s care. “Thank you, Mom.”, he answered sweetly and with a soft smile, that was mirrored by the woman in front of him.

“I like it when you call me that.”, she confessed and caressed his cheek again (the heat slightly reduced by now) With a serious tilt in her voice, his mom promised: “I will do everything for you Telemachus. Know that your worries and feelings are safe with me, child.” 

When they both came to their feet, his Mom pulled him into another long hug and whispered into his ear: “I am so proud of the person you grow to be. And your father would be too, I just know it.”   

Notes:

Well...much information was shared, much intro-perspective had and of course a bit of motherly teasing had to be included ;P

We have got a strong foundation now to get into the next stretch of the fic ;P Conquering Ithaca! One person at a time XD

Next chapter: Wednesday 13th of August
(Who said being a guard was all fun and games?)

Suggestions, questions, thoughts and feelings are always welcomed and appreciated :)

Chapter 16: Welcome

Notes:

Welcome (to another very long chapter) ;P

Here are Percy's first few weeks as a guard! Prepare to meet somewhat know faces (we could've lived without) and witness even more awkward flirting XD

Enjoy!

PERCY was way more energetic than the early time should have warranted. But through his haze of happiness and optimism, it was easy to ignore the annoyed grumbling from Perimedes and Elpenor, as the three of them found their way to the palace gates at the crack of dawn.

After his draining and heartfelt reunion with the prince (learning shocking new things and getting a big boulder of guilt off his chest), Percy was ready to start their first day as official guards of the royal family on a high note. There were no more difficult conversations in his immediate future (except all the teasing his friends couldn’t contain after he returned to the inn) and the only thing expected of him now would be to protect someone.

For that, the son of Poseidon was more than prepared. Nothing would touch Ithaca’s Royals when he was around.

He was actually thrilled to begin training under a real instructor again (even if his pessimistic side snarked that there was little left to teach him with a sword) and to have an official reason to be on the palace grounds (and near his Dream-Boy).

While Perimedes and Elpenor were no morning persons, both of them were equally excited as him. They had proclaimed it about five times yesterday evening, when they had celebrated the outcome of the contest together with Zeno, Telesophorus and Hyginus.

The healer had come a little later – he had to stitch up all the other competitors - and despite him giving Percy a slap on the back of his head for making him deal with the rats’ (oh so unfortunate) permanent injuries, the man was smiling proudly. The demigod couldn’t surpress his grim and smug smirk as the medic had listed the damage he had dealt out and after another reprove, Percy had shared the reason for his excessive force.

No one had anything left to say in their defense after that.

After a few cups of wine for the others (Percy had decided to stay with water – it was way more helpful for his drained energy anyway), the men had finally begun grilling him properly about his meeting and talk with the prince. He had stayed as vague as the others let him get away with, but the stupidly happy grin was hadn’t vanished from his face during it all and soon the questions stopped, simply because the son of Poseidon couldn’t stop gushing about Telemachus.

It was well earned, despite what the old geezers said: The prince was a handsome man (even Thalia would have said so and she was known for having no interest in men in any capacity). Together with his amazing personality, everyone would’ve only been able to rave about his Royal Highness if they truly knew him.

And now Percy had a legitimate reason to be near Dream-Boy. What could be better?

-

The three of them were already expected by the captain of the royal guard, a gruff man named Macar. It was the same one that had accompanied Telemachus on his trip to the beach, so he knew at least something about Percy’s connecting with the prince. The captain, however, didn't let on that something was amiss, except for a quick, sharp look at Percy before greeting them curtly and leading them briskly onto the palace grounds. On the way to the barracks, Macar briefly explained what the next few weeks would look like for the three new recruits.

It was a pretty standard routine. They would have weapon and fight training four times a week, together with all guards that had worked there for under a year, and during the rest of their days they would be shadowing the more experienced guards during their rounds. At mealtimes, some of them would be stationed to keep an eye out on the dining area and the suitors, while others had a break. It would rotate through all the first years when and where they had stationary watch.

Every other day, either their afternoon or evening would be free, otherwise their presence was expected on the palace grounds, doing their assignments, training on their own or spending it with their colleagues in the barracks. It was expected of them to learn the rules of the palace in the first week, including all the guest rights and privileges. They hadn’t yet earned permission to make calls about intervening or punishing violations, which was why they would only shadow the guards that had that privilege at first.  

“You may take willing lovers outside of your working hours, but do not take them into the barracks or fuck them in plain sight. All servants are off limits except they proposition you first. If anyone comes to me with complaints about being harassed, your ass will be kicked out faster than you can blink. Your word means nothing as off now on that matter. Keep it in your pants if they don’t scream yes, am I clear?”, Macar grunted demanding. All of them agreed simultaneously with a clear: “Yes, sir.” But the black eyes of the captain lingered on Percy suspiciously. The demigod felt himself bristle and raised a challenging eyebrow.

He could imagine why he was singled out like this.

The reunion with Telemachus could have looked quite intimate from afar (which it was, but not for the reason anyone but them could understand). It was comforting to know that Macar was this protective of the royal family. One person less to watch like a hawk in this tank full of asshole males (aka the suitors). Even if the insinuation about Percy taking lovers every other day rankled the demigod.

The barracks were in the far back, between the arena and the outer palace wall (which was actually pretty great for sneaking out. The sandstone wall might’ve been pretty high for a normal person, but Percy had greater strength and could for sure climb it well enough if there wasn’t another gate nearby). The buildings were made from rough bricks with sagging roofs. There were three of them, all looking identical except for the numbers out front, marking the serving years of the inhabitants. A small bathing house was beside them, furthest away from the barrack with the big 1 painted beside the door. A few guards were lingering about, sending the three newcomer curious glances.

Macar led them into their new home, a big room full of cheap hay beds lining the wall with one small chest by each of them. There was no privacy, no locks and no space. Percy was relieved that Telesophorus had insisted he keep his room in the inn because no way the demigod would bring anything valuable here. The place reeked of sweat and animosity. The captain pointed to three beds at the far end in one of the corners, saying their new armor would be in the chests and if anything didn’t fit, they should take it into the city themselves and let it be changed. The crown would cover the costs up to two gold coins, everything above that would have to be paid by them personally. After telling them that their first training session was in an hour in the arena, Macar left with little fanfare.

“Well.”, Percy said once they were alone in the barrack, “I never thought I’d want my hammock on the ship back, but this is pretty bad.”

Elpenor grunted as he opened one of the chests to inspect their equipment: “What are you talking about? You got Polites’ old spot. That was the best sleeping place on the whole ship, except the captain’s cabin.”

“Yeah, don’t be a snob, Percy.”, Perimedes agreed, but the way he looked after kicking the hay, making a big cloud of dust, spoke volumes.

“At least we’re all together again.”, Elpenor tried to be positive as he pulled a banged-up chest plate out of the chest. The demigod began to inspect his own sleeping place as he quipped: “It’s like the good old times.”

Perimedes snorted: “Then let’s hope there isn’t some big monster or sorceress waiting in the arena. I’ve had enough divine encounters to last a lifetime.”

“What? To snobby to be a pig again?”, Percy grinned and then threw himself on his bed with as much fake hurt as he could, “And I guess I’ll just vanish for another three years then. To spare you all divine encounters. Please tell Dad it is all your fault.”

“Hey!”, the soldier spluttered with a chalk white face, making the son of Poseidon cackle until a big lump of something was unceremoniously dropped onto his torso, making him cough and wheeze from the dust.

“Low blow buddy! No one wants to meet your father. Now get up and help me clean the armor. If we have to wear this rubbish, let’s make sure it’s at least clean.”, ordered Elpenor, but with a fond grin.

No matter how bad his surroundings, as long as Percy had his friends, he could push through anything.

-

Maybe the demigod had spoken to early. Or some deity of pettiness had it out for him. Because the second Percy stepped into the arena for their first sword lesson, he recognized the instructor instantly.

“Shit.”, the son of Poseidon cursed lowly, as his gaze swept over the pudgy figure of the blond man with an Eye-Patch.

Of course he would have to meet this idiot again. He remembered their meeting on his first day here vividly, and how it had ended with the other’s utter humiliation. Now, the asshat from the inn, that had accused Chares (the serving boy) of stealing, was right back in front of him.   

Unfortunately, from now on, Wannabe-Cyclops had a legit opportunity to make his life really uncomfortable. And no amount of spit-flicking could help the son of Poseidon this time. He would just have to stick it out.

The demigod noticed the questioning gazes of his friends, but before he had time to explain this very unfortunate reunion, Eye-Patch had already spotted them. His one remaining eye gleamed maliciously as it landed on Percy (he still found it weird that the guy had no other wounds or scars besides the missing eye – if it was even truly missing). Blondy barked for them to come over and join the four other men already gathered.

Yeah, this wouldn’t be a walk in the park.    

The demigod kept his eyes on the trainer, but scanned his new colleagues quickly to get a first read on their attitude and abilities. All of them were at least half a decade older than him. The two darker skinned men looked like twins, or at least brothers, and from the way they lazily gripped their sword and stared into the distance, both were more or less uninterested in learning how to fight. That could either mean they already knew how to stab someone or they simple didn’t care and were here for some other reason. Percy decided to keep an eye on them.  

The other two man were older, one stood uncomfortable straight, and the son of Poseidon clocked him as a stickler for rules instantly. The last man was tall and lean, with long and luscious hair, a sleezy, confident smirk on his face. The way he spun his sword was showy, but useless in a real fight.

All in all, Percy wasn’t very impressed with the first-year recruits, but judging by who their instructor was, maybe he shouldn’t have expected any better.

It hadn’t taken much to get the idiot on his ass in the inn.

“Welcome to your first training you maggots.”, Eye-Patch growled like an angry chihuahua and that gave Percy very weird flashbacks to his meeting with Echidna and her chimera. He pulled himself out of it to hear the rest of their trainer’s introduction. Not it was a very impressive speech.

“I am Silas Auretia and from this day forward, I will be your god. You will do exactly what I say and when I say it. No questions, no complains. Every backtalk will double your workout. I don’t care if you miss meals or sleep, you will do your reps until I am satisfied, or you will break down trying. Your blood, sweat and vomit belong to me, and I will see one of it every single day.”

What exactly were they supposed to do with that nonsense? Beside the standard ‘Do what I tell you’ everything else was just hot air to make Eye-Patch (or Silas) feel important. How did this idiot become their sword instructor? Did he even know how to hold the weapon? And they were supposed to treat him like a god?

Yeah… good thing Percy was never one to worship the gods anyway.

The antipathy must’ve been written in his face, because as soon as Silas beady eye fell onto the demigod, he screeched: “You! Pasi. Stop making that face. I will get twelve rounds for your disrespect.”

So that’s how this would go.

As long as he stuck to punishments like this, the son of Poseidon would let it go for now. Maybe with all the extra workouts he was going to get ordered to do, the training might have the potential to be at least somewhat tiring for the demigod.

But one thing needed to be cleared up right away.

As nonchalant as possible, the young man made his way over to Silas. But as relaxed as his posture was, as blazingly intense were his eyes when he focused them on the man. “The name is Perseus. Perseus Jackson.”, Percy purred with a steely voice, channeling the way his father had called him before he destroyed the slaver’s ships. He leaned closer to Eye-Patch and whispered only to him: “It’s somewhat of a family name. You shouldn’t forget it.” Then he passed the man and began his rounds through the arena, ignoring the hateful gaze on his back.

This would either be a funny pastime or the most annoying part of being a guard.

-

In the end, it was both.

Provoking Silas with little quips, witty comments or (most of the time) simply his proficiency with a sword was actually pretty amusing to watch. The trainer turned such a curious shade of red and purple when he was challenged by the younger man in something that was supposed to be his expertise.

Not that Percy did it very often, just here and there when the other recruits were far enough away to not overhear them. It wasn’t his goal to completely humiliate the other man (even though his fighting skills were atrocious. Seriously, how could anyone learn from someone this unbalanced?!), but more to have a little fun while being bored out of his mind during the actual instructions. Silas himself did not appreciate Percy’s humor, making him run laps, hold planks or do sit-up in numbers that would have killed a lesser man. Those punishments, the demigod bore with a smile, knowing he earned them.

What really annoyed him were the extra tasks and exercises he had to complete without actually doing anything to provoke them. He did pull-ups for breathing to loud, jumping jacks for snorting about a joke from Elpenor (the soldier apologized for that later, unnecessarily) and jogging with added weight around his legs for being too fast with an exercise. Those punishments grated on his nerves like crazy, making him scowl and glower.

Not because they were difficult to complete, but because of the time they took. Slowing himself down to match the pace of the other guards was a serious hassle, making the demigod nearly jump out of his mind from boredom. Even when training with his weak hand, Percy was never as clumsy or tardy as the arrogant leek with the long hair (his name was Timon).

Being slowed down like this was getting on his nerves, added by the time he had to spent on the useless punishments and the actual training he did afterward to at least get the edge off of his bursting and cooped up energy, it wasn’t rare for the son of Poseidon to miss the evening meal (consisting of some sluggish grey mash that didn’t taste as terrible as it looked).

Being hungry made Percy moody, grumpy and snappish, resulting in even more redundant and silly exercises. And while Silas didn’t always stay late to watch him fulfill the punishment, Percy was too proud to not complete them with infuriatingly calm and little to no sweat. (And he sometimes felt someone sneaking around the arena watching him doing them. Whether Silas had sent someone to spy on him and report any negligence or it was someone else was hard to say simply from the blood-signature.)

The actual guard duty during his other hours wasn’t that exciting or stimulating either. He was assigned to what was probably the single oldest guard in all of Ithaca (and didn't that reek of meddling from Silas's greasy hands?). The guy, Geron, was at least seventy, with a receding hairline halfway up his scalp and a dirty grey beard that was one big lump of clumped hair. He was mumbling all the time, slurring words and besides being slow like a snail, he was taking naps on the job.

All. The. Damn. Time.

It was truly a wonder he hadn’t been fired or sent to some senior residence. There was no freaking way this guard could even stop a toddler from stealing cookies, let alone strong suitors in their prime.

Still, it was really hard for Percy to honestly dislike the guy, because he was sweet and patient and he was doing the job longer than anyone, having served Odysseus all his life.

His age and physical constitution might have been the reason Geron was only assigned the most deserted hallways or desolate gardens to guard, but for the first few day, Percy didn’t mind shadowing him. The old man was a surprisingly chatty fellow (if he wasn’t sleeping), telling him stories about Odysseus and how he had wooed Penelope. He had been there when the palace was built, knowing a few very well-hidden corners and chambers almost everyone else had forgotten about. Admittedly, Geron used them mostly for some quick naps, but they were also great for hiding and eavesdropping.

Another advantage of shadowing Geron was that the old guard didn’t care if Percy stayed with him or walked the corridors near them alone. He was also knowledgeable about all the rules of the guard, teaching them to the demigod at far greater speed and detail than any pamphlet could have, making him well prepared for Silas next attempt to catch him off-guard.

After one week of seeing nothing but the arena and the hallways of the dungeon and lower levels, Geron was finally assigned a whole week of trotting through the brighter gardens behind the palace, giving both him and Percy a much-needed boost of sunlight. And the possibility for the demigod to keep an eye out for Telemachus.

The prince was pretty elusive, as far as the gossip Percy had caught here and there went. But the son of Poseidon had the faint hope that his presence in some of the busier parts of the palace could draw his friend out of his chambers. Because as things were right now, there was little chance for Percy to sneak around unseen, and thanks to the irksome punishments, the first actual free day he had was more than a week away (they had two of those per month in addition to the supposed free afternoon or evenings sometimes).

His hopes were answered by the second shift they had in one of the flower gardens at the end of the week. As soon as Geron took his position by one of the gates (Percy bored by his side) the faint sound of someone playing the lyre reached his ears. The enticing sound was calling to the demigod, luring him deeper into the greenery, but he needed to wait for ten painful minutes until the soft snoring of Geron told him his instructor was deep asleep.

After a careful look around and sending his senses out to pick up on any moving liquid, (only noting one other being with blood in the vicinity) Percy dared to sneak away and follow the small path further into the garden.

With a hammering heart and fluttering hope, the son of Poseidon followed the melody of the lyre, stepping under some low hanging branches of a tree and into a small clearing with two big stone benches.

And there, under the light of the sun, as if the gods had placed him there just for him, was Telemachus in all his princely glory, playing the lyre like he was born to do so in the most beautiful way Percy had ever seen.  It felt like they were back in his dreams, no one existing but the two of them.

The prince was waiting for him, caramel eyes bright and instantly focused on his approach, smile wide and unguarded, showing his charmingly imperfect teeth that hadn’t changed in the years, but fitted far better than Percy had ever anticipated into the handsome face, giving Telemachus a hint of something human to set him apart from all the artful sculptures of nymphs around him. He wore a differently styled chiton today, slung only over one shoulder, baring the fair skin of his other enticingly to be kissed by the golden sun.

In addition to the shark tooth dangling around his neck, there was also a snug golden band slung around his throat, highlighting his collarbones and the dip of his Adam’s apple. His chocolate hair was freely falling down, its natural waves as soft as ever.

Percy felt the comfortable warmth of seeing Telemachus, bathing in his attention, sweeping through his whole body, making his limbs lighter and a pleasant heavy tingle in his gut swirl. He ignored the heat creeping up his spine and neck, knowing his cheeks would darken anyway upon seeing (and thinking about) his beautiful friend. Instead, the son of Poseidon grinned roguishly, his mouth once again faster than his brain could filter.

“And here I thought I had killed all the sirens near Ithaca.”, he drawled with a challenging and teasing tilt of his head, “Be warned that I am not afraid to swim with predators like you.”

Telemachus gave a snorted laugh, as he stopped playing his lyre and stood up fluently. His voice was drenched in mirth when he retorted: “It would be me playing with the shark though, wouldn’t it? Maybe now’s a good time to mention I am not the strongest swimmer.”

Percy hummed when he reached his friend, drawing him into a gentle hug. The prince sagged into the embrace as if he had only waited for permission. His own hands resting softly in the small of the demigod’s back. They stood there for a few seconds, before the son of Poseidon drew back ruefully.

He smiled upon Telemachus’ disgruntled face and said: “Something I intend to change someday soon. We can’t risk you drowning when visiting my family.”

The caramel eyes widened in shock: “You would take me with you to meet your godly family?”

“Of course.”, Percy stated easily, “But I’ll need to go to Atlantis by myself first. I’ve got no clue how they’re gonna treat me. Kym seems fine, but the others…eh, they will come around eventually.” Percy gestured for the prince to continue his play and with a grateful and fond smile, Telemachus sat back down on the bench. When the demigod didn’t follow, he raised a questioning eyebrow and patted the free space beside him.

Once more ruefully tousling his dark hair, the son of Poseidon shook his head and tipped a finger against the cheap breastplate he wore. “Still on duty. Can’t have his Highness distract me from keeping an eye out for vicious intruders.”, Percy joked.

Telemachus glanced through the silent garden demonstratively before drily replying: “Oh yes. What great crime someone unsavory could do in this oh so precious garden.”

“You would be surprised. Stealing valuable things is quite a common offense.”, he had no clue where all of this was coming from, but the pretty pink blush in the prince’s cheeks was worth every effort as Percy could not rip his eyes away from the other man. But his friend didn’t shy away from the banter (a wholly different kind of banter than the one they had engaged in years ago, but no less enjoyable) and instead quipped: “Well then do not let me stop you from doing your duty, guard. Do keep an eye out for spies and trespassers while you’re at it. I heard the palace has eyes and ears everywhere.”

The last part was said with unusual seriousness and the demigod was immediately on guard, reaching for the warmth in his chest and sending his senses out. But besides them, Geron (about thirty meters away) and a few rodents and rabbits, nothing alive but the plants were in this garden. A quick look up did reveal quite a few windows and balconies overlooking the grounds though and Percy stood straighter instantly. 

“I guess you shouldn’t be seen with me then?”, he asked a bit bitter, already about to step back, but a warm hand on his wrist made the demigod stop. Telemachus caramel eyes were blazing when he claimed: “I do not care one iota for the opinions of others. My mother already knows you are a valued friend, and everyone else can just piss off if they have a problem. I just meant not to cause you any trouble with the rest of the guards, being seen talking to me during your shift. I heard that Silas has it out for you already?”

Percy snorted and relaxed a bit. “Don’t worry about it. I met that idiot on my first day here and stopped him from accusing someone of stealing. He was drunk and humiliated himself by trying to fight me. Now he finally has an official outlet for his grudge, but it’s nothing I can’t handle.”

While the demigod didn’t sit down, he still stepped a bit closer to the bench and fake whispered: “Just between us, the extra exercise is quiet welcome. His lessons are stupid, and he is painfully incompetent.”

Telemachus didn’t look completely convinced, but gave in with a quiet: “If you say so.”

After the prince began to play a small melody on his lyre again, filling the space with beautiful sounds and notes, the son of Poseidon checked once more that Geron was still sleeping, before shifting his weight and asking with fake indifference: “You talked to your mother then?”

The prince clocked his jittering nerves instantly and sent Percy a reassuring smile. “I did.”, Telemachus said fondly, before briefly recounting the gist of their conversation (with some obviously left out parts, but the demigod did not ask after them. Of course there would be secrets between mother and son he wasn’t privy to). In the end, they might not have to sneak around to meet as much as the demigod had feared. The Queen sounded a lot less strict in real life than she had in the few mentions in the history books. But then again, his own Mom hadn’t been the most authoritative either, and if they had some kind of soul connection…

Anyway, Geron was steering just then, cutting his talk with Telemachus painfully short.

They arranged to meet in the meadow on Percy’s free day in any case, should the son of Poseidon be delegated to the dark corridors and dungeons again for his next shifts. With a heavy heart, he moved back toward his instructor, but a soft tug on his arm had the demigod spin around again.

Telemachus was startlingly close suddenly, stretching up onto his tip toes to press a very soft kiss on Percy’s cheek, making his whole world smell like honey and parchment for a minute. His brain said goodbye instantly, only catching the teasing words when the prince was already out of reach again. 

“Keep up the good work, guard.”

Dazed by the lingering feeling of those soft lips, Percy didn’t even realize he had answered: “Anything for you, my prince.”    

Notes:

On a scale from one to ten, how much do we want Silas to go swimming in the ocean? XD

Next chapter: either Friday or Sunday (I am busy on Saturday. Go on discord to vote for your preferred day!)

Suggestions, questions, thoughts and feelings are always welcomed and appreciated :)

Chapter 17: I would take the suffering from you

Notes:

So, as you might have noticed, we are moving into slower currents.
The fic will focus on downtime and world-building for a while, so get comfy and enjoy the ride :D

There will still be a lot of fluffy and cute encounters, a lot of pining and unconscious flirting. Be prepared for the next few chapters ;P

Enjoy!

While PERCY honestly didn’t mind the extra workouts he got, it soon became quite ridiculous and the source of great amusement among all the other first years guards. Silas grudge against him was something everyone was gossiping about, and Elpenor even told them there was some kind of betting pool on how many punishments he could collect per training and when his body would give up on him from all the push-ups and jogging he had to do.

The demigod wouldn’t have cared, if all of his mounting responsibilities and those stupid tasks from Silas weren’t eating up all his free time. There was literally little time to even pee, between standing guard in the shade of some balcony, his instructor snoring the day away in a hallway or Silas barking at him to do even more laps.

Adding to that were the increased number of shifts that required nothing but standing still for an endless amount of time, and while Geron took to napping in some of his hidden nooks, Percy and his ADHD were going stir crazy from having nothing real to do. He wasn’t allowed to wander the halls on his own yet more than a few feet away from Geron, not to mention actually guarding anything beside the dust bunnies or wilted flowers. Only two other times they were positioned somewhere more central, but both times, it wasn’t in a place where Telemachus could have visited him inconspicuously.

Percy hadn’t seen his prince (as in, spoken with him more than two words or exchanging small smiles) in more than a week, and it made him fidgety and grumpy beyond compare. It was always pining from the distance, seeing him down the hall like straight from Olympus itself, with beautiful clothes and carefully styled hair, nose often buried in scriptures or books, his forehead creased adorably in thoughts.

During all the time he waited around staring holes into the air, Percy had become quite the poet about Telemachus’ looks. No man had ever held his interest this consistently as the prince did, but after finding the fifth synonym for pretty, his brain often gave up, wandering to all the other, useful things he could’ve done beside standing around, waiting for Geron to wake up and change their position.

It was a miserable combination of boring shifts, needless exercise that did nothing but eat up time without even exhausting or satisfying Percy’s need for exercise, constantly being late too meals and missing the friend he had taken this job for in the first place. But all of that, the demigod would have dealt with… if Silas would just finally see reason and would stop piling tasks upon tasks on him in the hope he would break.

Doing all the punishments at a speed that was reasonable for humans was by far the most tedious and annoying thing Percy ever had to do in all his life (including math homework!).

Until he simply decided: Fuck this.   

The demigod was too hungry, too restless, too bored and too longing for long walks and engaging talks with Telemachus to deal with playing the normal boy anymore.

Who cared if someone figured out that he was more than a simple mortal? As long as he didn’t play with water or liquid in plain sight, it would be impossible to figure out where exactly his divine blood had come from.

So, Percy gave up all pretending and started training like he did back at Camp Half-Blood.

He still fulfilled the stupid punishments, but it didn’t take him the whole day anymore. He ignored all barbed questions and open jaws from his comrades (as well as the smug smile of his friends) and simply pushed through every exercise as fast and efficiently as he could. That gave him more time to eat in peace, less time in Silas presence (giving the asshole less opportunities to punish him) and a few free hours per day again.

The son of Poseidon ignored the steaming sword instructor and his utterly stupid fighting lessons, and instead spent the time working his stamina and core-strength, as well as the coordination of his left hand. Silas tried to keep him in line, but after being beaten in a spar for the fifth time in less than a minute, he had no ground to stand on to force the demigod to stay for the instructions.

The pile-up of cardio and strength training the hateful man gave Percy instead was more entertaining and faster done anyway.

There was most likely a lot of gossip running wild about him, but Percy didn’t care.

The Queen knew he was a demigod, and everyone one else could either ask outright how he managed all the physical work without collapsing (and be sassed with a useless answer) or make theories up themselves. Perimedes and Elpenor kept their ears open for anything damning or bad, and shared some of the funnier tales being spun about him. But except for him apparently having Cyclops-Blood (not really inaccurate) or being the descendant of a monster, all the gossip was easily ignored. The most common explanation his year-mates came up with was that he was blessed by the gods, and the only question remaining was which deity had taken an interest in him (more than one, to his great pain). It was another rumour that touched the truth, but not enough to be concerning.

The young man’s newfound fame circulated to the other guards in different years sometime after that, and through their own little gossip circle, the servants hear about him as well. But Percy really couldn’t care less, for he spent all his new free time with the only person who truly mattered.

-

Telemachus was the actual expert in sneaking in and out of the palace and he showed Percy all of the best ways during their afternoons together. It was never more than an hour or two, not enough time for deep conversations or existential crises, but enough to catch up and exchange small stories or anecdotes.

It was mostly Percy climbing up the olive tree and talking to Telemachus on his balcony, but sometimes the prince found him after his training and lead them into different rooms inside the palace. The demigod learned the placement of the library, the kitchen, the storage and the royal family wing, as well as two secret passages to cut through a few hallways.

Time flew by, and his first free day was getting tantalizingly close, when Geron was suddenly assigned better posts. Maybe Telemachus had done something, or it was simple luck, but Percy wasn’t complaining. He was constantly outside now, either training beside the rest of his class (Timon had actually tried to get the same deal as Percy had: Doing his own things and just taking the punishment, but he had given up after one day of constant jogging) or patrolling the palace grounds and garden.

He crossed paths with the prince that way suspiciously often, but thanks to Geron’s presence, there was no opportunity for them to talk during his shifts. But the secret smiles and winks still made his days a little brighter (and his heartbeat a little faster).

It was on the afternoon before Percy had his free day, that he came across the first situation that needed a guard to step in. One suitor (of which the demigod had seen surprisingly little) was harassing on of the servants, a younger girl with golden hair and bright blue eyes (something very unusual in Ithaca, which was why the demigod noticed it in the first place). She had been carrying a stack of papers and some inkwells when the man (at least twenty years older than her) had stepped out of nowhere to slap the girl on the butt, making her yelp and drop her load on the ground.

Percy was surprised at how fast Geron could still move in his age. The demigod himself was beside the girl in seconds, halfway in front of her and a fierce scowl on his face, but Geron pushed his shoulder to help the girl, while he turned toward the suitor and led him away a few steps.

“Are you alright?”, the son of Poseidon asked as he crouched down to get a few of the scrolls that had rolled further away. The girl looked at him with wide and spooked eyes, before she hastily lowered her head. She clawed for the papers and let out a small whimper upon seeing one of the spilled inkwells. Her breath became hectic, and Percy grimaced in sympathy. He saw another spilled inkwell in his periphery that hadn’t been noticed yet, and with a small movement of his fingers and a little tug from his gut, the ink drew itself out of the stone and bag into its container.

He offered it to the girl with a small smile: “It’s only one that’s spilled. If someone gives you trouble, just say I was responsible. I can take the heat.” Because no way the suitor would stand in for his mistake. The girl (maybe two years younger than him) gazed at him like he was some strange creature as she whispered: “Thank you.”

They both got back to their feet and in the exact moment that Percy saw the shackles around her wrists and ankles, the loud voice of the suitor scoffed in the background: “Calm down old man! She’s just a slave anyway!”

The rest of the alteration only reached Percy through a thick layer of wool. He saw the girl bow and vanish around a corner and the suitor huff but also make his way back to wherever he came from. Geron led him through the rest of the patrol like nothing had happened at all.

But for Percy, his world had shifted a bit.

It was one thing to read about slavery or hear about it in school, but something wholly different to see it for himself in real life. And this hadn’t even been a really bad situation. Still, his head wouldn’t let the demigod rest, going through feelings and possible actions until he went to sleep. (A really restless sleep).  

The daze that dampened the world around Percy only lifted as he finally made his way back to their meadow just after sunrise. It was finally his free day, and he needed to talk to Telemachus. The prince would help him make sense of the tightness in his chest. He always did.

The son of Poseidon was the first to reach their spot, but he was too agitated to do anything but pace through the grass, waiting impatiently for his friend.  

As soon as the prince stepped into the meadow, the carefree and excited smile on his fair face dimmed. He picked up on the demigod’s mood immediately and made his way over with haste, carefully touching the tanned shoulder and making him stop his fifth round of fast walking.

“What’s going on, Percy?”, Telemachus asked worriedly, studying his friend’s face with quiet focus to get a hint on what was wrong. The son of Poseidon breathed heavily through his nose before relaxing a bit into the warmth of the prince’s presence.

It shouldn’t have been this easy to fall back into that kind of rambling that only Telemachus appeared to draw out of him, but Percy simply couldn’t (and didn’t want to) stop the words from flowing free. His brain was not needed to filter anything. Not with the prince. Not in their meadow. Not about this.

About anything, really.

Withing fifteen minutes, the demigod had recounted the events of the past day. How he hadn’t noticed the girl was not simply a servant until it was pointed out, and how his stomach had turned and twisted ever since.

Telemachus (as he always did) listened silently, but with soft attention, squeezing Percy’s shoulder in support and quiet acceptance. Somewhere down the line, his desire to pace dimmed, and both young men sat down into the grass, close together, knees rubbing against each other and hands touching. The demigod fiddled with a small golden wire that was snuggly fitted around Telemachus’ wrist while speaking, a totally unconscious action, but the prince made no move to stop the contact. Quite the opposite, he looked kind of pleased (not that Percy noticed, he was too caught up in his head).  

He ended his rant with a derisive snarl that spoke perfectly about the anger and helplessness that had plagued him for hours: “Keeping people as slaves is wrong! And so disgusting. I can’t believe I forgot that it is still practiced here.”

The prince hummed, calm and collected. Not judging, but attentive and as he said: “It is. And common too. You won’t find a household except the poorest not having at least one.” It was stated as a matter of fact, no infliction to show his own stance on the matter, but before Percy could bristle upon the indifference, his friend was already explaining:  “I’ve never thought about it too hard; I grew up with them, but after seeing your world…after seeing your time…it is hard going back to the mindset of not caring.”

That soothed the snarling beast in Percy’s chest instantly, turning it into a purring kitten. A big bolder dropped from his heart, knowing Telemachus’ was no longer blind to the injustice and disgusting practice of slavery.

He still had the need to voice: “It’s such bullshit. All people should have basic human rights and the chance to live their life without being someone’s property! I could tolerate it if slaves were all criminals and their punishment would be temporary, but being born as some second rank human and never getting out? I would love to break all chains and free them, I would do it without a second though if I believed it would change something.”

Telemachus perked up, clocking the real problem at once. The prince hummed: “But it won’t, will it? Your history books from school said that slavery will continue to be practiced for a long time. So starting some revolution is bound to amount to nothing.”

“Because time is a fucking loop.”, growled Percy, both of them knowing the truth of that statement. Whatever the son of Poseidon could do to abolish slavery or try to improve their lives would only have either short term success of fail completely. It was a hard pill to swallow, and impossible to accept at first, but the more the demigod thought about, the more hopeless he found the whole thing to be.

Going against social norms did not scare him, but it had the potential to kill all his chances of a peaceful life by Telemachus’ side. The first part wouldn’t bother him (peace wasn’t something he was used to anyway), but losing his friendship with the prince was not something Percy would compromise on. Even if it meant having to live in a world where slaves were a thing.

Did that make him a bad human? Probably. His Mom would be ashamed of him-

Telemachus broke through his dark thoughts by musing: “Yes…I don’t like keeping slaves either, but the more we can occupy in the palace, the better. Because here they are treated decently, more as servants than slaves. There are no corporal punishments as far as I know, and they will be cared for if they ever fall ill.”

“The bare fucking minimum.”, Percy rumbled annoyed and petulant, earning a little side eye from the prince, but Dream-Boy didn’t comment on his tone. Instead, Telemachus tried to find something good about the whole thing by saying: “But better than a lot of slaves in the city. I get your frustration, I really do, but Percy, you cannot save the world all the time. And you don’t need to either. Why don’t you focus on the little things you can do? I bet the girl you helped yesterday will not forget your kindness. That is one person that is a little bit happier thanks to you.”

As positive as his words were, a small part of Percy thought he sensed a small bit of apprehension in Telemachus’ posture and voice, but it was too little to warrant immediate addressing. The demigod still saved discovery in his head, vowing to look deeper into this, should it come up again.

For now, he sighed unsatisfied and spoke: “I guess I’ll just have to…do what I can when I see it. I will not stand by if someone is being mistreated, though. Slave or not.”

His sea-green eyes flash in silent challenge to disregard his words, but the prince didn’t even try to say anything against his choice, instead his smile turned fond and he took Percy’s fidgeting hand in his own without hesitation.

The warm pressure calmed the rest of the demigod’s raised hackles (making the kitten in his chest purr even harder) as Telemachus’ caramel gaze gleamed beautifully in the evening sun, looking like molted gold, burning and precious.

The prince leaned a bit closer as if confessing a secret and then proceeded to say with the uttermost sincerity: “It’s what I appreciate about you so much, you know? Your heart is very kind.”

Percy spluttered, heart racing and face heating up. He felt each point where their skin touched tingle, and couldn’t stand the intensity of the other man’s eyes any longer. Suddenly shy and not at all prepared for that change of topic, the demigod only mumbled: “I think that’s just your influence over me. You are the kind one out of the two of us.”

Telemachus grin was fond and self-deprecatingly when he confessed gravely: “I wouldn’t be so sure. I can be plenty selfish.” The hand that held Percy’s own tightened its grip, pulling the demigod a bit closer, showing a silent kind of possessiveness that made his heart race. A smug and confident grin graced Percy’s face: “Haven’t seen it yet.”

“Then keep your eyes open, Sea-Boy. I bet you will find my darkest corner soon enough.”, retorted the prince, only half playful, and there was no way for Percy to let that stand unaddressed. He would not have his friend doubt his commitment to their relationship over something silly like this.

“And I will stay regardless. Like you did for me.”, the son of Poseidon vowed with all the severity he had in his heart. Their foreheads touched softly, black and brown hair mingling, as Percy leaned closer, eyes trapping their caramel counterpart to make sure his next word were heard and accepted: “You’re not getting rid of me, Telemachus. But feel free to try. I’ll only learn more about you.”

His voice was challenging and arrogant. Percy knew he would win no matter what.

“Idiot.”, was Telemachus way of gentle surrender.

-  

Life resumed to the normal rhythm. Training four times a week, shifts of guarding and patrolling (mostly still with Geron, but once every week he was put together with one other first-year-guard to keep an eye of some desolate corridor alone) and then, in between mealtimes and the odd bathing hour granted to them (not that Percy overly cared for those, if he wanted to be clean, he snuck down to the beach with a bar of soap and used his powers to do it right), the demigod used his few free hours to have little meet-ups with Telemachus.

In most cases, they simply enjoyed spending time in each other’s orbit, the prince either playing his lyre, writing something or drawing, while Percy did a few light exercises and talked about his day. They shared stories and gossip regularly, Telemachus often venting about all the long meetings and negotiations he had to attend and how his mother shut down suitors left and right. It was the kind of simple togetherness they had shared during the dreams years ago, coming back like they were never apart in the first place.

Of course, especially during the late hours of the day, conversation topics tended to venture into more serious areas. Mostly it was Telemachus that started asking a few questions about one thing or the other that he had been confused about during his time dreaming about Percy’s Quest in the future. Things spiraled from there, covering the most basic things like school or the political system, but also dipping into his life as a demigod: facts about Camp Half-Blood and the things he had done that the prince hadn’t witnessed himself. And although all those conversations were accompanied by the sting of homesickness and longing for his Mom, Percy never discouraged his friend from asking. Talking about the things he missed was surprisingly helpful, even if it hurt. 

Telemachus never made him feel like he should be ashamed of his feelings, accepting the flood of emotions as calmly as he did everything else. Holding Percy while he whispered about his Mom’s pancakes or pulling him into tight hugs if they ever stumbled into talking about people and friends he had lost during the war. Percy even felt confident enough to confess about some encounters and fights he had been terrified about, most notably his battle and defeat of Kampe.

The prince told his own perspective, for he had witnessed him killing the monster with its own poison. But instead of being disgusted by the brutal (some might even say cruel) and lengthy takedown, Telemachus eyes only showed reverence and pride as he gushed about Percy’s prowess and cleverness, complimenting his quick thinking, making the demigod blush to the roots of his hair. Still, the son of Poseidon cradled the warm feeling close to his heart for next two days, thinking back to their conversations whenever Silas was particularly annoying.  

His friends teased him endlessly that one time late at night when he had been too tired to make his way back to the barracks and fell asleep in their meadow. Telemachus had stayed as well, curled into Percy’s side and sleeping so very deeply that the demigod found it impossible (both figuratively and literally) to wake him when the sun crept back up again. Ignoring his own fluttering feelings, he had carried his friends back to the palace walls before finally shaking him awake, so that the other man could sleepily climb back into his chambers.

Percy had made it just in time for their morning training, much to the disappointment of Silas (he had hoped to give him even more extra work). But the trainer found another way to get back at the demigod for all the disrespect and attitude. Because not even three days later, he had come into the arena with the biggest and smuggest leer on his face, that any of them had ever seen.

He postured himself before the first-years, hand behind his back and chest proudly puffed out. His one beady eye rested on Percy with quiet and malicious satisfaction. The demigod tensed instinctively, even if he didn’t let it show. Perimedes and Elpenor stepped up to both his sides naturally, guarding his back even if there was no distinct danger.

Everyone waited painfully quiet for Silas to say whatever it was that had him so haughtily amused. He finally opened his mouth after making sure everyone’s attention was firmly on him.

“Listen up maggots” (the name still made Percy roll his eyes) “I’ve got new orders from higher up. The city watch is understaffed after losing a few of their members to… higher ambitions. As unfitting as they may be.” Silas sent a painfully obvious sneer toward the Perimedes and Elpenor. Percy tightened his jaw, ready to defend his friends and finally put that asshat in his place, but the trainer continued too quickly for that: “Anyway, the Captain asked for a few of us to help them out for a while until new blood comes in. You will have to aid them during your off-hours or in-between shifts. Unpaid, of course.”

More work and no reward? Sounded like exploitation at best and the beginning of slavery at worst. Both things the demigod was not very happy about. Judging by the murmuring around him, he wasn't the only one.

Silas raised his voice to be heard over the ruckus of the other guards: “But they don’t need all of us, so I took the liberty to suggest one of you for the job myself.” That made everyone shut up instantly, and Percy let out a wary breath. He knew exactly what was to come and he wasn’t disappointed as the trainer’s sleazy smile turned back to him specifically.

“I’ve volunteered Jackson to take over all the slots, seeing as he always brags about his great stamina. Let’s put it to the test.”

That was utter bullshit. It was Silas’ own hubris that took offence because of Percy’s physicality and the (granted, slightly unfair) advantage his heritage had given him in that department. Not once had the demigod boasted about something he could do or had achieved (not even to himself or when prompted by Telemachus. Everything others might be impressed by had been done out of necessity and with a big dose of luck. That was not something he wanted to be proud of). But apparently not saying anything and simply following the instructions of his punishments wasn’t enough for a man like Silas, who needed to feel superior all the time.

If he had just decided to increase the difficulty of the exercises, Percy would’ve been more than happy to follow, but cutting into his already limited free time? Yeah, that made the young man a bit more than unhappy. Especially once he heard the gleeful explanation of his duties.  

“You will serve your normal time guarding the palace grounds for four hours each afternoon, but in the morning and evening you are expected to report to the city watch’s office by the docks to take your assignments. Every exercise and training you miss through this, you’ll need to make up during the week.”, Eye-Patch was just about vibrating out of his skin from devious joy. He flipped through his blond hair and stepped so close to Percy, that their noses nearly touched. The son of Poseidon didn’t even twitch. He met the confronting gaze confidently, deciding to take this on as just another hurdle to overcome.

The amusement on Silas’ face turned into a disturbed and hateful sneer. With a fishy breath that was entirely unpleasant, the older man hissed: “I guess that means no more strolls or secret rendezvous. Tell whatever slut you’re meeting to search for a new cock to entertain her.”

Yeah, that was too far.

His gut tightened and the heat spread out to latch onto the pumping blood of the mortal in front of him like a leech. Silas froze when his blood turned icy cold and with a cold glint in his eye, Percy squeezed tight for another second before letting go again.

He couldn’t risk the man dying right in front of him.

The stubborn demigod didn’t suppress the annoyed twitch of his mouth and his lowered eyebrows, showing his displeasure clearly. The trainer couldn’t know how far from the truth that instigation was, but alone the thought of someone calling his Dream-Boy anything other than impressive, made the dark and violent side deep in his brain coil, ready to strike.

It would be easy to make this man beg for mercy. Percy would not even have to lift his finger. If he could beat Kronos until the mighty Titan was only able to spew hateful words, this mortal would succumb to his wrath like an insect to a heavy boot.

All it needed was one little push of the heat in his chest, on twitch of his finger or a swift strike with his sword.

But the demigod had decided long ago to be different than his father.

Ruthlessness is mercy upon ourselves.

Ruthless does not mean cruel.

And it would be cruel to stomp on someone so low already. (He had already lost more of his composure than he’d wanted). Silas was a miserable man with nothing positive in his life. The only joy he found was in the distress of others. He thrived upon putting others done and while that was despicable and disgusting, it was also something inherently human. 

Percy would not meet human failure with divine punishment. He was no god.

Silas should be grateful for that.

Even if his next words made clear that he was not very appreciative: “I will run you into the ground Jackson, until you eat your arrogant attitude and infuriating smirk. Time to show you just how little you matter. You are nothing more than the dirt under my shoes, and now you will spend your entire free time serving the rags of Ithaca. Back in the alleys and among your kind, where you belong!”

Percy accepted the challenge with a small tilt of his head. He would not let this man take time away from his meetings with Telemachus, nor would break under the strain of his duties. He’d persevere, he’d thrive.

Taking over guarding the streets of Ithaca may even have some benefits. Because the demigod hadn’t forgotten about the slave girl from the other day, nor Telemachus’ words about how much worse it was in the city.

Maybe this was the excuse he needed to change some things.

It was worth abstaining from crushing Silas’s silly little life for a bit longer. But the man would reap what he was sowing, because like his father, the son of Poseidon did not forget a slight against those he loved.  

Notes:

We have some dread and anger about social conditions and a prince that knows just how to deal with a agitated demigod.

How cute are they? You can be honest XD

Next chapter: Wednesday 20th of August (maybe earlier if I get impatient, but no promises) - Percy's compassionate heart makes Telemachus swoon (as always ;P)

Suggestions, questions, thoughts and feelings are always welcomed and appreciated :)

Chapter 18: Big mouths to feed

Notes:

Promises need to be kept.

So this is me keeping my promise from Discord: Thanks for reviving me guys ;P

Enjoy the early chapter!

(Happy Birthday Percy :D)

TELMEACHUS had never thought of himself as a very obsessive person. And he would still stand by that assessment with the one, little, particular exception being everything concerning Percy Jackson. But even that wasn’t as bad as it could’ve been, at least in the prince’s eyes.

Did he like knowing where the other man was if they weren’t together? Sure, but that was just something normal considering they had been apart for a long time.

Was he awaiting every little one of their meetings with fervor? Yes, the separation had made his heart long for the easy camaraderie between them, so looking forward to seeing Percy was nothing reprehensible.

Did he establish his own little spy system of servants and guards to keep him posted about the demigod’s movements? Maybe, but that was only what a concerned friend of a newly arrived time-traveler would do. He did it to be able to help if there ever was trouble the other couldn’t handle on his own (that the possibility of a son of Poseidon needing help from dear old him for anything was very low, did not factor into that decision. Better safe than sorry, and all that.)

Was he staging their encounters during Percy’s shift to get a wink and blinding smile at least once a day? Of course. But in his defense, he really had things to do during the day that required him moving through the palace. What routes he took to attend to his duties should concern no one but him.

Besides, Telemachus was pretty sure that his Sea-Boy hadn’t caught onto any of that. And he also hadn’t mentioned any of the times the prince was sure he had been seen watching the demigod train in the arena.

Having a healthy interest in his friend’s day-to-day activities (and NO obsession!) was a very good reason for knowing the other’s schedule right down to the mealtimes. And what if he was fascinated by watching his friend spar with the other guards (dominating every fight) and completing his workout in record time? It was only an outlet for all the leftover admiration Telemachus still had after seeing the son of Poseidon fight a war…

Who cared that the prince blushed like a maiden whenever he hid behind a row of seats to watch Percy do sit-ups in nothing more than a tunic that covered his lean hips and thighs? Seeing a man’s bare torso was nothing unusual after all. And it was certainly the demigod’s fault for being such an exquisite specimen of a man that Telemachus was even tempted to sink into daydreams about him.

So yeah, no obsession at all. All his feelings were very natural for a concerned and dear friend to have (oh, who was he kidding? Telemachus was down very, very bad for the son of Poseidon, but still too shy to do anything about it).

Which was why it was also absolutely reasonable for the prince to boil with hate and frustration when he heard that Percy was forced to take extra shifts with the city watch during the week, cutting into their own time together. Just because Silas (that useless trainer) had a bruised ego.

He had half a mind to march to Macar and make the captain change the order, or schedule to keep Percy’s afternoons free for their meetings, but when the demigod told him about the whole business, he also made clear that he wanted to deal with it himself.

Telemachus’ petulant feelings dimmed (even if they didn’t vanish completely) upon hearing that his Sea-Boy saw the extra shifts as an opportunity to connect better with the citizens and slaves and expand his circle of influence to help them. Percy’s kind heart and the determined glint in his captivating sea-green eyes settled the prince’s discontent a little, warming his heart into the gooey mess it often became around the other man.

The demigod promised to still make time for Telemachus whenever he could, and together they worked out the necessary space in both their schedules. The prince did notice that Percy was planning to sleep very little, but when he voiced his concern, the son of Poseidon just smiled brightly and proclaimed that he did not need as much sleep as a normal human (Telemachus was skeptical whether he should believe this, but decided to let it be for now. He would collect evidence just in case the situation proved to be unmanageable to get Macar to intervene anyway). 

Independently of Percy, he decided to extend his own duties a little further into the city, so that he would have enough reasons to visit Ithaca and see with his own eyes what tasks his friend was ordered to do there. Luckily, his little spy system (powered by charming words and flattery) extended to the families of the servants as well and through his lessons with other younger citizens in his youth he had enough reliable ears to catch any meaningful gossip once Percy started his work there.

If his mother noticed that his growing interest in the everyday happenings in the city correlated with the extended shifts of his friend, she didn’t voice it, but her eyes were ever sharp and her smile became much more teasing the further Telemachus went to guarantee him getting enough time (which was never enough at all) with Percy.

-

That was how he learned very quickly just how lovely and kind his dear Sea-Boy really was. And it exceeded even his (already very high) expectations. Because it took Percy only three days of mornings and evenings spent in the city for there to be already rumors about his generosity.

As Telemachus had suspected, the demigod was sent on patrols mainly in the very poor areas and districts, where the people may have been free of slavery, but there was no chance for a regulated income. Mostly because the male family members were either too crippled, too old or simply too stupid to take a well earning job. Sometimes the families had too many children to feed all of them, or the women were widowed but not desired by other men for whatever reasons.

It was something that could be found in lots of places, often resulting in the poor people either turning to begging or some (very desperate) parents selling their children into slavery themselves. Ithaca had tried to ban this practice, but after Odysseus and all the other men had been called to war, it had been difficult to enforce it with the few soldiers and guards left behind.

Telemachus knew about the problem on paper, but not having direct contact with any of the unfortunate souls, he was ashamed to say their conditions had slipped his mind until Percy shone the spotlight of the prince’s attention directly on it. Because his Sea-Boy had decided to help them himself, and gossip about the demigod’s deeds spread like wildfire through the districts and palace equally.

It started small, with someone saying that the new patrol in the lower areas had very loose pockets, buying way too much food for himself during his breaks and then giving the rest away to the street urchins.

Telemachus wasn’t stupid, and after sending a servant to buy something specifically from the lower market, it was confirmed that there was already a little crowd of small and poor children following his Sea-Boy around the city during his watch.

It spiraled quickly from there. Percy (or Perseus, as he wanted to be called by anyone that wasn’t a close friend) soon gave up all pretense and simply bought the food for the poorer people straight from the market, distributing it himself during his breaks or giving it to some children he trusted to do so fairly in his stead. Telemachus didn’t ask where all the money for that endeavor was coming from (it couldn’t only be the measly stipulation that being a guard brought in), but he listened to all the stories about the people his friend had to share when they came together either very late in the evenings, or in-between his afternoon training and the next shift.

Two weeks passed, and while the citizens slowly grew to love the new and kind man guarding them, Telemachus saw the toll the increased workload took on his Sea-Boy. Percy was always tired nowadays, yawning and less expressive in everything he did. It wasn’t unusual for the son of Poseidon to fall asleep during their get-togethers. Not that the prince minded per se. It gave him the perfect opportunity to study his friend in detail without looking like a creep. His best drawings and sketches were made on such days, with Percy resting beneath a tree or spread across the floor in his bedchamber. In closed rooms, the demigod always slept deeper, spread like an eagle, mouth open and even drooling a little, which Telemachus found more than endearing. But by far the best naps were those where the demigod was brave (or tired) enough to lay his head either on Telemachus’ shoulder or in his lap.

Whenever the son of Poseidon initiated such contact, the prince took it as permission to touch the other freely in return, caressing his cheek or neck, stroking through the unruly black strands of dark hair or tracing the scars on his bare arms and shoulders. Percy didn’t protest once, often sighing in content or smiling before drifting off.

His skin was soft even over the scars and he was always warm. Telemachus wondered how a person could look this ethereal, but maybe it was the divine heritage that made Percy look like a living dream, all roguish charm and well-worn confidence. The mask of the fearless hero only cracked around the prince, revealing hard edges and soft planes all over, making the demigod feel more real than myth.  

Like puzzle pieces, they both fit together seamlessly, and Telemachus was truly honored that the battle-hardened war leader felt comfortable enough around him to sleep this unguarded. It was one of the prince’s favorite expressions: to see his Sea-Boy’s face relax completely, all tense lines vanishing and leaving the man looking younger and more carefree. And while he really enjoyed this other kind of close connection, Telemachus still vowed to find a way to lighten his friend’s load.  

The perfect idea came to him when Percy offhandedly mentioned that he was thinking about teaching some of the orphans how to swim. “Maybe they can join a crew for a bit of pocket change? Help with fishing or something. I can’t sustain all of them forever without swarming the market with foreign money or priceless deep-sea trinkets.”, the demigod mused, for once awake, but his head was still lying in Telemachus’ lap, eyes closed.

He was basking in the sun (or was the sun basking in his presence?), either way, the prince smiled and drew a quick sun with his finger onto Percy’s shoulder when his brain caught up with the words and formulated a plan in seconds: “You could teach them how to dive too. Isn’t there a colony of seashells and clams not too far out? Maybe they could dive for pearls themselves. If they sell them to the right people, they could get a hefty sum for it.”

Percy sat up so fast, he nearly collided with Telemachus, but his bright and cheery smile made every protest die on the prince’s lips instantly.

“You are a genius, Dream-Boy!”, Percy exclaimed, suddenly all restless energy and boundless drive correlated into a very well built body that jumped up, towering over the perplexed man. Pulling Telemachus up like he weighed nothing (making his stomach swoop violently upon the effortlessly show of strength, because the prince was by no means small or light), the demigod crushed him into a hug, gushing about something that was drowned out by Telemachus’ brain whooping and purring in warmth.

-

The idea of teaching the kids in Ithaca something useful, rather than just providing them with food and clothes, awoke something in Percy. Telemachus had seldom seen his Sea-Boy this engaged. Or rather, heard about how engaged he was, because somehow his mother had decided his improved mood meant that his princely duties could also increase in intensity. And while the Queen’s orders to look over the trading reports and the logs of the harbor master led Telemachus to wander through the city personally (giving him an excuse to check on his friend periodically) it was also tedious work.

But at least one of them enjoyed the time outside of the palace, because Percy was unstoppable.

He rushed through the poorer district like an uncontainable storm, charming children, grandparents, men and women alike with his easy smile and helpful attitude. He stopped minor disagreements and petty crimes in the same breath that he helped an older gentleman carry a crate of fish or helped a lady find her grandchildren. His fairness in dealing with criminals became the talk of the city after he had taken the time to speak with every single one he caught, determining whether they had acted out of desperation or maliciousness, and either letting them go (with a few coins to buy food instead of stealing) or hauling them to the holding cells to be dealt with by the captain.

Soon, there was no one in all of Ithaca that hadn’t heard about Perseus, blessing of the gods.

Telemachus thought it oddly fitting and hoped that no deity took offence, but upon making sure all the gossip was mostly positive (a few merchants grumbling about thieves going free, but Percy always got them either their goods back or reimbursed them by helping with something or paying outright, so they were mostly complaining to save their face) there was very little for the gods to be mad about.

-   

By chance, during one of his many visits to the office by the docks, Telemachus stumbled upon an encyclopedia of sea treasures, completely with an exact way on how to appraise pearls and sea glass to reliably determine their worth. When the prince showed it to Percy, the son of Poseidon immediately jumped down into the sea, looking for a possible diving spot that would produce a sustainable number of pearls for a long time. It took two late evenings in the ocean, during which the prince thought about better ways to export jewelry more efficiently and on how to increase the demand to make the fruits of their endeavor even sweeter, but when Percy came back up under the shining moon, he was grinning, having found a very promising spot that was neither too far out nor too deep for humans to reach.

As both young men snuck back inside the palace grounds, Telemachus listened with amusement to Percy telling him about the deal he had struck with two sharks that hunted around the island, making them guard the pearl reef in exchange for belly rubs and a few times playing fetch. Percy was more than happy with that arrangement and glowed under the praise the prince bestowed on him.

Maybe this would truly change the tide for a lot of people in his kingdom.

Now the only thing left to do was to actually teach the children how to swim and dive, and show the mothers or elderly relatives how to make basic pearl chains to sell (and to keep the newfound treasure a secret as long as possible to give the orphans and poorer people the chance to make something out of it). Telemachus suggested Percy conduct his first lessons by the lake, a short hike away from the city, because the water there was still and not moved by the tides, making it a better starting option than the temperamental sea.

Ignoring the offended huff, the prince even agreed to join him on one such outing, if the other was not on shift. He would not been seen distracting a guard, and so they compromised on Telemachus joining a lesson on Percy’s free day. They were originally going to spend it at the meadow together, but after being exposed to the sea-green baby seal eyes, the prince gave in with an eye roll. Telemachus was not happy to share his time with the demigod, but the lure of maybe seeing his friend topless made him only grumble a little to maintain appearances.

The next actually free day was a week later. Percy had already begun the swimming instructions in the lake and was confident that the seven children, who had been brave or bored enough to agree to learn, were ready for the shallow waters of the ocean. He easily agreed to Telemachus’ request to not use their beach, saying they would just go to the one east of the harbor. The prince mentioned that he would join them after his morning meeting with the harbor master to finish up the last of the logs.

The day dawned bright and early, under blinding sunshine. With a fluttering stomach and sweaty hands, Telemachus tried to keep his nervousness at bay, but the thought of seeing the son of Poseidon fully in his element was exhilarating, and his concentration was the worst it had ever been. At least until the prince was finally freed from the stuffy office at the harbor.

Commanding his personal guard (two middle aged men that were as rigid as steel and not nearly as loyal as his mother believed – which was why the prince always carried two daggers with him no matter what-) to go back to the palace already, Telemachus turned toward the beach. He ignored the protest of the soldiers and gave them his very best don’t-mess-with-me expression (trying to channel his inner Percy) when they attempted to stop him. Of course they tried to follow him, but the prince was good at slipping away and had no problem doing so now as well.

He knew it was risky with all the suitors about, but most of them were still in the palace and as soon as he reached the beach, Percy would be there.

And Telemachus could be nowhere safer than by the side of his demigod.   

Notes:

Let's get the gossip going ;P

A lot is happening here and we are still just at the beginning! Percy is taking over Ithaca one person at a time. <3

Next chapter: Wednesday or Thursday (20th or 21st of August)
- A blooming business and swimming lessons ;P

Suggestions, questions, thoughts and feelings are always welcomed and appreciated :)

Chapter 19: You know I'm too shy

Notes:

Oh high heavens... this chapter is pure bliss, I tell you <3

I hope you love it as much as I do!

Prepare for smiling and kicking your feet, we have reached the *Beach Episode* XD

Enjoy!!

TELMACHUS may not have the backing of the goddess of wisdom like his father, but he’d like to think he was still smarter than most.

So, he had prepared and thought about this outing multiple times, opting to use different techniques to keep his real identity as hidden as possible. Obviously, someone would recognize him eventually, but hopefully it was only after Percy could make sure everyone was comfortable with the prince’s presence (thanks to the easygoing nature of his Sea-Boy).

Telemachus didn’t want to impose on the diving lessons, but he knew that having the prince among them was bound to change the behavior of the citizens in some way. Maybe not the children, but their parents would act differently for sure.

Not that Telemachus particularly cared, but he did want to be liked somewhat by his subjects. His Sea-Boy was already loved, so if he left a bad impression, the people might have reasons to point out all his shortcomings to the demigod… and while the prince was sure his friend was not prone to listen to gossip, it was still a possibility that made his stomach turn queasily.

Good impression it was.

Which was why Telemachus freed his hair from his usual laurel wreath and took off most of his golden jewelry except his shark tooth necklace and a bracelet from his mother. All of it was hidden in the traditional blue wrap he normally wore over his chiton, leaving his outfit unadorned and giving him an improvised bag to carry. He knew that his face was still very recognizable, but maybe looking so plain would confuse the people long enough.

The beach wasn’t hard to find, being only a little further than the harbor, and the shrieking and laughing of children was a very good indicator of where to go. The shore was rocky, with only a few feet of dirty sand leading up to the lush green grass, where five adults were sitting in the shade of a tree. Four women, all of them having shawls over their head, and one older man with gray hair and a walking stick. They were watching the mayhem happening right at the edge of the dark blue ocean. Telemachus stayed behind them for a second to observe the scene before him with a smile.

Seven children, ranging from what looked like 6 or 7 to a few teenagers around maybe 14, were standing in the gentle waves of the sea, splashing water or pushing each other around with mirth. No one was swimming yet, but it looked like they already had lots of fun just messing around.

For a second, Telemachus didn’t spot Percy among the chaos, but then something big and loud broke through the surface behind the children, drenching them all with a massive wave of flailing arms and a glorious laugh that the prince would always recognize anywhere.

The son of Poseidon came up from the deeper waters like some legendary myth of old, water cascading over his bare shoulders and chest, defining the planes and endless expanses of tanned skin better than any painting the prince had ever seen. It was nearly unfair how good the other man looked, with his lean muscles, toned stomach and all those little scars that gave him something dangerous behind his wicked good looks. The black hair was wet for once, but still very wild, with its grey streak catching the light, standing proudly among the darker strands. Sea-green eyes were crinkled by the wide smile that tugged at Percy’s pink lips.

Telemachus mouth became dry instantly, and a wave of heat ran through his chest and belly, making the prince shiver pleasantly.

No one in the whole world could look at the perfect picture in front of him and not find the demigod to be the most attractive man in all of Greece.

It was devastating to see him with such little clothes and not be allowed to touch him. Telemachus quietly bemoaned the chance to trace over the heated skin, the soft scars or the hard muscles stretching in Percy’s stomach.  Despite his rapidly beating heart and the unmistakable desire that pulsated through him, the prince was certain that even if they had been in the togetherness of their meadow, alone and undisturbed, he would never dare to ask for such intimacy from his friend.

He would lose his mind if it were granted in the casualness that Percy so often displayed to his friends, as if unknowing what his actions would do to the poor prince. 

The thought made him anxious and giddy, but without knowing for absolute certain that his crush had a chance to be reciprocated, Telemachus would just have to admire Percy from afar. He wouldn’t risk their friendship for anything.

Even if it was made so impossibly harder when his Sea-Boy took two of the smaller children under his arms before throwing them further into the sea, all the while calling encouragement and evading splashing attacks from the other kids. It was a beautiful scene, seeing the hardened demigod melt into the softness of the caring young man Telemachus knew Percy to be. Here, playing with children in the waters of his father’s domain, with no danger or duty interrupting his enjoyment, the son of Poseidon looked so incredible happy that Telemachus felt all air escaping his lungs until his head spun.

But (by whatever power his friend possessed) Percy sensed his presence quickly, turning around instantly (even if it meant ignoring one of the children calling for his attention). Their gazes met, one adoring and the other full of pure joy. White teeth flashed as Percy raised his hand to wave high and wide (honestly, it was such a dopey and obnoxious gesture that Telemachus could not suppress a laugh) as he called: “Finally! Get down here Dream-Boy. What are you waiting for?”

They had agreed for Percy to not use his real name until someone recognized him themselves, but being called Dream-Boy this loud and proud made the prince’s face burn more than he had thought (both pleasant and abashed, but overall simply happy to have earned such a description at all). Flushed to the roots of his hair, Telemachus waved shyly back, cautious not to stare too much at the demigod’s bare chest and the little trail of dark haired under his navel (especially not that!!).

As the prince made his way down to the water, he heard one of the teenagers (a boy with dirty blond hair with and an expression like he had smelled something foul) ask: “Who’s that Perseus?”

“My best friend.”, the son of Poseidon answered easily, as he waded through the shallow waters to get closer to the beach, “We couldn’t see each other much this week, so I asked him to join us.”

It was a statement, no question, and the decisive way he said it made a warm tingle bloom in Telemachus’ chest.

It also pleased him to hear that his friend had found their time to not be enough as well, even though they had spent a few hours together in the meadow just the other day, eating blueberries and talking about different kinds of pie that were popular right now.

When Telemachus reached the edge of the dry sand, he put his bag down, opening his mouth for his own greeting, before warm, wet arms were already wrapping around his middle in something that was both embrace and carry equally. Percy chuckled into his ear, breath touching the prince’s neck as the remaining water drops from the demigod’s body soaked into the fabric of his clothes, making them soaked and clammy. Telemachus grimaced but only protested mildly when he felt himself being lifted.

“Hello to you too, you brute.”, the prince chirped and clapped onto Percy’s back, his fingers lingering for a moment on his broad shoulders, “You know I can walk by myself, right?”

The son of Poseidon whirled him around like a puppet, as he made for the blue water and said: “Yeah, but you were slow. I’ve been waiting for ages. I already got a training rope down to the bottom AND explained the right breathing technique.”

“Very impressive.”, Telemachus hummed. He began to wiggle when Percy’s feet touched the sea, and his friend immediately lowered him down. The water was cold, a stark contrast to the warm skin of the other man against his shoulder and cheek, and the prince shivered. He noticed the many stares of the children and adults in his back like crawling ants. Telemachus focused solely on Percy and muttered: “So maybe start the lesson already? I would rather not get completely wet right away. Show the kids how to dive and I’ll join you after, okay?”

In truth, Telemachus was a little embarrassed to admit that he wasn't the strongest swimmer. Especially in front of the children, who had been training steadily for a few weeks (and were quite good according to Percy). He didn't want to embarrass himself by needing the demigod’s help more than them.

Percy read his face for a few seconds like an open book, his eyes kind and understanding. With a fond smile, the son of Poseidon stroked a hand soothingly down Telemachus’ back before agreeing: “Very well. Take your time.”

He turned around and whistled for the kids to follow him further into the open water, explaining on the way how he had fastened a rope both at the bottom of the ocean and around a floating piece of wood to give them a guideline for the first few tries. Telemachus watched from afar (feet in the water and face in the sun), how his friend gently made sure that all the kids were comfortable and had the right mindset to attempt a dive that was more than snorkeling.

The prince ignored the obvious whispers in his back when (after maybe half an hour of simply observing the sun break onto the wet skin of Percy) he moved back to his bag and sat down beside it. His thoughts wandered, catching on different irrelevant things, but his attention was always drawn back to the demigod after a few minutes. Glad to have taken his sketchbook with him, Telemachus pulled out a charcoal stick and began a new drawing.

Maybe it was shameless to draw his friend half naked, but the prince just couldn’t let go of the glorious sight and wanted an excuse (for his own sanity) to…study Percy. As to not appear like even more of a creep, he took great care to add details to the waves surrounding the demigod’s waist and the endless expanse of ocean behind him, but everyone looking at the sketch would’ve seen where exactly most of his attention was drawn.

With hot ears and a flutter in his chest, Telemachus did not even notice the time passing. He saw all the children diving for different lengths and Percy looking over them, giving praise or correction whenever one came back up for air. Most of them simply smiled in thanks before trying again, but one of them was getting steadily closer to the demigod, trying to be inconspicuous about it.

It was the obnoxious blond teenager that the prince had already taken note of. Telemachus’ eye twitched in resentment, as the boy threw himself at Percy, clutching his biceps and pressing his side against his friend’s arm. It didn’t matter for the acid burning through the prince that the teenager wore a heavy chiton made of wool that prevented their chests from touching. It was easy to hear when the blond kid wailed: “Can you please carry me back to land Perseus? The currents are so strong here!”

It soothed Telemachus to hear the boy speak Percy’s whole name again, meaning that the son of Poseidon didn’t find them close enough to offer his well-loved nickname. It was a distinction the prince fully approved of. As far as he knew, only the old crew of his father and himself were allowed to address him by it. And as far as the green beast in his chest was concerned, the old sailors were not in the same way privy to Percy (in name or anything else) as Telemachus was. The thought made him smile.  

The addressed demigod looked confused and a bit annoyed as he extracted his arm from the grip of the boy. Telemachus felt vindictively satisfied as his friend stated: “What are you talking about? There are no currents here, and I know you are strong enough to make it back on your own.” The rebuff lost some of the sting for the teenager as a few other children asked for a break as well and Percy indulged them.

As they swam toward the beach (the boy grumbly going on his own), Telemachus got to his feet.

Yeah, he was done keeping away to save his pride.

As the children hampered back to their parents, leaving only the older ones behind, the prince pushed his shoulders back a bit and made for his Sea-Boy. The ocean greeted him with a gentle wave, swishing around his feet and calf. The teenagers backed off instinctively, letting Telemachus walk through them undisturbed, but with badly veiled curiosity.

Percy was waiting a bit further, water sloshing around his waist, arms relaxed by his side and a crooked smile on his face that made Telemachus look away with pink cheeks. Suddenly there was a lurch behind his feet, making the prince stumble over nothing (at least as far as he felt) and he already braced himself for the most embarrassing belly flop into the ocean, when he was caught by strong arms.

His momentum carried Telemachus right into the naked chest of his friend, nose touching defined pectorals and his lips catching a hint of tanned chest, breath fawning over wet skin, causing goosebumps to rise.

Percy tasted like salt and sunshine and warmth. Even though it was only for a fraction of a second, the prince was already addicted, and not even the cold water around his own chest could really cool him down.

Instead of voicing the many things swirling through him right now, Telemachus very consciously chose to address the very teasing grin on the demigod’s face. After he found his footing again and scooted back a bit, the prince hit his Percy’s chest and proclaimed: “You did that on purpose!” There had been nothing but the water making him trip, and only one of them could control the liquid like that.

“Maybe.”, came the unrepentant reply, accompanied by a cheeky wink, before Percy smoothly pulled both of them into even deeper water, making them float. He swiftly moved around Telemachus to steady him with a hand around the waist and added: “You were too far away.”

The prince was blushing even harder now, both because of the words and the familiar touch that kept them together amongst the waves. He admittedly panicked a bit as he blurted the first thing that came to his mind when they moved further out into the sea: “I’m not a very proficient swimmer.”

Percy snorted fondly and tightened his grip a bit, as if to reassure Telemachus that he got him. “Don’t worry Dream-Boy.”, his Sea-Boy said softly and with a conspiratorial wink, “I’ll make you look good and teach you properly once everyone’s gone.”

And what else could he do but smile and say: “Thank you.”

Miraculously, Telemachus managed to remain unrecognized for another glorious hour. Afterward, however, he noticed the startled looks and frantic whispering of the adults. With a sigh, he pointed this out to Percy, but the demigod was undeterred by the gossiping and judging people. When the children returned to continue practicing, he stayed by the prince's side, giving instructions and talking to his friend in between dives, introducing him to the children and indulging some minor details about their friendship. The younger kids quickly became accustomed to him, asking curious questions about the palace and what it was like to be a prince, which Telemachus tried to answer to the best of his abilities. The day ended with him and Percy being the last ones on the beach and him finally getting the real experience of seeing the demigod as a devoted teacher.

Although he hoped the lessons the demigod had with the children involved less touching and whispered corrections very close to their ears…

-

Their business idea (fondly called pearl imperium by his Sea-Boy) shot through the roof over the next weeks. At first, the merchants and jeweler were skeptical and cautious to buy sea treasures from young children or somehow disgraced women, but luckily Telemachus knew just the way to increase the demand for such accessories. A few carefully placed hints around the suitors on how his mother adored pearly decorations and jewelry made those stupid pigs scramble down into the city, with loud voices and heavy pockets.

While Percy made sure the children found the right place to dive, Telemachus wrote a little manual on how to identify the quality and estimated price of pearls and let his friend take it to the older people of the poorest district. As they became familiar with the commencing and learned how to bargain right, the women focused on honing their skills to stitch the smaller pearls (that were not big enough to be sold by themselves) into pretty necklaces and beautiful hairnets. Those were either sold to be traded elsewhere or (after the superior quality of the pearls became common knowledge) bought directly from the wealthy citizens who heard of the Queen’s love for the style. 

After explaining his plan to his mother, Penelope indulged them, taking the pearl jewelry many suitors offered with great praise. She still never wore any of it, because doing so would mean she accepted the courtship of the man who had gifted the present. And as much as she wanted to help her people, she would not give the suitors an inch when it came to actual hope. But her accepting the gifts was more than she had ever done before, so the idiotic men ran back to the market regularly.

Money flowed into the deepest parts of Ithaca, giving even some slaves the opportunity to buy their freedom after helping with the selling or polishing and earning a little wealth. Contrary to his initial fears, Percy somehow managed to get the participants to organize themselves fairly and justly. There were little misunderstandings or arguments, wages were paid according to the time spent helping. Maybe everyone was just happy to finally have an income again, but Telemachus still asked his mother to send a few more patrols down to the docks to make sure no overeager merchant hassled the poor people.

Indeed, a few others tried their luck in finding the diving grounds, but Percy’s shark friends were very good at keeping those away. The animals (5 now, wherever the additional ones had come from) looked quite menacing, even though all of them were right sweethearts when the prince met them on one outing.

Seeing as there was less hunger and even less petty crimes, the situation had relaxed for most of Ithaca, giving his Sea-Boy a bit more free time as well. He still had all the shifts, but now the demigod could sneak off during some of them again, meeting Telemachus either in a palace garden or letting the prince find him at the beach, oftentimes underwater doing gods knew what. 

Well, Telemachus found out what his friend did during his little me-time rather soon. Because one evening Percy came to him with a bashful face and shy smile. He presented the prince with two beautiful earrings, one of them a stud with a magnificent grey pearl and the other an assortment of dangling and glittering little gemstones that would gleam beautifully in the sun.

And the prince knew, he KNEW, that Percy had no clue what the gesture meant (gifting gifts was different in the future after all – as was dating, as far as Telemachus was aware). What him accepting it would mean, but that didn’t stop the butterflies from destroying his insides in their happy dance. There was not even a second of hesitation before he took the earrings, cradling them to his chest like the demigod could change his mind.

Of course he didn’t. That infuriating man simply laughed.

Telemachus was speechless already, but when Percy turned his head to show a matching grey pearl stud in one of his own ears (right over the trident from his father), the prince fell even deeper for this ridiculously perfect being. His mention of not even having piercings was met with a laugh and a smug smile as the son of Poseidon pulled a small needle from his tunic.

The sting was not pleasant, but the feeling of having something else of his Sea-Boy adorning his body made the pain worth it for Telemachus. Whenever he walked past something shiny the next few days, he could not help but stop and look at the grey pearl. The other earring was way too fancy for everyday wear, but he positioned it really prominently on the dresser in his room, so that it caught the morning sun perfectly and brightened his days from the very second the prince opened his eyes.      

Maybe his Sea-Boy had not meant it that way, but Telemachus would take full advantage of how it would look to the outside if he wore such precious gifts.

The gossip after his first day in court with the earrings was like the humming nest of bees. Everyone had an opinion (scandalous and otherwise). There were questions and rumors instantly, ranging from him having taken a lover (sadly inaccurate) to the gods blessing him for some mysterious deed he had done, because the pearl was so flawless and unique in color, it could not have been found by a mortal hand.

Through all of the mayhem, Telemachus held his head high, hair proudly pulled back, downright presenting his ears for all to see.

Some guards and even a few acquaintances were brave enough to ask him directly where the jewelry came from, but the prince gave them only secretive smiles and blushing cheeks. The fire of speculation didn’t burn out after a few days like it always had before. But maybe that was caused by Percy’s need to help the citizens even more by buying some of their products himself, only to give them to Telemachus in the end anyway.

A necklace, ankle chain and multiple hair decorations made from pearls joined the earrings eventually and the prince took great care to present them at least once to all the eyes always watching him. He kept quiet about their origin, but his mother for sure knew something with how often she smirked and winked at him.     

He only heard the new nickname he earned after his Sea-Boy mentioned it incidentally. The merchants in the market had whispered praise for the ‘Prince of Pearls’ for taking care of their economy and export by highlighting the beauty of their local products and making sure the market wasn’t swamped with too many of them at the same time (how they had learned of his involvement in the matter was a mystery). The children and women started calling him that as well because of how often he wore the pieces (and secretly because Percy had told them it had been his idea to start the business in the first place).   

For the first time, Telemachus didn’t really mind the title of prince too much. Because, if it was said together with the pearls, it always created the perfect opportunity to think about Percy and how much his life had already changed since his friend had finally come to Ithaca. Back to him. Home.  

Notes:

Poor Ithaca has a lot to gossip about XD Their prince is suddenly a very prominent figure after years of him sulking around ;P And all those jewelry...

Oh well I wish you all a very happy day :)

Next chapter: Saturday 23rd of August
- A deep dive into unknown waters ;P

Suggestions, questions, thoughts and feelings are always welcomed and appreciated :)

Chapter 20: My kingdom is waiting

Notes:

Was someone blowing the seashells?

I swear I heard a distant call from an ancient kingdom ;P

Enjoy!

(And please excuse any typos or mistakes, I had little time to edit <3)

PERCY knew it was high time to visit Atlantis and his father’s palace when the first big storm hit Ithaca in late autumn. It was a mighty downpour that made the sea swell and swallowed a few docks at the harbor. It also drenched the crop fields until they nearly lost all the harvest, but luckily the demigod had a shift in the city at that time and could discreetly prevent some of the hail from destroying everything.

Whether this was his father’s doing or not, it certainly kicked Percy’s ass to finally visit him.

It also reminded him that he had other things to take care off, like making amends to Kym for watching over him all those months ago. To do so, he asked for help from some of the women of the lower districts (who had quickly taken a liking to him for whatever reason) to help him prepare her favourite meal as an offering. The son of Poseidon wasn’t sure if the goddess of violent storms resided in Atlantis (and knowing his father, the god would not let him leave for a while, especially if it was only to look for her). So, offering the meal seemed like the best course of action for now. He fully expected to see his half-sister sometime soon in the future anyway, but the gesture should appease her for now.

It was not easy to find the right ingredients for meat tart with pine needles, especially since no one was sure what exactly that dish contained. No one had ever heard of a dish like that and it took Irene three tries to make something even resembling an actual meal. Percy thought to himself that Kym better appreciated the effort enough to not stop him from reaching his father’s kingdom.

After a lot of bargaining, the son of Poseidon wrangled two full free days from captain Macar. The leader of the guards had agreed under the stipulation that he would take over the nights watch of the royal chambers for a week straight, which wasn’t the worst possible outcome. It would give him an opportunity to spend a few more hours with Telemachus, which was always a plus. Even though it would be a hassle to stay awake that much, he was sure that a few cold baths would vitalize him enough to endure it.

The prince was reluctant to let him leave, citing that maybe if his father was mad, it might be better not to go to him. Percy smiled because of the flimsy reason and promised his friend to make up for his absence in whatever way he wanted. Telemachus had simply shaken his head after that, cheeks pink and eyes lowered, before he wished him luck and left hastily.

Equipped with the favourite dish of his half-sister, Percy walked down to the beach, where the water was unruly and cold from the storm. He sat the plate down gently onto a wave and prayed quietly: “Kymopoleia, great goddess of violent storms, please hear my prayer and accept my offering as a thank you for watching over me.”

A storming wind came up to ruffle his unruly hair and raise his chiton, the cold wind biting his thighs playfully. The dinnerplate was swallowed by dark blue (nearly black) waves as it drifted into the ocean. The air was drenched with the smell of algae and salt as the deep voice of the goddess drifted roughly into his ear, like it had during the battle of Manhattan as well: “I’ll take this and refrain from drowning Ithaca for now, but don’t think I am appeased already, brother dear.”

He felt the divine presence press shortly against his back in something that maybe was supposed to be a hug. The tide rose to expose the poisonous eyes of Kymopoleia as she grinned with her mouth full of sharp teeth: “You owe me a nice, long afternoon of destroying ships under the might of your currents and my storms. I expect you to deliver chaos and mayhem with me. Make sure to come out in two weeks’ time. Otherwise, I’ll be forced to collect you…and I don’t do land walks without destruction.”

The threat was crystal clear and while it should have enraged the demigod to have his new home become a target, he knew that Kym was most likely just lonely and in need of some family that wasn’t disapproving of her nature and presence. Keeping her reputation in mind, it was easy for Percy to answer: “Noted. Thank you for being patient.”

The dark voice cackled like a dying dolphin: “Oh, silly child. This is not me being patient. This is me waiting excitedly for the faces of mother and my idiot brother once they see you in Atlantis.”

How she could know about his plan to visit the city, Percy wasn’t sure, but when he didn’t say anything contrary, the goddess continued gleefully: “Be sure to make a scene when you tire of their constant disrespect. I’ve given up correcting them, but something tells me you might have more…persuasion. I’ll be watching, Perseus.”

The oppressing air of not-yet-fallen rain lifted, as the smell of algae grew more distant. His half-sister retreated as quickly as she had appeared, leaving him alone to ponder her words.

Sadly, even knowing that his father’s wife and son might not (or for sure not) like his presence (or existence) didn’t change the demigod’s resolution to see the god of the sea. Poseidon had invited him, and Percy was not cowardly enough to stay away because of some difficult relatives.

Besides, he knew that the deities would grow to like him eventually. There was no point in delaying the first steps toward it (no matter how hard they might be).

-

His father hadn’t lied when he said how easy it would be to find the ancient (or not so ancient right now) city under the sea. As soon as his head broke through the surface in a dive, somewhere far in the distance, the faint sound of seashells was calling to him. It could easily be ignored and blended into the background of ocean sounds, but it never left completely. Like a lighthouse of sounds telling him exactly where to go.

On the way he made a short detour to the pearl farm and the five sharks that protected it. Judy (the pretty lemon shark girl) and her friend Thais the swordfish were the leaders of the little group and greeted him with great enthusiasm. After a few back scratches and some round of fetch, he told them where he was headed, and they promptly sent him away with a few fond headbutts.

“You’re being expected, little prince! The king has watched for a long time, don’t make him wait.”, Judy chittered excited, “Tell me what Atlantis looks like when you return! I haven’t been there.”

Percy promised her to do just that, before he finally braced the endless expanses of the ocean. Depp blue water, coral reefs, school of fish and even one or the other sea creature crossed his path, but nothing dangerous enough to warrant a stop. The demigod swam for what felt like hours, before the darkness of the sea lifted a bit and the call of the seashells became louder. The currents scooped him up to carry him along faster and the water somehow felt thicker, more saturated with magic and divine energy. The son of Poseidon felt his body strength and the tiredness always clinging to the back of his mind nowadays recede.

It was like taking a nectar drenched bath. Refreshing and healing.  

Atlantis may not have been his home, but Percy had visited it at least a few times during and after the second Titanomachy, so he was surprised how it little the city had changed (or would change).  

It was still one of the most beautiful places the demigod had ever seen. Only the meadow and beach in Ithaca (and his Mom’s apartment) came close to the feeling of warmth and comfort he felt when gazing upon the houses of abalone and the cobbled streets. Atlantis was colourful and happy, with thousands of sea plants or bioluminescent corals and rocks lighting up everything as if the sun was shining. The most prominent colours were of course green and blue, but beside the buildings there was a rainbow of other colours all matching the business of the city.

Percy entered through a gate further away from the palace, wishing to stroll (or swim) through the streets a bit in peace before his father could snatch him away to wherever the god wanted to spend their time. Merpeople and other humanoids with features from different sea creatures bustled around, talking in high clicks or low whistled that the demigod could understand through whatever magic genetics Poseidon had given him. He felt the looks of some dolphin-like guards on his back, as well as the passing glances most of the adults around him tried to mask as sweeping their eyes through the area. But no one approached him yet (actually, most stepped out of his way before he even glanced in their direction). Somehow it felt like he was being avoided and steered at the same time and the demigod wondered for a second if the citizens wanted him to get to the palace as fast as possible.

But when Percy paid attention to where he was subtlety ushered, it became clear that the people did quite the opposite. Yes, they were making a clear path for him on purpose, but it wasn’t headed for the palace, but instead led him through nearly every street around in a zig-zag pattern. It appeared like everyone in Atlantis had decided he either needed to see entire the city, or the entire city needed to see him.

Either way, the demigod wasn’t really concerned.

He loved watching all the different people, their houses and some of the openly practiced trades and shops. When he reached the second market somewhere east of the palace, the space between the different merchants was packed really tightly with different merfolk.

It wasn’t possible to avoid bumping into someone, but upon receiving two very horrified apologizes already, including bows and babbling about debts, the son of Poseidon decided to ease all of them by laughing loudly and grinning: “No, I should say sorry! I’m not that great at moving underwater. Please excuse my clumsiness.”

Percy ignored the wondrous and wide-eyed stares before wishing the lady a good day and moving on. It was as if that interaction had triggered an avalanche, because where the citizens had backed off before, they now closed in. Fingers touching his back and arms reverently, a few tails gracing his shins, some soft shoulder bumps or curious tugs on his clothes soon became a constant occurrence. At first, the sudden increase in foreign touch made the demigod edgy and tense, but he didn’t want to break some social norm he had no clue about by sending them away, so he bore it stoically.

The people of Atlantis didn’t feel like a danger, their presence a warm humming in the back of his head and although there were a few hundred of them bustling in his vicinity, Percy was still able to discern all of them. Whether it was due to the water around them or the blood flowing through their veins was unclear, but it gave the demigod the feeling of being in control, even though he was now practically swamped by strangers.      

One very insistent tug in his chiton drew the demigod’s gaze down to a little Merchild with wide eyes, that clutched some kind of stuffed animal close to their chest. A gender was impossible to discern with the jellyfish features on the child, but their pink eyes shone with unshed tears. Their hand was fearfully fisted into his clothes, and Percy immediately crouched to their level.

“Are you alright?”, he asked in a voice that Telemachus would most likely use. The child shook their head slowly, big crocodile tears escaping the pink eyes. Following his instincts, Percy scooped them up in his arms instantly. Stroking their jelly-like, lilac hair and cooing: “Oh no, did you lose your parents?”

The child shook their head again, still crying, and the demigod panicked a bit until a calm voice behind him spoke: “They’re an orphan from the Taxa district. Food is scarce down there, so it’s most likely hunger making them cry.” An older woman with the head of a clown fish came into his sight, head bowed, and arms extended as to take the child: “I’m sorry you were bothered with this. I can take it.”  

It.

“No thank you.”, the son of Poseidon said firmly, hiking the child further up on his hip before turning around and walking away. The crowd parted for him once more, until he reached a vendor selling algae chips. Percy took a coin from his little stash and threw it to the crab-man behind the grill. The crab looked startled for a second, before bowing low and handing Percy a cone full of freshly made algae chips.

After getting the child to eat a few bites, they were ready to speak, whispering their name was Mali and that they were very thankful for the food. Percy narrowed his eyes upon seeing the child trying to safe some of the chips.

“How many more of you are there?”, he inquired gently as he led Mali away from the bustling market.

It was five children that had been denied entrance into the orphanage at the city’s edge. After buying more food and a few toys, the son of Poseidon furiously made his way to collect the children. He noticed all of them having some resemblance to poisonous or dangerous species and the picture of intolerance it painted upon the orphanage was not favourable. Mali themself quietly confessed to producing acid on their skin that made it hard for others to touch them.

(Both ignored the fact that Percy had carried them all this time and not felt any negative effect.)

The matron of the orphanage bowed deep and in fear when the demigod appeared on her doorstep, thunderous expression on his face and the five children in tow. For the first time, Percy did nothing to dismiss the gesture of submission.

Through his work in Ithaca, he was quite used to speaking sternly and without leaving wiggle room, so he ordered the woman in no uncertain terms that she was to accept the children into the home and to care for them like all the others. To give her a little incentive to follow his words, he gave her the pouch with coins he had brought just to be safe. He knew that all of Atlantis had somehow recognized him as a son of Poseidon, so he used his position in the royal family (as illegitimate as it was) to make sure that the matron knew the children stood under his protection, and that he would come back periodically to check on them. He instructed Mila on how to send an Iris Message should they need him and vowed to address the issue should he find his father in a good mood.

His own had been spoiled by the realization that all cities had similar problems after all. Not matter if they had a divine or mortal ruler.

Struck down by reality, the demigod finally made for the big palace in the middle of the city. He had no eyes for the grand beauty of the building, mind clouded by the thoughts of the children, but he did note on how the guards open the door for him immediately.

It wasn’t hard to find the throne room (seeing as he’d already been there once) and his father within it. The grand hall was empty, except for the god of the sea sitting on his throne, black hair spilling like ink into the water behind him. His beard was full and short, the eyes glowed without sclera and pupil in the same sea-green as the corals on the walls. His lower half was formed like a proper merman-tail with blue scales, that also ran up his arms and down his sides. The god looked big on his throne, a spikey crown out of black glass sitting over his brows and forehead. Those old eyes found Percy the second he stepped a foot into the throne room and within heartbeats he was right in front of the demigod.           

“Percy! My son!”, boomed Poseidon’s voice with unrestrained joy. The god of the sea shrunk down to a normal human height and lost the tail to pull his so into a crushing hug. There was no escape from the warmth exploding in Percy’s chest. He breathed deeply and found comfort in the steady smell of salted caramel that floated around him like a protective coat.

Poseidon let him go, but his big hands remained on the young man’s shoulders. Fondness and care shone like a beacon from those endless eyes as the god gushed excitingly: “What a joyous day indeed! Have you seen the city? I shall take you immediately to show you around. This is your home as well, it will be good for the people to see and get to know you.”

“They already have.” Interrupted a drawling voice behind Percy. (Before the demigod could wonder how his father couldn’t know about his stroll through the city, seeing as even the people apparently knew about him.) Poseidon sighed as they both turned around toward the speaker.

In the doorway stood the tall and burly figure of Triton, heir of Atlantis. Green chest on full display and the black hair bound back into a knot, the merman with two fishtails looked as casual as a god and prince could possibly look. There wasn’t much grandeur about his outfit or jewellery, but he had a blue trident slung over his back and an impressive scowl on his face, that screamed of disgust and disapproval. He swam closer to him and Poseidon, before sneering: “They saw him run around like some headless seahorse from the streets. Dirty and undignified. The rumours reached the palace even before you revealed yourself a clumsy fool who can’t even swim. What a disgrace!”

His father behind Percy tensed, and the water around them cooled down considerably. The demigod could only roll his eyes because of the antics, not regretting his action in the least. To spare them all a shouting match between King and prince, Percy decided to step up himself.

He had the uneasy feeling of intruding into some family drama he had not volunteered to be part of. The invitation from his Dad had made it sound like the royal family was at least okay with his visit, but the hateful sneer on Triton's face told another story.

Percy could’ve dealt with a bit of antagonistic sibling ribbing, but the unbridled emotion on his half-brother face made him feel more like an enemy by the second.

But only because being so wholly unwanted made him feel uncomfortable, it didn’t mean the demigod was any less petty or ready to speak his mind.

“Hello to you too, Triton. What a nice and dignified welcome from the heir of Atlantis.”, Percy jabbed in response to his own dignity being questioned and he enjoyed the purple that coloured the heir’s cheeks. (Interesting…so divine descendants from Poseidon did blush violet). Before the merman could blow up like a pufferfish in indignant rage, the younger man moved forward and out under the protective aura of his father.

He wanted to feel the other god clearly and get a better read on the situation.   

“I guess you know about me, but I’ll still introduce myself. It is only polite when meeting someone for the first time.”, he said with a telling glance up and down the young god as if to say ‘And unlike you, I am polite”

The handsome face of his half-brother morphed even further into rage and told the demigod everything he needed to know. The heir hadn’t known about his visit (which: fair, he hadn’t announced himself, but this was more than that) or the invitation of their father. And now he was confronted with the living proof of his father’s (not yet) infidelity in his own home, a half-brother that saw him in a state of unguardedness and unpreparedness. It must be pretty overwhelming. Percy would be furious as well if someone like him invaded his home. 

The smell of lemon and salt drifted through Percy’s nose, overpowering and on the verge of singing his senses.

The sympathy he felt for Triton in that moment made him voice his next words softly and with a regretful half-smile: “My name is Percy Jackson, I’m your half-brother and will be out of your hair real soon. No need to get your tails in a twist. I see I am unwanted.” Despite all his efforts, a hint of bitterness still crept through his voice and before he could see whatever expression Triton's spasming face settled into, the demigod turned to his father with a sharp glare.

The god of the sea sank back with a sheepish expression that looked really unfitting on his regal face, but Percy couldn’t care about that right now (even though he got the feeling he knew where he got his seal-eyes from now…)

“I am welcome to join you?”, the mortal son of Poseidon repeated harshly before inquiring: “Dad, did you even ask your family if they would be okay with this? I won’t be some unwanted relative that doesn’t get a hint. This is their home. We can meet out in the sea if you’d still want to…but I won’t invade the safe space of someone else.”

The god of the sea bristled upon his words and began: “This is your home as-“

“No.”, Percy interrupted sharply, wanting to be heard loud and clear, “Just you being my father doesn’t make Atlantis my home. A home is more than hereditary claims. I had hoped…” A coldness settled into his bones again, making Percy stumble over his words. A tired and resigned feeling weighed the demigod down, as he looked around the glowing coral stones and high walls of the palace. The warmth and energy he had gotten from the water in the city before now felt like ash and destroyed hope.

Maybe the demigod had been more excited about finally being allowed to be in Atlantis and part of his father’s life without some stupid vow preventing that than he had realized. And maybe he had avoided the invitation in fear of exactly this situation now.

Rejection was never easy to swallow.

And the hard gaze of Triton, his expression cold and hard, arms crossed defensively, made sure than nothing but rejection and dismissal awaited him here.

Ignoring the pulsing hurt in his heart, the demigod shook his head and muttered: “No matter. I’m sorry for the intrusion.” He evaded Poseidon’s hand as he moved toward the exit. Triton moved aside cautiously, still scowling, but not lashing out.

Percy just reached the threshold when a voice from the other side of the room made him stop in his tracks.

Notes:

Yeah, Triton is not having the unannounced invasion of his home...but who would've??

And Percy is just so handy when it comes to children :D <3

Next chapter: Wednesday 27th of August
- A clash of pride and a lost chance

Suggestions, questions, thoughts and feelings are always welcomed and appreciated :)

Chapter 21: Bring it on

Notes:

Family, man....

Even if they hurt you, you sometimes cannot help but love them regardless.

This one is a bit of a downer, so be prepared <3

Enjoy!

“Well, what is this ruckus so close to tea-time supposed to be?” A beautiful goddess stepped from a door near the throne. The circlet of polished red crab claws and the expensive jewellery adorning her marked her unmistakable as the Queen of Atlantis (even if Percy hadn’t already known what Amphitrite, his father’s wife, looked like, he was clever enough to recognize the royal emblem). Her gaze swept over them all, before settling on Percy. Dark eyes narrowed upon spotting him and the demigod tensed.

The gaze of the goddess held nothing of the warmth she had shown (would show) in the future.

Percy really wanted to leave, but her divine presence and the smell of clams kept him rooted to the spot. 

“We have an unwanted guest, mother.”, Triton announced haughtily as he swam over and gave her a chaste kiss on the cheek. The obvious care and love between mother and son drove the knife even deeper into Percy’s heart.

He missed his Mom more than ever.

“He is not unwan-“, Poseidon began to roar, but a sharp hand gesture of the Queen stopped him instantly. Amphitrite floated over gracefully, her face cold and impassive as she circled the young demigod. The water radiating around her was icily and Percy resigned to another round of hostility.

Maybe after she said her piece, he would finally be free to go?

“Oh, I see. You must be Perseus then.”, the Queen regarded him with barely hidden contempt. The derisive curl of her mouth looked exactly like Triton’s when she said with false cheeriness: “It’s so nice to meet my husband’s… other child. You must look so much like your mother.”

The mention of Sally was a low blow in his best moments, but right now, when his hopes of maybe gaining a bit of family back were already dashed, it was the last straw for Percy.

If he was treated like dirt even when he was already on his way out, they didn’t deserve any of the grace he could muster to be cordial, divine blood be damned. They wanted verbal war? Well, Percy was trained in all kinds of combat (and this kind especially, thanks to Telemachus and his rants about boot-licking politicians and how to make them eat their own words. His Dream-Boy was an amazing wordsmith).

Pushing down the cold disappointment and hurt, the demigod curled his lips into the smirk Gabe had always found so infuriating and answered Amphitrite: “I do, actually. Thank you for the compliment. She’s beautiful.“

The goddess pursed her lips in distaste, but it was her son that snorted a reply: „He looks exactly like father on his worst days. Are we sure there even is a mother? Maybe he formed him from sea slag and dead corals.”

That’s enough!

“At least he wanted me enough to go to such lengths then! Can’t imagine why he’d need another son after meeting the perfect one he already has.”, Percy spat in a tone that made the insult more than clear. He felt his lips pulling back in a snarl, but with a very deep breath he got his blood back down to a slow simmer, preventing the explosion in his chest just waiting to happen. The frustration was still there, but so was his logic. If he wanted his father’s family to change, he needed to speak more than petty insults. He needed to be the bigger person… So he tried to be just that. (Even though if his success was moderate at best.)

“It’s not about what your made of, but what you make of it.”, Percy scolded the young god (for sure quoting someone else he couldn’t remember, that sounded way too smart for the demigod), “I was raised by a brave and kind woman, the best mother anyone could ever ask for, amazing enough to tempt a god to break a binding vow, and she raised me to be the very best I could ever be.”

After those facts were dropped in defense of his Mom, the demigod focused on the other thing he wanted to say to his half-brother, catching his scathing gaze confidently before stating: “I do not care about your insults or jabs, Triton, for they only show how very childish you still are on the inside. Your blood may be divine, but your actions are as foul and petty as the smallest rock in the deepest trench. If you, as a centuries old god, need to try and make me, a 16-year-old half-blood, look bad to boost your self-esteem, feel free to do so. It does nothing but expose the jealous and insecure-“

“Watch your tongue, mortal!” Triton's voice was dark and menacing, vibrating through the water like a physical blow, trying to push Percy on his knees. “Kneel and beg for forgiveness before not even father’s tolerance of your presence can save you.” But the demigod stayed steady, standing.

He had persevered against the weight of the sky for a week. No desperate power display from a minor god could ever match the pressure of the burden.

Even when said deity had transformed into a monstrous version of themself, suddenly dressed in full battle armour and with grotesquely stretched limbs. With sharp teeth, the god of waves bore down on Percy, but the demigod only looked up with a lazy blink, ignoring both the shocked gasp of Amphitrite and the boiling anger of salty caramel behind him. There also was a tinge of algae drifting through the water.

The demigod spoke calm and full of confidence, drawing himself up against his half-brother when he said: “I do not fear you, Triton, God of Waves and the calm Sea.” Addressing the god by his full title guaranteed his undivided attention. So Percy was sure he heard every word of his following declaration: “I’ve fought Monsters and Titans a hundred times scarier than you. I killed Kampe when I was fourteen. I crossed blades with the crooked one and won. Stick to what you’re good at, because you could never dream of taming my storm should I chose to unleash it.”

The challenge echoed through the throne room.

Percy felt for the warmth of his power, sending his consciousness out to feel the movement of water around him. The tension was palpable in every small current. And although there were three much more powerful beings with design over the ocean around, the sea felt as amendable as ever to the demigod. There was no struggle for dominance yet, but Percy prepared for the worst and drew a few smaller streams closer around his middle.

He would need all the help he could get should this turn into a full out fight.

A new presence joined them as the scent of algae became overpowering upon the mention of storms. Kymopoleia didn’t bother with making herself a body. Her consciousness drifted with the water and laid itself over Percy’s shoulder in a very weird hug, as her voice crooned in his ear: “Good work little pearl. Oh his face…what a delight.”

She was right. Triton fletched his teeth, face purple and pinched as the might of his divine aura was barely restrained. He looked ready to burst, but the intimidating presence of their father suppressed all notion of that instantly. The god of the sea was furious, but Amphitrite had stepped up beside him and held him back with a hand on the arm. She looked serious and calculating, but Percy didn’t have the time to analyse her more.

In one smooth motion, Triton drew the trident from his back and levelled it at the throat of his half-blood brother.

Riptide was in his hands equally quick, but his sword stayed lowered. Percy knew that the god wouldn’t spill any blood in front of his parents (especially when their father was already on the verge of exploding himself), so he didn’t move, but the demigod still met the burning gaze of green eyes head on.

Even though he was sure of his safety (for now), the instinctual panic of being at the end of a sharp object made Percy seek out any advantage he had unconsciously.

The first feeling of the golden blood running through the Triton’s veins nearly made his knees buckle.

Ichor was the most sacred and powerful liquid in the whole world. Percy had already thought the small taste he had gotten while defeating Kronos was mind-blowing, but the Titan had been weakened in his mortal shell, so grabbing onto it then had felt comparatively easy.

Percy remembered the high he had felt that day perfectly. Sensing and controlling ichor was the headiest experience the son of Poseidon ever had in all his life. Powerful and mighty and invincible.

He had felt like a god in that moment.

Ichor in ancient times was different beast though. A hundred times more potent, brimming with divinity and power, a force of unimaginable magnitude. It burned Percy in the most satisfying way and filled all his senses until nothing was left but the thrum of the flowing blood. He knew that if he wanted to control that, he would have to fight for it. The blood of the gods would not bow to anyone without being beaten into submission. Because gods bowed to no one but themselves.

That knowledge didn’t mean it would be impossible. Hard, painful and maybe life changing, but if necessary…

Percy felt the call vibrating deep inside his bones. Inside his being.

Inside his essence.   

The ichor taunted him to try. Dared him to, actually. He just needed to make that first step and pull-

Triton’s voice, unknowing of the tumult in him, called the demigod back to reality. His sneer was wide and ugly when he demanded: “Time to put your sword where your mouth is, human. We will resolve this issue once and for all.”

Percy’s answering smirk was sharp like his blade. He had retreated from the taunting lure of the ichor and focused on feeling the ocean when he said: “Very well. But don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

The heir of Atlantis turned around sharply and swam through a door next to the main one. It most likely lead to the training grounds Percy had passed on one of his earlier (later?) visits.

The realization that he would fight a god in a few minutes was less jarring than anticipated, mostly because the end wouldn’t be death.

Poseidon would never let them kill each other.

But the king had been suspiciously quiet, not getting between the fight of his sons or choosing sides. He truly stayed impartial. Like he had vowed to do. A quick glance his way still showed the demigod how utterly angry about the situation his father was. Sharp black edges had formed on his arms and shoulders, and he shook barely noticeable.

Amphitrite was calmer, but equally silent. Her dark eyes were no longer clouded by heavy disgust. Instead, there was only a spark of dislike left, surrounded by calculated thoughtfulness. Percy knew that this was his chance (maybe the only one he would get should Triton win their spar) to address her own prejudice.

He breathed in deeply, noting all the mixed scents of the gods before catching her eyes and saying: “I know you are hurt by the actions of your future husband. Especially because you will feel this pain twice, knowing it is to come and there is nothing for you to do and change it. Nothing can excuse his treason. But I did not have a choice in my conception, and my mother is a truly wonderful woman. Please, refrain from insulting her again. Your grievances deserve to be heard, but it is not I you should address them to.”

The Queen looked taken aback by his words and true pain flittered through her eyes. Poseidon beside her made a choked noise of betrayal, but the demigod just gave him a telling look.

He projected his thoughts in something akin to a prayer, hoping his father would catch them.

Dad, you will cheat on her and conceive a child you love…I hope…Be a good and caring husband until then at least. She deserves it.

Without giving both rulers a chance to reply something, Percy was already on his way to follow Triton.

He had a god to defeat and a brother to humble. And then he would leave Atlantis behind.

He’d meant it when he said that intruding into someone’s home was not how to build connections.

And Percy had someone waiting in Ithaca, who would be perfectly content to be his family. He didn’t need the godly side to acknowledge him beyond what use he might have for them…

Even thought it really, really hurt.

Being pushed aside like trash was never easy to bear.

-

The training space was a giant round chamber without a ceiling. The walls were made from blue stone with glowing anemones on it and the ground was made from soft sand. Different weapon stands lined the edge of the room and held swords, spears, bows, axes and tridents of all kinds and sizes. Not that they would be needed for this encounter.

Triton had returned to his more human appearance, but he was still at least 10 feet tall, with both if his tails being as wide as Percy’s torso. The demigod would need to watch out for them as well as the trident. The young mortal didn’t have the obvious advantage of changing his shape in any way, but he did have years of experience fighting all kinds of foes. Granted, a god might have more years of training, but they seldom had a reason to actually fight for their lives.

Still, Percy couldn’t rely on the hope of Triton being rusty and full of hubris. He needed to go all in. Even if it meant bracing the raging storm of divinity that pulsed through the god’s golden blood.

The younger son of Poseidon really felt like a child as his brother towered over him. But being a child hadn’t stopped him before, and it wouldn’t now.

“Drawing first blood will end this. And then you disappear from Atlantis and never show your face here again.”, sneered the heir as he twirled his trident.

The movement alone gave Percy an impression on how the god would move with his weapon, as did the way his right tail twitched to the outside every few seconds. It indicated that Triton would start with a wide arc from the left, attacking his supposedly weaker side. Riptide changed hands unnoticed by the other.

“That will happen anyway.”, the demigod answered, and he thought that he had suppressed the longing and regret in his voice quite well. Triton grimaced and an unknown emotion flitted across his face, before he set it back to its normal scowl.

Time slowed with each breath of the mortal, the sea thrumming with power and anticipation. The tension rose in a crescendo and each heartbeat made Percy more aware of the blood flowing through his own body. He waited patiently. Without the element of surprise, it was always better to let the other move first.

Triton didn’t disappoint. With lightning speed, he swung his trident around and attacked with a wide arc from the left. The points of the weapon jammed into Riptide as Percy raised his sword defensively. The demigod used the brief pause to spin himself along the inside of the hostile weapon. He knew that even with leverage, it would be impossible for him to wrestle the trident from Triton this way, but with a little luck, his grip would at least loosen. As the demigod felt the pressure increase, he drew Riptide back during his spin. Now, inside the god’s defense, the green arm on the same height as his face and the armored chest right in front of him, Percy knew that he needed to end this fast. No way his endurance could outlast a god, despite his boasting from before.

While the armor protected most of his brother, there was one weak spot every single breastplate had. And thanks to Telemachus, Percy was now, more than ever, aware of it. Using the momentum of his turn, the demigod let go of his sword to catch it perfectly with the right hand, using his momentum as his greatest advantage. Not even a second had passed before the celestial bronze weapon slashed down, striking the juncture between arm and chest where the armor gave way for better movement.

The world held its breath as Riptide tasted the glorious golden ichor of the gods for the first time, making a cut in Triton’s unprotected armpit easily. It was a shallow injury, that wasn’t registered by the god at first. With a mighty punch to the gut, he threw Percy away to get back into striking distance for his trident.

Pain shot through Percy’s torso, and he heard the crack of a bone, but the demigod didn’t go down, as Triton most likely had expected. A tick in the god’s eyebrow proved that thought right, but he did not have the time or breath to be smug about it. Because being punched by a deity hurt.

It felt like being hit by a car, pain lacing through Percy’s chest, making his movements rocky and his heart stutter. The world blacked out for a second and he ducked instinctively to avoid being skewered. Luckily, the water around them immediately began to heal the younger son of Poseidon. Percy tried to keep his movements and breathe light, as he evaded two strikes from the trident, learning the pattern and time it took his brother to redirect the weapon after every miss.

He lost all sense of time.

The only thing that mattered was if his reflexes were quick enough to avoid becoming minced meat. It grated on Percy’s nerves that he had technically already won the spar, but his thick headed (and skinned) brother was too stupid to notice. And now he needed to be on the defensive until the water healed his chest and gave him back the strength to stage another attack.

Let one thing be clear: No matter what anyone said, defense was far more exhausting than ending the fight in a few good offensive strikes.

Triton looked remarkable smug for the fact that he had already lost. But if they were ignoring the small trickle of blood…If the god needed something indisputable, Percy would give it to him.

The demigod skidded past the next attack and moved forward with a boost of speed from the water around him. The tug behind his navel propelled the demigod past the defensive swing of the trident, right in the personal space of his brother (again). Noting the wide, shocked eyes that flickered in something akin to fear, it was easy to push the god back with his shoulder. Percy’s foot shot out, catching the fin of one of Triton’s tails, stepping on it and making the god stumble.

Just as the heir’s back met the sand of the arena, the demigod was already on the move again. Riptide twirled through the water beautifully as Percy used all of his weight to sit down on Triton’s chest, tails pinned beneath his feet and the increased water pressure Percy commanded with his powers. The sword grazed the god’s cheek before resting right between his shocked green eyes.

For a moment, nothing moved. Percy breathed hard, winded and exhilarated.

A drop of golden ichor ran down Triton’s cheek, ripping both of them out if their stare down.

The demigod grinned. Smug and pretentious as he said: “Well, seems like I put my sword where your mouth is. Satisfied now, brother mine?”

Percy didn’t point out how the fight had been already over after the first move. Either Triton hadn’t noticed his wound (which didn’t change anything, seeing as the demigod had won without it anyway) or he chose to ignore it to spare his pride (which was understandable for a century old being that most likely hadn’t lost to anyone in a very long time).

Many different emotions plainly played across the young god’s face, from shame and hate to consideration and even something excited. Percy decided to once more extent his hand in a gesture of goodwill.

He had won their fight fair and square. No need to rub it in even further and destroy any chance they had at becoming civil with each other.

“I guess I got lucky. You underestimated me.”, he mused, fully aware that this was only half the truth. Who knew who would win in an actual confrontation to death? Triton could smite him with his essence alone, but if Percy got a hold on his blood before then and wrangled it in submission…maybe it was possible to kill a deity after all, except to wait for them to fade like Pan had.

No use in thinking about something like that. The demigod had no reason to actually consider fighting a god to death, no matter how much some of them angered him. He had paid his due to the mythical world.

Living his life as peaceful as possible, right beside Telemachus and hopefully Odysseus someday was all Percy cared about now. Having a good relationship with his father was nice, but all connection with the godly world beyond that would just be a bonus (as long as they didn’t ask anything of him. Percy was done with questing).

Triton hadn’t moved (or pushed him off), so the demigod came to his feet with a great sigh. Touching the place where he had been punched to look if his ribs were still broken, he stepped back and sheathed Riptide back into a ring. The god of waves said nothing (which was a good sign?) and simply vanished in a burst of bubbles, leaving Percy behind with his father and Amphitrite, who both had watched the spar silently.

Knowing his half-brother was most likely licking his wounds (and his pride), it was obvious that his time in Atlantis was over. As much as the thought of his failed visit hurt, at least Percy now had a whole free day to spent with his Dream-Boy. Maybe Telemachus could shift a few of his responsibilities and they could explore the island a little more?

But firstly, Percy needed to speak to the two rulers of Atlantis, who had watched all of it go down from the edge of the training ground. (There were a few fish by some of the windows as well, whispering in disbelief or scurrying away to take their gossip elsewhere, but Percy ignored them). 

“Well…that was fun.”, he commented lamely before nodding his head to Amphitrite: “I apologize for intruding in your home and bringing you pain. I’ll take my leave soon.” The Queen didn’t answer, her face equally unmoved as Poseidon’s.

When the demigod turned to face his father, their eyes locked together in an unspoken whirlpool of emotion. It was strange to see his own eyes and their colour reflect that much at once, but it also created a link between father and son Percy didn’t know he had craved. The god of the sea looked hesitant and hurt, but also impressed and proud.

Well, at least he didn’t hate Percy for winning against his heir.

“It was nice to see the city.”, the demigod blurted when the silence became too oppressive, “I guess I won’t be back, but there’s an orphanage in the Taxa district that refused to take care of kids with poisonous traits. I spoke with the matron and paid her to take them in, but it might be good to check it every once in a while. The children are really sweet. If it’s funds that are missing, I could try to finance it with the money I earn on land. Just let me know, okay?”

The pupilless eyes of the god turned soft, longing, and Percy felt a lump in his throat.

He had hoped so much that this could work out…

“Anyway.”, he pushed on, against his burning eyes and racing heart, “We’ll see each other in the trench sometime? I know it’s hard to rule a kingdom, but maybe…if you’ve got time, you could send me a sign or something?”

His hand raised unconsciously to the trident earring his dad had given him. Poseidon looked as torn as his son, but he nodded painfully slow. They both knew that this was the best outcome. The god came forward and pulled Percy once more in a bone crushing hug, that was still surprisingly gentle. Hand racked through his hair in a calming gesture meant to sooth a child, but Percy welcomed it none the less.

His father was a god, so whatever gentle gestures he was ready to give freely, the demigod would take. Especially as he had no other source for parental affections (Percy tried very hard not to think about kind brown eyes and a bright smile on an aged face that looked so much like Telemachus).

Poseidon leaned in closer and breathed into his ear: “I’m sorry for how my family treated you.”

“It’s their home.”, answered Percy while swallowing around the lump in his throat and the knife in his heart, “It’s their right.”

The hug tightened. The god sounded dead serious when he said: “Regardless. You will always have a place by my side if you need it. Damn the fools who don’t see your shining soul as the treasure and gift it is. I will fight the world if you’d ask it of me.”

“I would never ask you to fight with your family for me. But…Thanks, Dad.”

Poseidon laughed quietly before pulling back and caressing his cheek. The demigod leaned into it and heard his father gently state: “That’s what makes you better than all of us, little pearl. I’ll be damned if I lose you to something small as pride.”

Sadly, the time to part came sooner than Percy hoped. But he felt the judging eyes of Amphitrite still on him and wanted to escape the scrutinizing gaze as quickly as possible.

All he wished for right now were the open arms of his Dream-Boy and the prince’s beautiful voice in his ear, telling him he was enough again.

Even if his divine family didn’t think so, perhaps it could be enough if Telemachus cared for him like that. The demigod scarcely needed more than him anyway. He was the biggest reason for coming back after all.

After stepping fully out of his father’s embrace, Percy tried himself on a shaky smile. “Goodbye-“

“You will stay for dinner.”, cut the clean voice of Amphitrite through his farewell. Both men (god and son) turned around, blinking at the same time with the exact same expression of confusion and hope. The Queen kept her face carefully blank, but her dark gaze ranked over Percy once more, this time visible more appraising than before. Upon receiving nothing but blank stares, the goddess rolled her eyes demonstratively.

With a dismissive gesture and a disgusted twitch of her lip, the Queen said decisively: “Clean yourself and change out of those ridiculous clothes. They’re hardly better than rags.” And then she vanished, exactly like her son had, in a burst of bubbles.

Notes:

Not the Sea-Fam content we were all hoping for, but there is hope at the end? <3

Next chapter: Saturday 30th of August
- Gods will be gods... (dropping cryptic exposition on all of us ;P)

Suggestions, questions, thoughts and feelings are always welcomed and appreciated :)

Chapter 22: This is the will of the gods

Notes:

Hi Guys!

We have 5k of conversation and exposition before us. Please ignore the bad grammar, I cringed at myself because of the sentence structure, but I am too lazy to change it now <3

Enjoy :D

Dining with the royal family of Atlantis after beating the heir in a spar was…tense. And awkward. And surprisingly funny.

Triton didn’t comment on PERCY’s presence beside a barely perceivable nod as he sat down to the right of Poseidon at the long table. Percy himself was one seat down and Amphitrite had taken her place on the other side of the king.

She scrutinized his new outfit, courtesy of his Dad, consisting of a pearly white chiton with a teal sash and a big golden belt. A brooch held it all together, engraved with the royal signet. It had been laid out in a bedroom inside the family wing of the palace, which had suspicious similarities with the cave in the trench Percy and Poseidon had created during their first outing. Nearly the exact same layout and decoration, only a bit more detailed and made from more expensive and colourful materials. The god hadn’t said anything as he showed the chambers to his son, but the proud gleam in his eyes was enough to tell the demigod that this space had been designed with him in mind. (Some time ago, if the soft and stale water was any indication)

That Percy got to use them for a short time now was a miracle, considering his first impressions with the Queen and his half-brother. But no one mentioned it at first during the dinner, so the young mortal decided to keep quiet as well.  

A small cluster of fish served them different dishes that Percy had never seen before, but he tried it all without batting an eyelash. No way would he be so disrespectful as to spurn an Atlantean meal after he was so courteously invited (or commanded) to stay.

The silence stretched unnatural, and Percy had difficulties containing his fidgeting after the second course due to the lack of other stimulation beside the food, when finally, Amphitrite started a conversation with Poseidon about some trade agreement with a near settlement of rays. It was boring regency talk that had nothing to do with the demigod, but he still listened intently. Maybe the fact that it was about sea creatures, territories and hunting ground made it more interesting than all the things Telemachus had to deal with as a prince, because Percy found himself musing about problems and details that were presented as if he had any valuable input to give. Not that he opened his mouth once during dinner, but it was a big step to be even allowed to be present during such talks. As inconsequential as they were in the grand scheme of things.

After the dessert was eaten and Triton excused himself first, Percy though his time was over and he would need to go back to Ithaca in the darkness of the early night, but Amphitrite stopped him once more. She sent Poseidon away with some curt words, rolling her eyes when the god of the sea pouted about not getting to see his son off.

“You will see him tomorrow. Go now, husband. I have things that need to be said.”, the Queen ordered, and Percy’s heart leapt and sank at the same time.

He was to stay in Atlantis? But what could the goddess want to talk to him about? Or was that code for something? Would she turn him into the sea slug Triton saw him as?

Poseidon furrowed his brows, his aura darkening and his eyes glowing threateningly as he growled: “I won’t let you get away with more insult to my son. I was ready to let him leave for your sake. Now that you invited him into our home, I’ll have no tolerance for sharp words or cruel disrespect. Remember your place in this palace, wife. For I am king, and he is mine. Should he tell me you behaved despicably, my wrath will not be pleasant.”

Percy didn’t know what to do (or feel) after that declaration.

Amphitrite didn’t look intimidated, but she sighed and said: “Very well. I will not drive your precious pearl off. Now let me say my part in peace, so that we can move forward amicably.”

With one last look at his son, Poseidon searched for hesitation or some other sign for him to stay, but Percy wasn’t afraid. The demigod didn’t feel malice or hate from the Queen, and he was kind of curious what she would have to say. He smiled and his father left with another great huff.

Alone in the dining room with the Queen, another jarring silence ensued, before Amphitrite finished her inspection of his person. “I know what you did during the spar.”, she began cryptically. Before Percy could ask her to specify, she already continued: “You could have proclaimed your victory after the first strike. We all felt the ichor spill into the ocean. It was the perfect opportunity to humiliate my son for his insults to your person and your mother. It’s what all the demigod children of my husband before you would have done.”

It was a statement, so he answered in the same manner with a careless shrug: “I’m not them.”

“Yes.”, she agreed, thoughtful, “I begin to see that.”

The Queen of Atlantis rose gracefully from the table and threw her shawl over her shoulder. She haughtily declared: “I will tolerate you for now. See it as gratitude for not announcing my son’s loss like the miracle it was. Know that it will not happen again regardless. Triton has learned not to underestimate you. He was holding back.”

Percy hummed with crossed arms, thinking about the tempting call of the golden blood that sung somewhere deep in his heart. The demigod decided to be the bigger person once more. “Maybe.”, he finally answered before changing the subject to say: “Thank you for letting me stay. It will not be for long. Or all that often.”

“Good.”

-

Waking up the next morning underwater was disorienting at first. Percy needed a minute to realize he wasn’t in space, abducted by aliens, but instead in Atlantis and simply drifting through the ocean. He had chosen to simply sleep in his underwear, so he donned the same clothes as yesterday and began his hunt for food. From the little time he had spent in the palace before his second trip back in time, the demigod knew a rough outlay and together with his nose, it led him to the kitchens pretty easily.

The chef and his workers were appalled to see him in their domain, but after a few apologies and embarrassed laughs, Percy got a small plate of algae-bread without much fuss. It was endearing to see the little fish hasting around the space to collect something ‘appropriate for a prince’, before the young man had stopped them and insisted on eating what was at hand. His offer to clean his plate was blatantly refused and he was sent in no uncertain terms out of the kitchen.

On his way to find either his father or something to do, the son of Poseidon passed by the training grounds again, getting a good look at his step-brother training meticulously with his trident. The god was nearly too fast to catch with the naked eye and Percy asked himself if he had really matched this speed in their spar or if the heir of Atlantis actually had held back. The fact that he was still able to follow most of the moves spoke for the first one, but logic screamed that there was no possible way for a mortal to match a god in anything.

Regardless of that, the display was honestly mesmerizing to see. How effortlessly the weapon cut through the water and how effectively deadly the strike oh the three tongs were gave Percy the feeling of having dodged death maybe closer than he had known yesterday. The trident was an amazing weapon, and Percy weeped because he had no clue on how to wield one.

Was he some kind of disappointment for Poseidon? Because he didn’t know his way around his father’s signature weapon?   

Before his thoughts could spiral deeper into that hole, the smell of salted caramel and a looming shadow behind him alerted the demigod to his father’s presence.

“Good morning, son.”, the god greeted awkwardly, and Percy snickered upon Poseidon’s obvious stiffness. He had donned a more human shell, with long black hair and a subtle crown made from white corals. His beard was short and cleanly cut and his eyes had pupils for a change, which shifted in a clear show of unease. Probably because the god wasn’t used to having someone else in his palace beside his immortal family and servants. The demigod grinned and said in his best New Yorker accent: “What’s up?”

For a moment, the king of Atlantis reeled a bit, but he got his calmness back quickly and proposed: “Would you want to see more of the palace and city, meet the people as my son?”

Percy shook his head and asked: “Could we just spent some time together?” He had strolled through the city enough yesterday. And now that he was allowed to stay, the young man wanted to spend the time with his busy father. To not offend the god completely, he relented somewhat by saying: “I’d love to see Atlantis from somewhere higher up though.”

It wasn’t hard to convince Poseidon of that plan and soon, they were seated on some lounges on the roof of the palace (where a war council would be held, centuries later). The water was pleasantly warm and playfully nudged the demigod’s hair (whether it was his father’s doing or simply the currents was unclear). At first, the conversation was haltingly, both of them not knowing where they stood after the events yesterday, but then Poseidon asked the one question that would always get the demigod to talk, no matter what.

“Did you finally meet your boy?”, the deity asked, only moderately interested, “What was his name again?”

And Percy could neither fight the goofy smile on his face, nor the burst of swooning that came out of his mouth next.  

It took a good while until the amused snort from Poseidon interrupted the young man’s rambling about his friend’s virtues, skills and effortless presence. Percy lost himself completely in retelling nearly each of their little meetings, broaching the topic of pearl diving and his guard duty in the process, while always circling back to Telemachus eventually. Only when he saw the fond but exhausted grin on his father’s face did he stop, ears hot and face as red as fire for sure.

But contrary to his expectations, the god neither commented on his ranting about such trivial topics nor mocked his obvious feelings for the other man, however repressed they were. Ancient Greece was known for tolerating all kinds of relationships (as long as they were behind closed doors and a legitimate heir was conceived – a thought that twisted Percy’s insides more painful than even the stab wound he had gotten in defense of Odysseus had done. Imagining his Dream-Boy staying in front of an altar, some unknown, beautiful women by his side and smiling like the sun – like he had always looked at Percy before – was an arrow straight to the heart…. But he would never do anything to stand in the way of Telemachus’ happiness. Even if it meant stomping out this silly little crush of his).

Anyway, it was something totally different for it to be unaddressed by his own father and, as little as the demigod had thought about labeling his own sexuality (because let’s be honest, except from his prince, there had never been anyone else waking this kind of feelings in him), it was relieving to not be met with disgust or disdain.

He already had the support of his Mom (Sally Jackson had always been more in tune with his emotions than he himself and she for sure knew about his feelings as well), but his father was the only parental presence he had (for now) and his non-reaction was the second-best thing after outright acceptance he could get.

Poseidon focus wasn’t on any of that though. The god’s brows were furrowed as he mused over his words carefully, and Percy perked up seriously, as his father finally said: “I don’t like the thought of you being treated like a lowly guard or some errant boy by the humans. You’re far more than that. You are the son of a god, a prince in your own right. Far more powerful than any of those trying to command you. It is disrespectful and wrong.”

“I’m not though.”, Percy replied easily and with a careless shrug, “I am illegitimate at best and a fraud at worst. They’re mortals we are talking about here. They wouldn’t believe the truth even if I told them. You gods are untouchable in their eyes. The few demigods that existed were always hailed since their birth and had destinies larger than life. No one has heard of me before, so they would most likely try to kill me for blasphemy. Gods are mighty and powerful, and everyone wants to avoid your wrath by spreading lies. They fear you.”

“As they should.”, Poseidon stated proudly, his smile turning sharp and his teeth becoming pointed. A flicker of scales and spikes rippled through his body. The demigod shook his head fondly but turned pensive once more when he mumbled: “I don’t want to be feared though. I want a place to call home, with friends who tease me and joke, who listen when I am distraught. Where I can rest and be treated as an equal.”

He looked up to the surface and bathed in the few streaks of sunlight that glittered in the waves. It was quiet and peaceful so far down. Absentminded, Percy mumbled to his father: “I don’t need all the attention that comes with being a recognized demigod. The few genuine connections I have now are far more valuable. And I like to work with the people. Even if it is exhausting sometimes.”

He met the curious gaze of the god, which was still tinged with dissatisfaction and petulant distaste for the humans. But it was no malicious anger that screamed of incoming danger, so Percy felt comfortable to simply smile it away.

He chucked: “Besides that…not all of them treat me like some servant! That is a scarce minority. And Telemachus never made me feel less for not having worldly relations of note. He is kind and thoughtful. I am very fortunate to have him as a…friend. We are so close, talk so much, and he is always my equal, as I am his. He would never treat me any lesser…the opposite actually. Being with him makes me feel…powerful, and mighty and…proud of who I am. Because he likes me that way. Without title or splendor. With him I can be…simply me.”

“But can you truly?”, Poseidon cut in with a severe look. The god had leaned toward him, capturing his son’ eyes and drawing him in as he voiced his doubts: “Just because this boy knows about your parentage doesn’t mean he understands it. One could even argue that he knows less than others, because he has never had contact with our world beyond your stories and recounted adventures.”

Percy breathed deeply to not interrupt his father, because the deity wasn’t finished, but he burned with the need to defend his friend. The expression on Poseidon’s face was pitying, and it rankled the demigod, but he knew the other needed to speak his doubts at least once. As unfounded as they were.

As much as he wanted to squash them like a bug.

“Tell me, son, is there anyone in this…time, that actually knows you at all? Who has all the puzzle pieces to put together who you truly are? Why not stay with those who have at least most of the parts? Who know the world of gods you were born into? Why not stay with me in Atlantis? There is no part of you that needs hiding here.”, Poseidon gently proposed. The demigod already shook his head, prompting the god to amend: “I know there are things you cannot tell me, but at least I am aware of your origin, of where you are from.”    

“Telemachus knows.”, Percy countered immediately. And upon his father’s surprised face, he added: “More than anyone else, actually.”

The deity glowered: “How could he? Did you tell-“ Before the dark voice of the god could reach its full volume, the young man cut in with his answer (that was both smug and self-conscious): “I didn’t need to. I never told him anything about it. He saw.” The last word was breathed in reverence and fascination. Percy was still unsure how the fully mortal prince had managed to have prophetic dreams like this, but he was very grateful for whatever (whoever granted the dreams – visions?). Accurate ones, including the ability to reach through both space and time to help him in the most crucial moments of his Quests. 

“The dreams that connected us…they weren’t as one sided as I thought. He had them too. In the time I was… away, he was the one dreaming of me. And what I had to do, what I lived through.”, the demigod mused to himself. When he looked back to his father, Poseidon had settled down again, listing intently.

Percy swallowed hard, but was still confident when he said: “So Dad, I know why you’d want me to be by your side, but do not talk down on him like you just did. Because Telemachus, Prince of Ithaca, son of King Odysseus and Queen Penelope, knows my soul in its entirety. The good, the bad. The struggles and failures. The origins of my scars and strengths. He knows them. He knows me. In a way no one else has ever had a chance to before. Not even Mom.”

The god of the sea was silent for a while after that declaration.

He leaned back in his chair, eyes on the city and stroking his slowly growing black beard. As Poseidon changes his form back to something more ambiguous, with monstrous claws and scaled legs, he hummed quietly, as speaking to himself: “Dreams are pesky little things, you know? Gods don’t have them, so I never quite understood your mortals…fascination and obsession with them. Seeing things that aren’t real and often absolute madness? What’s the point of them? But maybe…your affinity for that special kind of them is connected to my own former dominion over prophecies. You already have way more power over a lot of my domains than even my godly children had at your age. Your control, creativity and sheer strength with them is impressive… Some might even say terrifying. It was no mistake that you won your duel against Triton.”

It was the first time that someone had outright claimed his victory as such, and even though it was just a stray thought, it warmed Percy to be recognized. He was proud of that fight. But Poseidon didn’t pause in his little speech: “You may have inherited some of my older connections as well. They could be responsible for your special dreams with this boy.”

“But the dreams aren’t prophetic for me. Where is the connection?”, the demigod asked confused, trying to remember if he knew anything about his father’s prophecies from before the domain was given to another god.

Poseidon snorted a bit petulant and grumbled: “I wouldn’t know. It is no longer mine to command. Your best bet would be to ask Morpheus or Apollo about them. Or the Fates even, for they know many things others don’t.”

As if just remembering something, the god turned to him with a snap of his neck, eyes pupilless once more. Their sea-green gaze burned into the demigod, as his father asked reproachfully: “By the way…I got quite the angry message from my dear brother some years ago. Something about you taking a cruise on the Styx? And Hermes distracting him from your presence? What was that about, son?”

Percy blinked for a second, confused, before he laughed bashfully and flipped a hand through his hair. With a rueful smile and wide eyes he slowly confessed: “Yeah…we had to take a little detour there when I was traveling with Ody. It was pointless in the end. But I’m surprised you didn’t know?”

His inquiry was met with an exasperated sigh. The god leaned back into his chair and explained gruffly: “Well, I felt you leave. But seeing as you also appeared out of nowhere randomly one day, I simply assumed it was another one of your quirks. I could tell you were alive and that was all that mattered to me then. I tried really hard to not hover.”

Percy snorted and ignored the side eye from his father. Both of them knew how utterly the god had failed with that. The stalking that had happened back then was not forgotten by the demigod. But before he could make a quip about that, Poseidon was already moving on hastily: “Hades also mentioned you had a run in with the Fates? Or were in their cave? Did they not give you some answers about those dreams?”

For a second, the young man expected to smell the presence of the named deity, but then he remembered that his father had once said that Atlantis was protected by his presence, so that no other immortal could enter or listen in without his expressive permission. A bit like the underworld in that way.

With a thoughtful hum, the demigod answered: “Not really? Just some cryptic shit that made no sense. Most of it I don’t even remember. It’s been years. But maybe something about intertwined yarns? And mine having an ugly color?” That had been pretty rude of the ladies looking back, but Percy was actually glad his younger self had been definitely less sensitive about divine insult than he was now. Maybe it had something to do with him having the power to do something about petty gods and their attitude now… A thought worth considering at least. But before his mind could drift even further in the direction of the possibilities to deal with annoying godly relatives, the cause for his relation to that family tree spoke again.

“Intertwined?”, Poseidon asked sharply, focus completely on his son, “What exactly did they say Percy?”

“As if I can remember! Something about them being interwoven? Or clinging at each other? I think these were their words. And the colors mixing…bleeding together? I guess? I know they weren’t that happy about it.”, the demigod quickly recounted, rummaging around in his brain for more details, but coming up empty. He felt the intensity of his father’s attention in the vibration of the water and it left him feeling on edge as well. Somehow, the god found the rambling of the Fates more interesting than Percy had, but maybe it was because Poseidon could actually understand some of it?

The furrow between his eyebrows spoke of deep contemplation at least, until the god finally said: “Hm…that might be your answer then. The sisters don’t intertwine yarns very often. Especially mortal ones. And for sure never long enough for their colors to mesh and bleed into each other. How peculiar…Maybe the connection between you and that boy is more than it seems.”

“Is it really that special for yarns to be woven together?”, Percy asked incredulous. He would have thought that it happened every other day, with all the stories of passion and infidelity and love, also including that heroes normally seemed to have someone fated by their side, be it spouse or friend. At least that was how the stories always portrayed ancient Greece… That Poseidon pointed it out to be somewhat special made his stomach clench.

Percy swallowed in relief as his father shook his head: “Oh no. They intertwine some all the time, primarily between lovers or family or people belonging together, but not to this extent. Mixing colors is unheard of, as far as I know.”

The stone in the demigod’s gut was back, but this time accompanied by burning warmth and something that felt suspiciously like pride. As if the fact that he had someone bound to him by fate was a thing worth celebrating. And maybe it was…but only if-

Percy tried to keep his voice calm, but it still turned out squeaky as he asked: “You think that other yarn is Telemachus? That we are like…soulmates or something?”

What a crazy thought…but…

Somehow it felt right.

The prince had been his literal and metaphorical Dream-Boy for years. Through his whole crazy adolescence, now that Percy thought about it. He had been there for all of Percy’s worst moments and memories (even if the demigod had not known most of the time).

An anchor to keep him grounded and get him out of his spiraling mind. Someone to accept him and his decision without judgment.

Telemachus had been his rock through so much tumult. But he was also the wind in his back, giving him the drive and will to move forward. The goal of seeing him again had made Percy face titans and monsters and humans equally, made him demand something unheard of from the gods.

It had been his Dream-Boy that became his mortal focus when he jumped into the Styx, the only reason he was not consumed by the curse or the river. And ever since Percy had landed back in Ithaca, the prince had been the drive behind nearly all of his actions. Still was, actually, because to get time with him, the demigod worked himself to the bone, ignoring all the indignity and urge to fight back against people like Silas… not wanting to cause his friend (?) more trouble.

In turn, Percy had earned the most incredible person by his side.

Maybe there was some truth about both their colors bleeding together after all.

Poseidon didn’t know about his son’s inner monologue. The god simply continued with their conversation by stating: “Something like that. There is no definition of what together means. It could simply refer to a very deep friendship. There is no guarantee for love of the romantic kind…” He hesitated for a second, eying up his son before slowly asking: “Do you want it to mean something more?”

The question caught Percy off guard. His face heated up instantly and he felt the blood rush to his head as he scrambled to find an answer that wouldn’t expose his helpless crush instantly. What he came up with was: “I- don’t know?” Which was for sure fooling no one. Not even himself.

It was the worst lie he ever told.

But instead of teasing the demigod, Poseidon accepted the answer with a serene head tilt. He stroked his beard with the air (or water) as an age-old deity (which he was). With a voice, both deep and grave, the god reassured him: “That’s okay. You will find out eventually. But your intertwined yarns, fates, could be the reason for the dreams you share. Those connections sometimes happen between immortals as well, for a while, and they are nearly always accompanied by the ability to share selected thoughts. Mortals’ brains would melt if they had that, they’re simply not wired to take mental strain of this kind. Maybe dreams are your way of coping with being connected to another’s soul. That’s all the explanation I can think of… Perhaps it doesn’t matter in the grand scheme of things. You are here now, your yarn is spun. Just leave it like that for a while.”

The water was calming and warm around Percy and he took a cautious and deep breath to settle his fluttering heart.

“That’s my intention anyway. I’ve had more than enough encounters with destiny and prophecies for a lifetime! I could really use a break.”, he said with a slight smile, “That’s why I came back actually.”

“A pretty long break then.”, commented Poseidon.

“Yeah, I know. Most likely for the rest of my life”, the demigod agreed, feeling melancholic but not actually sad. He had already thought about all of the consequences of coming back together with his Mom months ago. And now that he was here, Percy would still make the same decision. As much as he missed the people of his future.

His father had thoughts along the same lines and asked carefully: “You really left your mother to be with that boy?”

Finding an answer turned out to be easier than voicing it. After two tries, Percy finally found the courage to say: “Mom and I talked…a lot. She knew I wasn’t happy, that my heart was longing for something else. Something I would never get in the future. She knew I would leave her eventually. It was just a question about the how and when. Staying…would have destroyed me.”

Taking a deep breath, he continued: “I think we were ready when I jumped the second time. Of course it hurts... I miss her like crazy, but I don’t regret the choice. And I still have a way of communication. Even if it is one way. She will know what’s happened to me. I’m writing letters and will pay Hermes really well for keeping them safe until they can be delivered. It should work. I haven’t sent one yet, but I will soon.”

Contrary to Percy’s belief, his father didn’t object to any of his words. The god simply absorbed them with a silent respect for his decision. Which was actually a lot more than the demigod had hoped for. He bloomed with affection and love when Poseidon’s only reaction was to say: “When I see my nephew next, I’ll make sure to impress on him the importance of that task then.”

The young man beamed: “Thank you Dad.”   

Notes:

That chapter was a nightmare to edit, I can't even tell you why XD

Next chapter: Wednesday 3rd of September
- We reach the boiling point of what one person can endure....

Suggestions, questions, thoughts and feelings are always welcomed and appreciated :)

Chapter 23: I'm tired and restless and angry and sad

Notes:

*looks up from work and writing* Yes?

Oh, update day? Well then....who ordered a 'Done-with-this-shit'-Percy? XD

Enjoy!!

PERCY was surprised at how quickly he grew used to the new routine that established itself without his conscious effort.

After the tense time spent in Atlantis (except the roof-talk with his father), it was even more unreal that he found himself addressed by a small envoy of dolphins, not even three weeks later, with the Queen’s demand for him to return for another family dinner.

Percy had been diving alone for a change, looking over the pearl grounds and making sure the small creatures were still happy and healthy despite being raided once a week. Most of them chirped happily upon his inspection, but a few older ones asked for a small break from producing pearls. He scooped those up and put them under a great boulder not too far (but definitely out of sight) so that they had their peace for a while. It had been the first time in … two weeks (?) that the demigod had been truly alone with his thoughts.

Not to be misunderstood, Percy loved being busy, no question, but the duties just kept piling up and no matter how little he slept or how much he worked, the demigod never saw the mountain of work decrease. So, as happy as he was about being invited back to his father’s city, it was also just another thing for him to add to his busy schedule. Just more people who expected things from him, be it his protection, attention, time or support. And Percy, bless the heart his mother raised, was unable to deny them.

The summon to Atlantis were equally celebrated as dreaded.

It turned out to be quite alright in the end.

He got a few free days out of Macar (in exchange for taking over even more shifts during the night – Adiós sleep) and spent most of them in the underwater kingdom to appease his godly family. On most of his visits, Percy would sit through a tense dinner with Triton, Amphitrite and Poseidon, before wandering off to explore the city or talk to the people. Sometimes he would watch his half-brother train with a trident, trying to copy his moves later in secrecy of his room.

On the second visit, he was caught in that improvised training by Amphitrite, and while the Queen didn’t say anything, Percy had been ready to burst with embarrassment. Especially when Triton called him rather rudely down to the training grounds the next morning, throwing him a trident made from rough steel and ordered him to get ready.

Unsurprisingly, the heir wiped the floor with him during their first spar. The god was smug beyond comprehension, throwing out insults and mocking quips that the demigod valiantly ignored, even though his ego gasped in offense. It was comeuppance for the last fight where Triton had lost, no doubt, but after taking five more beatings and bearing them without complaining once, the deity disgruntledly started to instruct Percy for real.

That made his visits far more enjoyable, but also extra exhausting, so that his ‘break’ from being a guard never turned out to be very restful.   

Percy’s shifts in the city had not been terminated either, even after the city watch had been bolstered by new recruits. Silas still drew malicious happiness from running him ragged in useless stamina and endurance training and now that their supervised patrols were over, Percy found himself more often than not assigned the really bad time slots right over dinner or deep into the night.

It was more than draining, especially because he was expected to work in the city as soon as the sun was up.

His time was devoured by helping the citizens with all kinds of odd requests (both in Ithaca and Atlantis, when he was there), training useless skills he already possessed, guarding and watching dozens of drunk and rabid men vie for the Queen’s attention, harassing servants or leering after Telemachus (which was especially infuriating and set Percy’s teeth on constant edge).

Stopping the suitors was easy. Most of the time, a sharp look or an obviously positioned hand on his sword was enough, but it still meant Percy had to be attentive all the time and that consumed a lot of his concentration. 

His faithful Dream-Boy was the only thing that kept him sane most days. Percy felt really bad, because most times he saw the other man, it was in his few hours of off-time he got. They met in their meadow, and the demigod would then fall into an exhausted sleep within minutes. Head in Telemachus’ lap or against his shoulder, when he wasn’t sprawled out in the lush (but slowly turning brittle and cold) grass. The prince never woke until his royal person was needed elsewhere, and he was always very gracious about the wasted time, but Percy felt horrible.

It had been ages since they had last spoken with each other. Really spoken. Not just quick greetings or small things with no substance. And the son of Poseidon yearned to have those conversations back. The teasing and joking between them was sorely missed by the demigod and yeah, even the moments he became embarrassingly flustered because Telemachus said something that his deprived brain always interpreted as something flirty.

Not that the prince truly meant his words as such. 

But no matter how many quick naps Percy snuck into his rigid day (mostly filled with the smell of honey and parchment and the warmth of a hand on his chest that made his rest so much more peaceful), it was not enough to sustain him indefinitely.

Being a demigod allowed him more endurance than normal people, but after weeks, months, of never having time to truly relax and recharge, Percy was walking on his last reserves.

And everyone knew it.

Elpenor and Perimedes tried to take over some of his shifts, but they were caught one too many times and assigned to completely different parts of the palace after that. Telemachus tried to insist on cutting their meetings short, but the demigod rather harshly refused that notion and clung to the prince’s waist when he tried to leave the meadow prematurely. No way in Hades would Percy give up the only thing he truly looked forward to nowadays.

It wasn’t surprising for anyone but Percy that he messed up rather soon, after he had lost consciousness one night during a shift in the same corridor that he had been tasked to protect minutes earlier. Luckily, he was found by Geron, and he could convince the older man that he had just taken a nap (like his supervisor was often prone to). He had gotten out of trouble by a hair’s breadth and stumbled to the barracks to change into some clean clothes for the useless training Percy wasn’t allowed to miss. The tiredness took its toll and Percy didn’t notice how he had forgotten to put his armor back on, until a gleeful Silas pointed it out in the arena later.

The otherwise small oversight was the death sentence for the demigod’s carefully crafted life on the edge of exhaustion. It was the straw that broke the camel’s back of his patience and indulgence of Silas’ insecure attempts to make himself feel better.

“That’s it, Jackson!”, the eye-patched man mockingly screeched into the brisk morning air. Way too loud and way too early.

The other soldiers of his year had stopped their sparring with spears to watch the whole thing go down, and Elpenor was already on the move to cover Percy’s back as support.

The trainer nearly jumped in joy when he proclaimed: “Not wearing armor is a great affront against the principle of the palace guard. Such a blatant disrespect for our sacred rules cannot be punished by simply doing some push-ups!” Silas turned around and pointed to one of the twins as he ordered: “You! Bring me the whip. Ten strikes should be enough for this first-time offense.”

Percy was slow to catch up on the meaning of the words.

His brain was still mushy from too little sleep and the hustle of even getting here on time. Burned out to the bones and simultaneously trying to pay attention to someone speak was not a great combination, paired with the need to ignore the constant low hum of multiple bloodstreams around him, it gave the demigod a pounding headache. Blinking twice, he felt his little watcher on the stands leave hastily (still not knowing who would be so persistent in spying on him for many months, but too wary to particularly care).

Focused on the things happening outside of his vision, Percy was too late to realize (or process) what idiotic punishment Silas was choosing this time.

Except it wasn’t an idiotic one. It was cruel and dehumanizing. It was intended to be corporal. But until the young demigod had recognized this himself, his faithful friends were already protesting.

Loudly and vicious, Elpenor spat: “Absolutely not! Whipping is no punishment enacted on the guards! It’s against all the rules and morale of the king! He forbade something like this from happening ages ago.”

“And where is the king to enforce his rule?! He is dead and I am in charge here! Hold your tongue or he will receive fifteen. And you are too!”, Silas roared hatefully.

Sickly green clouds blocked out the sun suddenly, tinging the world in dark, foreboding shadows of an incoming storm. The change happened gradually enough to be proclaimed naturally, but Percy smelled and felt the presence of some divine watchers. He couldn’t focus on identifying them though, as his head finally got pulled out of the cotton sheen that had dampened his senses until now.

Silas had not only threatened his friends but also insulted the king. His king. The father figure of his youth.

“You really don’t know what you’re doing.”, mumbled Perimedes, his gaze switching cautiously between the sky and Percy.

“Yeah. You should start praying. Although I don’t think the gods will know mercy in your case.”, added Elpenor with a smug little smile.

“Shut up! All of you!”, yelled Eye-Patch, “Twenty strikes it is!”

Percy wasn’t worried.

As if he would let a human mar his skin like this, right beside the battle scars speaking of his survival and victory in the second titan war. The marks of his trials as a demigod. Yeah…Silas was delusional.

Time to finally put him in his place. This has gone far too long already.

It was during that thought that the soldier sent to retrieve the whips returned and handed it to the trainer with quivering hands, throwing an apologetic look in Percy’s direction. Still contemplating on how to deal with this situation once and for all, the demigod ignored the other guard.      

The displeasure was evident in the light drizzle that now swept through the arena (whether from Percy or whoever of his family was watching was irrelevant). The warm power in his chest purred, viciously pleased to be finally set free. The gaze out of the sea-green eyes (glowing in the darkening scenery) was calculating and calm, even as his opponent stepped up.

“Take of your tunic and kneel, boy, and I might show mercy.”, the cruel glint in the one visible eye showed the lie in the words even more clearly than the ugly smile stretching the thin lips of the older man. Silas grew agitated when Percy didn’t react to his words, simply staying still and staring.

His mind was too slow, because every solution the demigod came up with ended with at least one death and a few days (or months) in the cells. Percy couldn’t risk upsetting Telemachus with being gone for so long, even though his blood was calling for vengeance and revenge for all the time-stealing exercises he had to do at this man’s command.

But being an ass and wasting his time wasn’t enough to earn a death sentence, was it?

Maybe beating the trainer to a pulp would work. Could Percy somehow frame that as an accident? Maybe the others would cover for him?

Silas’ rage reached its peak, and he reeled the whip back with surprising speed: “I will make you listen you insolent brat!”

The crack of the weapon coincided with the booming thunder of the sky and Percy reacted instinctively. His hand shot out to catch the leather effortlessly out of the air, only leaving a little mark on his palm from the power of Silas’ strike. It stung for a second, before the rain washed the wound away.

The demigod’s expression was dark. He hadn’t thought that the man would actually try to harm him. But now that he had, all peaceful solutions were off the table.

“I have had enough.”, grumbled Percy, pulling the whip towards him, and with it Eye-Patch, who still held the other end in his fist. The blond man stumbled gracelessly into the demigod’s range. Quick as a snake, Percy struck and the trainer was lifted into the air by the hem of his chiton.

Silas was no small man by any means and upon Percy’s blatant show of brute strength, the hateful fire in the one eye dimmed significantly. But that still wasn’t enough to appease the angered godling.

“It is time to remind you whose rules you disobeyed just now.”, Percy grinned ferally, before shifting his gaze to his friends. Both soldiers stood at attention immediately, backs straight and spears erected. With a dangerous purr, the demigod asked: “Perimedes. Elpenor. You traveled with our beloved king for a while. Tell me how he would’ve dealt with someone like him. Ignoring his commands. Acting to harm another without just cause.”

Elpenor instantly opened his mouth to say: “He would-“

But a harsh bark interrupted the soldier: “What is going on here!?”

The voice belonged to no other than Macar, Captain of the royal guard and the big bad boss of them all. He was the gruff and weathered man that had accompanied Telemachus down to the beach for their first meeting in person and the one who assigned them to this troupe. But except for that meeting, Marcar had never interfered with any of their training (or punishments) before, so seeing him here, in full regalia, was more than unusual.

Percy only turned his head, tilting it slightly, consideringly, before letting go of Silas’ shirt. The man plummeted into the sand and scrambled to stand. He instantly bowed to the captain and blubbered: “This soldier disrespected the crown and refused to follow my commands. I was just about to discipline him, Captain Macar!”

“What a farce.”, the demigod quietly spat, crossing his arms defensively and getting ready to defend himself, when he got unexpected support from his comrades. It was surprisingly Timon (the arrogant fellow had mellowed out over the course of the months and was actually a decent companion now) that spoke up first: “He is lying, sir. Trainer Silas had it out for Perseus since the very first day.”

“Yeah, because he gets shown up by the lad all the time.”, grunted one of the twins (who Percy could never separate to his great shame, but they were just too eerily similar) as his brother nodded: “He’s a better fighter than all of us and does his own training most of the time. Trainer Silas hates that and gives him the most unfair punishments. He wanted to whip him just now for forgetting his uniform after a nightshift.”

“That’s-“, spluttered Eye-Patch, gaping as he tried to process the treason of his so-called star students. By now, all of them had stepped to Percy’s side, far away from the blond trainer. Not one of them came to his support and the demigod was honestly surprised to get this much backing.

It wasn’t that he had been rude or something, but except for a few jokes or some hidden pointers for their fighting style, he hadn’t interacted with any of them. His work hours were all over the place, making it impossible to attend the gatherings inside the barracks or the rare outing into the city to drink and play cards in Ithaca’s bars. Elpenor and Perimedes had sometimes talked about them, but stopped when they noticed Percy’s longing gaze.

Maybe his friends had done more lobby work for him than the demigod had known. He couldn’t fathom another reason for all of them backing him now.   

Macar was more than unimpressed by it all, eyebrows raised as he huffed a deep breath. His dark and stern eyes shifted from Silas to Percy, but the demigod didn’t react under the scrutiny. Not even when he was asked (skeptical and with obvious disbelief): “You can take on a trained and experienced guard?”

“I can take on more than that.” Like a Titan King trapped in a mortal shell, the jailer of Tartarus, or even certain gods if he was by the ocean. But the mortals didn’t need to know that. They would be long dead when those monsters became a problem for the world.

Macar’s eye twitched and it was gratifying that they both ignored Silas chittered excuses.

“I want to see it.”, the captain eventually said, “You’ll fight him in a controlled environment to let me see where your actual skills are at.”

“Fine with me.”, Percy agreed instantly, not in the least hesitant to finally fight the scumbag fair and square. But still, there were a few things to clear up: “Are there any rules or handicaps?”

Macar expression pinched in confusion: “Rules?”

A spark of feral amusement flittered through the demigod when he thought about his training spars back at Camp Half-Blood. He smirked crookedly before humming (fairly innocently, if you asked him): “Yeah, like, no killing or maiming is a given, but how deep can cuts be without points being deducted? Is there a limit to bruises? And will the victor be called by you or is it a thing where one of us needs to forfeit, and if so, does knocking out count? I’m no fan of torture either, but sometimes that’s like the only way to make someone give up so…is that a requirement for being a trained guard? Because man, if we’re expected to torture people, I think I’d like to reconsider-“

“Percy, shut up.”, Perimedes interrupted with a great, exasperated groan. The atmosphere shifted to something a bit more relaxed and the rain stopped as his friend gave him a light slap on the back of his head and said: “There is no sanctioned torture here, get your mind out of the gutter, you’re drifting.”

“Oh? Ah, yeah, sorry. So, rules?”, Percy sheepishly tugged at the black strands falling into his face and smiled gullible.

Macar (as well as everyone else who hadn’t spent a year on a crazy voyage with him) looked at the demigod like he had lost his mind. The captain blinked a few times before cautiously inquiring: “Have you…been trained like this before?”

Percy tilting his head, humming consideringly: “In a way…”

“I see.”, the captain drawled. And even without his sensing of liquids, it was more than obvious that the older soldier swallowed hard upon hearing his answer. The demigod let the information sink in for a moment, before adding: “And I have learned that specifying the parameters of a spar is really important beforehand.”

“That is sensible.”, Macar relented, “No injuries that take more than a day to heal, I will call the victor, and you will fight with fake weapons at first, I think that might be…safer.” He didn’t specify for whom, but the quick glance the captain threw Silas was more telling than words could have ever been. Percy grinned and took the wooden sword Elpenor gave him without looking.

“Cool, cool. And what hand should I use?”, the demigod hummed, switching the dull blade from one side to the other, testing its balance and feel. The wood was coarse and in bad shape, but the weight was surprisingly accurate and the length similar to his own blades. (Not that something silly like an inconvenient weapon would stop him from annihilating Silas.)

Macar looked like he was already done with this whole chaos as he sighed: “Hand?”

“Yeah, I fought with my right hand a lot more but began training the left in preparation for the contest.”, explained Percy, smile widening when he saw the shoulders of the captain sag visibly. He rubbed his temples and looked shortly up to the sky, before groaning: “Left first.”

Well, this was gonna be fun.

Notes:

Not me riding on a high of being correct on an English spelling question on Discord against a native speaker XDXD (for the first and only time - thanks Omi)

Also not me finally giving Silas the comeuppance he deserves ;P Stick around to find out how this will go!

Next chapter: who knows? But I don't think you're ready for the takedown...

Suggestions, questions, thoughts and feelings are always welcomed and appreciated :)

Chapter 24: I wish you would chase me

Notes:

Happy Birthday to my dear Rea ;P

Seeing Silas getting what he asked for couldn't wait any longer (as couldn't Telemachus simping XD I know we all missed it!!)

I hope you all enjoy the surprise!

TELEMACHUS was burning with restless tension, as he stayed hidden behind a stone bench as his Sea-Boy faced his tormentor.

It had been months, months, since the demigod had felt true peace. And it infuriated the prince beyond comprehension, the fact that his person didn’t find the calm and happiness in Ithaca that he deserved so much.

Telemachus knew how much the war against Kronos, against other demigods, had drained the son of Poseidon. And instead of resting and bathing in his hard-won peace, this impossible, perfect man of his heart had searched months for a way back to him.

The least Telemachus could have done was provide a calm kingdom for his Sea-Boy, and what met him here? Task after task, all equally mundane and unimportant, not worthy of his time or attention.

And Percy simply smiled all the hardships and pressure away as if they weren’t there. Never voicing complaints, even though everyone and their dog could see that the demigod was running himself ragged. He was working on the last of his fumes and still not slowing down. Because ‘others needed him’ or ‘someone had to do this’ (as Percy had said), what a joke!

It was even more frustrating that he had all but forbidden Telemachus from interfering, citing how he had it under control, or how it could paint a target on the prince’s back if he stood up for a lowly guard. As if Telemachus cared about something silly like that when his person was in pain! And as if Percy could ever be lowly in anything.

Not to be misunderstood, Telemachus loved their secret meetings no matter what they did. And he had absolutely nothing against being used as a pillow or bedtime storyteller. Especially if it meant having unrestricted access to his muse, being allowed to stare at the absolute beauty that was his Sea-Boy’s sleeping face for as long as his heart desired.

But the jealousy burned hot in the prince’s veins whenever the demigod was ripped away by his duties to either aid people in need (which he couldn’t hate for real, seeing as Percy was so invested in helping his subjects to stable his family’s reign) or serve useless guarding shifts that were never near the places someone of Percy’s caliber was really needed.

The worst days were when the demigod visited the underwater kingdom of Atlantis. Not because Telemachus begrudged him the bonding time with his godly family (he was glad his friend had gotten some sort of parental figure back!), but because the insecurity and doubt always grew higher, the longer the demigod was away.

What if Atlantis lured him from Telemachus’ side permanently? With its beautiful scenery, diverse people and the fact Percy was a prince there…and that his Sea-Boy was for sure being treated a thousand times better… It was a nagging doubt that only dispersed when the young man was firmly back with him in their meadow (preferable in his arms, snuggling closer in his sleep and drooling adorably when the demigod was really under).

The situation was unsatisfying and annoyingly persistent.

Telemachus needed it to change. And quickly. It had been months of this schedule. They were nearing the new year already!

His patience grew thin. Telemachus longed to have more of his friend. More time, more attention, more touch, more anything.

It was no longer sufficient to glance at Percy during his training, as enticing as his naked torso gleamed under the sun. But even up in the stands of the arena, Telemachus felt too far away to really appreciate his friend’s hard fought for physique.

So, Silas Auretia actually did Telemachus a favor when he threatened to whip Percy that particular morning. Not that the prince (or whatever deity was stalking his friend right now) would’ve let that happen, even if the demigod himself hadn’t raised objections (which he did). Sprinting out of the arena to find Macar and make him end that ridiculous farce of training was pretty easy, seeing as the captain was always slinking around him nowadays (most likely on command of his mother, which made him roll his eyes. She hadn’t been this noisy before he half-confessed his crush).

Now, the prince was just waiting to see his Sea-Boy in an actual fight for the first time. (Training didn’t count, dreams didn’t as well and the one chance he had gotten to watch the demigod during the contest, Telemachus had thrown away himself unknowingly).

It didn’t matter that the confrontation between the guard and trainer would be short and humiliating for the sword instructor. Seeing Percy dominate other (weaker) men was always like a thrilling shot right in Telemachus’ spine, making his face heat up and his belly twist in arousal.

That feral grin of his Sea-Boy was just deadly to all reasonable thoughts. Especially if it was followed by a showing of his amazing powers (be it controlling water, blood or plain old sword plays, Percy excelled at them all).

Telemachus was pretty sure that the demigod had clocked his spying ages ago, but he either didn’t care (which would be concerning or flattering, depending on whether Percy knew it was Telemachus spying) or decided the stalker was no threat (which would be rude, but also true). At least the practice allowed the prince to find the perfect spot quickly to watch the fight go down.

His Sea-Boy didn’t disappoint. (Of course).

His movement was nearly too fast for the naked eye to see.

Percy didn’t hold back any longer, equally tired of being restrained by the narrow minds of humans as the prince was for him. In seconds, he had kicked the lame swing of Silas away, making his weapon fly through the air and embedding itself in one of the wooden manikins (straight through the head) while leveling the wooden sword in his hand at the older man’s throat in a lazy swish.

The smile that graced the demigod’s features was that of a lazy predator, wide and showing all his teeth. Without breaking eye contact with Silas, Percy held out his hand and caught the next training sword one of his friends threw him unprompted. It was passed to Silas while his Sea-Boy drew back and drawled: “Again.”

Macar didn’t have time to call the victor the next five spars either.

Because all encounters were over just as quickly, ending with Silas eating either sand or wood or even Percy’s fist one time. (It was by far the greatest thing Telemachus had ever seen. And judging by the lightness of his friend’s movement, the son of Poseidon was enjoying himself as well.)

When the captain of the guard finally intercepted the humiliation of his sword instructor, it was only to direct Percy to attack himself the next time. At once, the posture of the demigod changed and Telemachus perked up, instantly mirroring the wariness of his Sea-Boy.

It was uncanny how in touch with Percy’s every twitch the prince was. (And a thing of great pride for Telemachus as well).

He knew that the tick in the tanned cheek spoke for concentration, that the lifted corner of his mouth meant anticipation, that his glowing eyes screamed of hidden glee and the tightened fist around his sword was an indicator for Percy taking this more seriously.

Not that he needed to be concerned. Telemachus jaw crashed down when Macar, captain of the royal guard, most feared swordsman after all the warriors had left for war, and one of the only reasons for the suitors even attempting to remain civil, was brutally beaten in seven moves. Sword clanging on the ground, knee hitting the sand, the captain looked directly into the blade of Percy Jackson. 

The son of Poseidon didn’t look as smug as he could have. He respectfully stepped back and helped the captain up to his feet, before going to collect Macar’s sword himself.

“You underestimated me.”, the demigod proclaimed loudly when he handed the weapon back.

Telemachus clocked the lie instantly, but he realized just as quickly why his friend had said it.

Oh, how he loved seeing his clever Sea-Boy in action.

The prince swallowed harshly as his face heated up. Percy was clever enough to know that for the captain to lose against anyone would be considered a substantial weakness, enabling all kinds of nefarious plans and ploys both of ambitious guards and the suitors. So him saying it was some kind of luck to win should dissuade the more careful men from rebelling too quickly.

But Telemachus knew that it was only a question of time. Macar had still lost, and his position was in jeopardy because of it.

He needed to tell his mother about this, needed to make her aware of the danger lurking in the shadows, now fed by a perceived mistake of their greatest opposition.

Little did they know that nothing they could throw at the prince and the Queen would ever touch them as long as his Sea-Boy was around. If Percy protected them, Telemachus feared nothing but the gods themselves. And even then, it would depend on who exactly their enemy would be.

But no one besides Telemachus, his mother and Percy’s friend was aware of the legend living in their midst.

Macar wasn’t stupid, he also knew what the younger man had done and accepted the escape with a solemn nod: “It won’t happen again.” The captain proceeded to put away his sword slowly, before rounding on Silas, still sitting in the sand and nursing a bruise on his arm, the one visible eye hatefully stinted.

“You have disappointed me.”, Macar said, “I think it is time to return to the roots of your service within the royal guard on join your brothers back in their duty of guarding the grounds.”

Silas sneered: “You need someone to train the babes!”

“And I have him.”, was the captain’s reply as he pointed to Percy a few steps away, “Perseus has more than proven his capability.” Turning toward the demigod, he added: “I free you from all obligations outside of the palace. If needed, I will find someone else to take your place. From now on, you are to train the first- and second-year recruits to take their appointment test. Choose the time slots you think are adequate. You will get Silas’ rooms in the barrack of the commanding generals to plan your lessons. I will speak with the Queen about other compensations.”

“With all due respect sir, I don’t need other accommodations.”, Percy intercepted calmly as he glanced to the two soldiers guarding his back, “I’ll stay with my friends. But I would take the position of sword instructor, if it’s still open.”

“Very well. We will see about changing your schedule to reflect your new duties.”, Macar grumbled before heading out of the arena with a sharp: “Guards dismissed!”

Telemachus would have loved nothing more than to sprint down into the arena and fall into the strong embrace of his demigod to congratulate him and celebrate together. Training other soldiers was far less time-consuming than all the useless exercises and punishments that had eaten up Percy’s time until now. Not only would his new position give him way more freedom and respect, but it also allowed him to do something he enjoyed.

And, as an absolutely selfish boon for the prince, it gave them more excuses to be seen together. All in all, a favorable outcome. Especially since, as sword instructor, it was Percy's responsibility to not only train the guard, but also Telemachus, if the prince wished it.

And he absolutely did.

So yeah, Telemachus wanted to be down there by his friend’s side desperately, but it wasn’t that easy. For one, all the other soldiers had already surrounded his Sea-Boy, slapping his back good naturally and expressing their happiness about his new appointment, and for the other, Telemachus still needed to keep the bigger picture in mind. This shift in power dynamics amongst the guard was sure to make some kind of waves with the residents of the palace, and the suitors were not to be underestimated. As such, his mother the Queen should be informed as quickly as possible.

With a heavy heart, the prince decided to do his duty first, even though his heart longed for something else. He would just tell his Mom a short version for now and then go look for his Sea-Boy after. Maybe, if he was lucky, the young man would be alone and available to sneak away. They could spend the afternoon in their meadow and plan for the coming weeks…

-

Sadly, that plan turned out to be impossible, because as soon as Telemachus had stepped into the east wing on his way to his mother, he was accosted by no less than three scholars and emissaries, all of them demanding his attention instantly. Some wanted his opinion on some written scripture, others wanted a little feast to be thrown in their honor (although none said it like this outright) and the prince was caught up in the politics of the palace long enough for the midday meal to commence. After that he was expected to sit in on a meeting of the jewelers to discuss the new pearl trade that was sure to catch the mainland’s attention soon.

The tedious work stretched over the whole day, and every time Telemachus tried to sneak away, he was caught by a servant who asked politely to escort him to his next duty or lesson. When he was wholly fed up with it all, the sun had already set.

It was unwise to seek out his mother this late in the day. Seeing him entering her Queen’s chambers could only draw the wrong kind of attention, leading the suitors to believe that she could still be bothered at this time of day.

So, the prince waited for the next morning and their breakfast together to speak about Percy’s new position and the implications (and chances) of it. His mother, being the well-connected Queen that she was, had already heard the gist of it, but when Telemachus started to give his own report on the events that previous day, she listened quietly and attentively.

When he ended (a little breathless and flushed from describing Percy’s fighting prowess), Penelope simply spread a bit more jam on her bread before humming: “Thank you for telling me, sweetheart, but you shouldn’t have worried. Macar came straight to me yesterday to tell me himself of his supposed disgrace.”

Telemachus tilted his head, surprised by the uncaring way in which his mother spoke. She didn’t sound worried at all about the exposed weakness of her captain of the guard. But maybe she had already heard the whispered rumors about it from her handmaidens and decided they weren’t that bad. Perhaps he should implore his own contacts into gathering a bit more gossip. There were for sure some interesting things among it, most likely about Percy, and if the prince never grew tired of hearing about one thing, it was for sure his son of Poseidon.

But his mother had different plans for the rest of their dinner than revel in daydreams.

“I’ve already had a delightful conversation with your little crush the other day.”, she purred with a sly little smirk on her lips, before taking a big bite of her meal. She chewed deliberately slowly, reveling in the gaping disbelief on Telemachus’ face.

“What?! Why? You never wanted to before.”, the prince stuttered, and his heart picked up its speed significantly. His mother had spoken with Percy? Face to face? Oh gods…

“I never said that. You were just very careful in keeping us apart, dear one.”, his mother said with an eyeroll before looking imploringly at her son, making his face turn even redder. Telemachus hadn’t known that she would notice his subtle efforts.

It wasn’t as if he didn’t want them to meet at all, but the fear of them not getting long wasn’t unfounded. The Queen was a firm and fair leader, but her sense of decorum and pride just clashed with Percy’s more free-spirited nature and his penchant for not respecting people (or beings) higher than him that hadn’t earned it. Both of them were important to Telemachus, and the thought of them not liking each other was torturous enough to try and postpone their first conversation as long as possible.

That he wouldn’t be part of it such conversation at all had never even crossed his mind before. And the knowledge now left him reeling a bit, as his mother continued, completely unbothered by the news she had just dropped. 

“He is the new fighting instructor of my guard through the rules of combat. Of course, I needed to meet him and make sure he is no danger or threat.”, Penelope said plainly, not beating around the bush. Her blue eyes showed nothing of her thoughts and Telemachus felt the sweat roll slowly down his temple. Was the calm a good or a bad sign?

She freed the prince from his misery by finally saying: “I am sure you will be glad to hear that he is neither.”

A harsh breath left his lips, as Telemachus sagged back into his chair and crossed his arms petulant. He didn’t know how to deal with the confusing mix of relief and insult those words triggered.

He finally settled on pointing out: “I could’ve told you that directly.” The bratty tone in his voice didn’t went unnoticed by the prince or his mother and the Queen raised an eyebrow, visibly unimpressed with his attitude. Telemachus winced and mumbled an apology, before shyly asking the real reason for his inner tumult: “What…did you talk about?”

Did he impress you like he did me?

Did you like him?

The cheshire grin on Penelope’s face mirrored a cat that got a canary as she sipped queenly on her apple juice. “Look at you being interested all of a sudden.”, she drawled teasingly, lifting her hand to stroke across his cheek lovingly, “Why do you care this much? Are you afraid I would embarrass you in front of him?”

“No! Of course not”, Telemachus jerked back, face still burning and voice creaking in a way it hadn’t done in ages. Growing up was a pain. Especially besides a demigod who appeared to never have any problems with his changing body or the uncomfortable stage of his voice deepening. Telemachus had seen Percy during those stages in his dreams, but his Sea-Boy was annoyingly perfect even in the awkward time between boy and man.

And what a stage that had been for Percy…

But Telemachus couldn’t lose himself in thoughts of son of Poseidon (later…in the safety of his room and his bed)… Not when his mother still hadn’t shared what their conversation had been about.

With demurely (shyly) lowered eyes, the prince asked quietly: “…but did you?”

The Queen hummed: “Did I do what?” She was absolutely playing with him. Her twitching lips were a dead giveaway.

“Embarrass me. Please, Mom, don’t torture me like this!”, Telemachus whined and sagged even deeper into his chair, shoulders pulled up defensively. His sour face finally moved the Queen to give up on her scheme to torture him. She chuckled a bit before reaching over the table to take his hand. She caressed his knuckles lovingly.

“Oh my sweet boy. Don’t worry.”, Penelope purred soothingly. Her eyes twinkled in joy when she added mischievously: “He is as smitten with you as any man could ever be. We just spoke about his new responsibilities and the advantage the position comes with. I only remarked on you, and he was already smiling so fondly that I thought for a second I was looking into your father’s face. You are very lucky, Telemachus.” The last part was spoken with so much love (either for him or his father), that it warmed the prince’s chest and made the anxiety draw back a bit.

He felt a bit gooey when he answered: “I know.”

Percy was indeed quite the catch. Even without all the mythical properties of his blood or the fact he was from another time, the young man was a prime example of kindness and strength and devotion.

Telemachus wasn’t delusional. He knew that he was falling (had already fallen) hard and fast. And unafraid. Having Percy Jackson care about you like that would make anyone feel this way.

Which was why the prince was so conscious of all the other attention the demigod received. Because Telemachus’ eyes weren’t the only ones following the demigod hungrily. 

“But you need to be careful.”, pulled the Queen him back into the conversation. Her face was grave and serious when she cautioned: “The suitors know about him now. You have been seen together one too many times without an escort. And the way you treat each other is not very subtle. Your…friendship, is no longer a secret. Especially with his new position.”

“I know.”, Telemachus said once more, this time without the carefree smile. He had known that their relationship would be discovered eventually. In all honesty, he was surprised it had stayed hidden this long, but maybe they were just really good at staying undetected. At least there was no more reason for not approaching the other man openly now. It would make meeting up much easier. 

Penelope had watched him closely, calculating, before she sipped her juice once more and mused: “Good. You do not seem overly worried about your or his safety, so I see no reason to deprive you of your happiness any more. You may meet with him whenever you like. No more sneaking necessary. It was a pitiful attempt anyway.”

Her gaze softened a bit and when blue met caramel, there was a teasing edge in the Queens expression. She sighed: “But he is a fully fletched guard now, an instructor even, so do make sure not to distract him too much during his shifts, dear. Your gazes can be dangerous.”

Telemachus choked a bit on his drink as he was called out on their secret rendezvous this plainly. With burning ears burned he quietly contemplated that this had to be one of the worst breakfasts he ever had with his Mom. She was just not letting up on her teasing (and she was good at it too!). The prince thought that his ears would fall off for sure if they were this hot for any longer.

But the Queen didn’t show any mercy as she smugly grinned in approval: “It does not take much to draw a man’s eyes away from his duty, I expect you to not become a hindrance for Perseus. He is particular weak to your charm.” She raised her glass in a proud toast and Telemachus relaxed a little.

However their conversation had gone, it was sure that Penelope was not against Percy being part of Telemachus life. The way she spoke and needled him about it was even more telling, making obvious that she also wasn’t opposed to them becoming something…different.

The prince knew his mother had keen senses and good eyes when it came to people and their hidden agendas and emotions. She wouldn’t have survived in court this long otherwise. So hearing her say something like this boosted his self-esteem greatly. Especially as it matched his own observations.

As oblivious as Percy was, his bodily reactions were never subtle (or lying). And the demigod was definitely attracted to Telemachus on some level. (His hand lingered as well when they touched, and there had been times when Percy choked on his breath when the prince leaned closer).

Which was gratifying beyond compare.

It was quite easy for Telemachus to smugly reply: “I know, thank you.”

Penelope hummed in agreement, watching her son preen silently for a while, before she sat her cup down. While crossing her legs, Telemachus noted that his mother’s face changed to something more evaluating. She was leaving the motherly concern behind and became the politician she had been raised to be.

It was easy for the prince to catch her mannerism after years of practice, so he wasn’t surprised when his mother asked coyly: “And do you plan to do something about that? Others have already noticed his many impressive deeds and I hear he is very loved in the city. Both of you are, actually.”

“That’s just Percy. It is so very easy to lo-like him.”, Telemachus admitted fondly. Not daring to look into his mother’s eyes again, he prayed to the gods that she would not investigate his slip of tongue.

Whoever was listening took pity on the prince and made his mother instead focus on something else.

“Hm…I already told you how it took me spelling out my intentions clearly for your father to stop dancing around. I can see you are not yet ready to be that direct, but maybe a little…gesture, to set the right expectations for those watching might not be amiss. I fear your paramour may not be able to discern genuine friendliness from unwanted advances, and we wouldn’t want him to get tangled in some courtship he does not want, would we?”, the Queen idly wondered while watching her nails. She appeared disinterested, but Telemachus knew his mother. Her advice was not said without reason. Either she knew of some concrete plan to trap his Sea-Boy, or there were at least rumors about it.

Both things made the prince grit his teeth in anger. “No, we would not.”, Telemachus growled possessively, his hand gripping the armrests of his chair tightly. “I guess it is simply my duty as a good…friend, to prevent misunderstandings of that kind by declaring myself.”, he added with forced detachment that fooled no one.

The Queen’s proud little smirk was hidden behind a hand. “What a wise decision, my son.”, she purred, “But do try to not embarrass the poor boy, I feel like he really has no clue about how such things are done here.”

She couldn’t be more correct if she knew the truth about Percy’s origin. As far as Telemachus knew, courting in the future looked completely different. Eventually, Telemachus might’ve tried that route, in a few months maybe, when he felt the waters were safer for his advances, but maybe he should just stick with what he knew and explain it to Percy later on.

It would be a first step, giving them some time to figure out their emotions before starting to court for real. (Or only Percy’s. Telemachus was more than ready to face the burning feeling in his heart and groin, but his demigod was a little slow sometimes.)

As to what he should do for a gesture…well, this wasn’t the first time he had thought about something like this. So the prince simply said: “Don’t worry, Mom. I already have just the right thing in mind.”

Penelope raised her eyebrows again: “Oh? Do tell me when the time comes. I would very much like to see that first step play out.”

Telemachus grinned: “I will. Thank you for your advice!”  

Notes:

Well, what could Telemachus be planning here? 👀👀
Do keep your fans ready folks, we got some hot stuff coming...

Next chapter: Sunday 7th of September
- Telemachus makes his move!

Suggestions, questions, thoughts and feelings are always welcomed and appreciated :)

Chapter 25: Watcha gonna do about it?

Notes:

Surprise!!!

A bonus chapter, courtesy of the amazing Discord and their help with writing a whole chapter yesterday evening! So, as promised, you all get another chapter this week as a thank you :D

This one is a bit on the...wilder side, I'd say ;P

Enjoy!

TW: hinted plans for sexual assault, Blood

TELEMACHUS realized that his mother had been right in her worry not even two days later.

Percy had been hounded by other guards and trainees nearly all day yesterday, answering questions and figuring out what schedules for training worked best with their shifts and other obligations. (His Sea-Boy was considerate like that).

That was why it took ages for the demigod to slip away and meet up with a pouting prince in their meadow in the early evening. Luckily, Percy had brought some snacks and leftover bread from breakfast, so they could stay hidden in their little corner of the world for the rest of the day. His Sea-Boy was smiling for the first time in weeks. And Telemachus felt his knees grow weak upon that glorious sight.

How could anyone be this alluring simply by showing their blinding white teeth in that devastatingly crooked way? It was unfair, really, to expect anyone to think straight when faced with a happy Percy Jackson.   

They finally caught up with each other, and the prince got the official version of events that led to his Sea-Boy being promoted to swords trainer. The threat of whipping was left out (and Telemachus couldn’t figure out if it was for Silas’ sake or his own…), but the son of Poseidon was obviously very satisfied (and proud) of his accomplishments and Telemachus did his best to validate his friend’s feelings. The hug he gave him in congratulations was warm and firm, lingering long after the appropriate amount of time had passed, but none of them made a move to pull away.

They stood in their meadow, entangled with each other, for at least ten minutes. Just basking in their shared warmth. Telemachus savored the feeling of a strong and defined chest supporting his own as he burrowed his head perfectly in the conjuncture of Percy’s shoulder and neck.

It felt so damn good to be held like this. Being fully surrounded by the feeling and smell of his amazing person was curing all the depressive thoughts and grumpiness Telemachus had stored away for weeks.

He mourned quietly when the demigod pulled back eventually.

They sat down on the cold ground, remarking about bringing blankets next time, and started to plan and organize the demigod’s new tasks efficiently. Percy, kind and selfless as he was, wanted to expand his teachings beyond the guard and include some hours where he would go down to the city to watch the training grounds and offer advice to those who asked. Telemachus adored his dedication to the people enough to swallow down the painful sting of jealousy. But only after he got his own personal lessons in exchange, three times a week for at least two hours each time, as well as at least a free afternoon or evening every day for the demigod to have some time for himself. The son of Poseidon rolled his eyes over the last one, but agreed with a blinding smile when Telemachus proposed to spend that part of the day together as well.

“You could finally teach me real English.”, the prince mused, “We could have a secret language that way.”

Percy smiled softly: “Sounds amazing!”

After figuring out the logistics, Telemachus overcame his shyness and asked his Sea-Boy to be the model for one of his newest drawings. He spun some tale about wanting to improve his skills in sketching faces, particularly eyes, and his friend agreed easily, not knowing that the prince had more than enough chances to practice those last few months when Percy would fall asleep by his side.

Triumphant on the inside, Telemachus directed the demigod to lie down on his back, hands behind his head, while he himself sat down very close, knees gracing Percy’s ribs. The muscles in the demigod’s arms were deliciously stretched and moved slightly with each of his breaths. With fake coyness, the prince asked: “Would it be okay if I drew on your chest? I need to be closer to your eyes.”

“Yeah, no problem.”, came the answer with a suspiciously scratchy voice and burning sea-green eyes. The son of Poseidon made sure not to twitch when Telemachus gently placed his sketchbook right between Percy’s pectorals, caressing them absentmindedly with the end of his pen. The prince felt some sort of primal satisfaction as he noticed the shiver that spread through the muscled body beneath him.

While he drew the first outlines, Telemachus made sure to stroke either his wrists or his fingers regularly along the other man’s torso. Over his ribs or down his sides, scratching lightly across the seams of his tunic on his lower belly. The vicious joy he got from every little twitch under his ministrations made the prince forget his original objective very quickly. He found joy in mapping out the his Sea-Boy’s most ticklish and sensitive spots, trying not to think about the use he might draw out of it one day (hopefully).

Percy stayed remarkedly still for about half an hour, before a caress very close to his hips made him jump up hastily. The demigod avoided Telemachus’ eyes with a very red face before he came up with a flimsy excuse and dashed away, back to the barracks.

The prince was more than satisfied with that outcome and didn’t chase after his friend, even if his belly was nearly exploding from heat and want. (And he was sure the hardness he’d felt earlier hadn’t been the demigod’s belt...)

-

His decision to finally do something to cement his place at Percy’s side (or Percy’s at his?) was proven right the next day. And every day after that for about a week.

Because whenever Telemachus had a free minute in his own schedule of meetings and lessons in language and diplomacy, he sprinted away to the arena on the palace grounds, eager to see his Sea-Boy teach his first lessons. Of course, he knew that Percy would excel at them. The demigod had learned his skills under many different masters, the harshest of which was probably war itself, but he also had a knack for dealing with people. His expertise and kind patience made him a truly outstanding teacher in everything he touched.

Was that a demigod-thing? Simply being good at everything?

Though Telemachus wasn’t the only one to recognize that.

It started small, with a few of the stable boys peaking their heads into the arena, eager to see the new sword instructor for themselves. They lingered for a few minutes, before sneaking away. The prince saw it all from his perch higher up in the stands. On the next day, they were back, accompanied by a few giggling servants who all lounged on the lower seats of the arena, staying for the duration of the whole hour of drills.

It didn’t help the bitter sting in Telemachus’ heart that Percy was wearing far too loose clothing during his instructions, which always slipped over his shoulder, revealing a lot of tanned skin and even the blink of a nipple once or twice. It hadn’t been an issue when it had only been the prince and the other guards present (and watching). Mostly because all the others had been far older than them or were close friends of his Sea-boy, but now, with the additional audience, it felt like his friend was being taken advantage of.

It was obvious that most of the people weren’t there to learn something about sword fighting, but to ogle at his demigod like he was a delicious piece of meat (which he was, no question, but at least Telemachus had liked the man for his personality first! … It didn’t even help that the prince was the only one being allowed close enough to touch Percy outside of the arena... although that knowledge stroked his ego immensely.)

Far worse than the noisy palace people, who at least had the decency to stay away after the ending of a training lesson, getting their eye candy and leaving Percy otherwise alone, were the citizens of the city.

As frowned upon as it was for women to be seen out and about for something else than their duty to the household, it did not stop most of the younger girls from sneaking around the training grounds whenever Percy had a shift there. Telemachus witnessed it twice himself, before he ordered a trusted little servant (his name was Markos, an eager son from one of his mother ladies-in-waiting) to keep a permanent eye on the demigod and to stop any and all approaches that weren’t about receiving help with the sword. He even gave the boy a few missives that ordered the young trainer to return to the palace as an alibi for Markos’ interfering. He needed to use them regularly.

Percy for sure caught onto the scheme of the prince, but did nothing except smile fondly whenever the ‘urgent business’ turned out to be a bored and grumpy Telemachus. The demigod simply pulled him along down to the beach to either spend time on the sandy ground or in the shallow waters together.

But even that was only a temporary fix at best.

The green eyed monster in Telemachus’ chest wouldn’t shut up until something changed.  

Women, as his mother had taught him early, could be more vicious than monsters and beasts in their pursuit of something they wanted. And most of the women frequenting the arena obviously wanted Percy.

Whether it was as a lover or even a potential husband, all of it raised Telemachus hackles in burning jealousy previously unknown to the prince. He was halfway done with finding an excuse for his Sea-Boy to give up on his endeavor in the city altogether, before he finally remembered the talk with his mother and her advice.  

It would no longer be enough to simply make a declaration for the people of the palace, when most of his (pathetic) competition was down in Ithaca’s city.

The thought of such a bold move in front of the citizens left Telemachus’ heart beating frantically, but the idea of Percy really being trapped into some kind of romantic or (gods above) sexual arrangement he didn’t want (hopefully) by thirsting women was enough to get the prince’s priorities straight.

Telemachus would not let his Sea-Boy go without a fight. Or at least not without trying his luck and making a move. Especially as he remembered all those little moments where he was sure the demigod reciprocated his advances unconsciously. As far as the prince knew, Percy didn’t spend his time with anyone else in the quantity he did with him, and even his soldier-friends were never touching the demigod like Telemachus was allowed to.

After another few days of growing frustration, the prince was finally ready to implement his plans. He collected everything he needed from his room and the kitchens, mind racing and palms sweaty.

Today would be the day. His day.

He was about to meet Percy down by the palace doors to go into the city together for the demigod’s new (chosen) duties, where he would finally show his intentions.

Since his promotion, his Sea-Boy was less concerned with them being seen together. Not that Telemachus had ever cared before that, but not having to beg his friend to walk the gardens together was quite a boon regardless. Especially since Percy had shyly requested more than once if Telemachus would mind playing his lyre for him there. The prince had never sprinted to his room to retrieve the instrument faster.

But now, they were set to meet at the doors, which were already in sight, when Telemachus was pulled back roughly by the scruff of his chiton.

He twisted instantly out of the grip keeping him back, having learned a few tricks from watching some of the wrestling matches of the guard and Percy’s offhanded comments. But while the prince managed to rip his clothes free, he was not fast enough to evade the hand closing around his bicep. The grip was tight and stinging and the unfamiliar sensation made Telemachus gasp unwillingly.

His eyes focused on his assailant, while his mind was reeling, searching for the guard he was sure must be around somewhere. He hadn’t walked fast enough to lose them. But the soldier that had been tasked to accompany him today was nowhere to be seen, leaving him alone and unprepared to face the threat of a slightly drunken suitor.

Because Telemachus knew the man that pressed closer to him than appropriate, the smell of sour wine in his breath and eyes slightly unfocused (but not enough to be taken advantage of).

Dark skin and dark hair that was twisted into long braids with shorn sides like that could only belong to one particular specimen of those disgusting men vying for his mother.

Antinous.

He was a relatively new face amongst the suitors, having only arrived two years prior. He was the son of Eupeithes, a noble that was both rich and well regarded in Ithaca for his great contribution toward the war’s food stock when Odysseus had first set sails.

The man’s family hailed from the mainland of Greece, and Antinous himself was known for his cruel demeanor and disregard of those he saw as weaker than himself. Ever since he had set the first foot inside the palace, he had drawn attention to himself with his cocky and arrogant attitude, that was sadly backed by bulging muscles and (as Telemachus now knew thanks to seeing a real master) mediocre skills with a weapon. He was loud and proud and challenging. Within a few weeks, he had already gained respect and admiration among the suitors, gathering a crowd of supporters and becoming some kind of leader to them. He was the reason for most of Macar’s headaches ever since.

Telemachus himself had been lucky enough not to draw his attention personally. Until now.

The larger man tried to maneuver him out of the direct sight of the open doors further down the hall, but the prince shifted his center of gravity (like he had seen Percy do so many times) to avoid being pushed around by the other’s strength. When Antinous realized that only his upper body moved, the suitor fletched his teeth and tightened his grip painfully. Telemachus winced as his heart sped up in fear.

What were the chances of his Sea-Boy seeing his plight?

“Boy.”, Antinous sneered, “How nice of you to show your pretty face. I was just on my way to your mother. Join me.”

It wasn’t a request, and the way the older man tried to domineer him through sheer physicality was indeed quite intimidating. Or rather, it would have been even more, had Telemachus not seen battle and death by his demigod’s side. Lived through a divine war with his friend and beat the scariest of Titans. He had walked amongst gods and monsters already.

This one was just wearing a different face.

Recalling that knowledge was the only thing keeping Telemachus from fully panicking.

He knew why Antinous wanted to drag him along to his mother. The Queen had hauled herself up in the royal wing, asking not to be disturbed for the day to deal with some urgent mail. No one was granted entry in the wing anyway, but with this explicit order, the guards around the halls had been switched to some very loyal soldiers that had served Penelope and Odysseus for years. No one would be sneaking past them, so the suitors’ only chance of seeing the Queen today was a personal invitation from a royal.

Which Telemachus was by default.

Perhaps the vile man had expected the prince to be a shivering and weak little boy, easy to push around…

And in a way, he was right. Despite all the things Telemachus had seen (or dreamed about), being face to face with someone older, stronger and crueler, was a whole different experience than seeing it as a silent spectator.

This was a real threat, made to him. Alone in a corridor. With no weapon or escape in sight.

The pain in his arm didn’t help at all.

The feeling of helplessness was as annoying as it was frightening, but the knowledge that Percy was probably near enough to intervene, should things go really wrong, made Telemachus brave enough to spat: “I think not. I am expected elsewhere. Leave me be.”

“Are you now?”, leered the dark man with glittering eyes. Antinous leaned down, so that his mouth was hovering right beside Telemachus’ ear, teeth grazing skin in some form of vile caress, nibbling on the lobe. Disgust and shame traveled up the prince’s spine as the man pressed closer, growling both threatening and smooth: “Bet I am far better company…Maybe we should-“

Antinous didn’t get a chance to finish that suggestion.

A blur of brown leather, black hair and blazing sea-green eyes was suddenly between them, pushing the man away with a precisely aimed punch. The pommel of a sword was buried in the side of the suitor, hitting the kidney and extracting a pained grunt as the man was forced to let go of Telemachus and step back.

The prince felt a warm and gentle hand press against his sternum, pushing him softly behind the broad back of his savior, which was (of course) none other than the furious son of Poseidon that had stolen his heart.

Telemachus breathed in relief, shoulders sagging as he felt the mighty presence of the demigod. Heat traveled through his body as the adrenalin and panic crashed over the prince.

The air seemed to vibrate with restrained power, pressing down onto Telemachus like a heavy, protective blanket. For Antinous, it must’ve been far less pleasant, because the man actually flinched back a bit when the burning gaze of someone divine settled on him.

“Are you alright my Prince?”, Percy growled, his eyes not leaving the perceived threat, but the warm hand on his chest was moving in slow and soothing circles subconsciously. Telemachus felt a pleasant warmth spread in his body, caused both by the movement and the possessive address from his Sea-Boy. His blood calmed. He felt heat creep up into his cheeks as he stuttered: “Yes, than-“

“Bastard! Who do you think you are?”, spat Antinous in this moment, drawing himself back up to his full height, trying to intimidate them once more. Sadly for the suitor, Percy himself had grown quite a lot, meeting the other man at eye level, not even twitching as he was snarled at like an animal.

Up until now, the prince had never truly thought about their height difference beyond some stray ideas about how nice his head fit against the other’s shoulder or how easy it would be for Percy to manhandle him (most of those daydreams happened in the safety of his bedroom). But in the face of a much older person, who had tried to intimidate Telemachus through his physical superiority, it was satisfyingly vindictive to see his Sea-Boy do the very same thing back. And with much more success as well.  

Telemachus may not have been able to see his Sea-Boy’s expression, but the darkness in his voice was unmistakable proof of his displeasure. The prince would’ve bet everything he owned that those lovely eyes were blazing right now, as they often did when the demigod was enraged. The swirling, changing color would be physical evidence of his power to control mighty storms just like his father. If he so wished.

“To you? An enemy.”, Percy stated unshakably, before hissing a vicious warning: “I would suggest keeping your filthy hands to yourself and off my Prince if you want to keep them.”

Antinous laugh was mocking and rough: “A threat? How fun. Pity you don’t have the right to threaten anyone under xenia, guard. I could have you executed for that.” Menacingly, the dark man took a step closer, grinning viciously at Telemachus over Percy’s shoulder, a threat and challenge clear in his gaze. The demigod instantly shifted, blocking the path even further before pushing himself into the suitor’s space.

“I would like to see you try.”, the son of Poseidon snorted, not even pretending to be fearful.

He was right to be confident, of course. As if Telemachus would let anyone threaten his Sea-Boy with execution. He was the prince of this palace. If it came to it, his words would outweigh them all. And he would let Antinous hang, diplomacy be damned, before anyone touched Percy Jackson. (Not to mention the godly wrath the imbecile would have to face for even suggesting such a thing. Telemachus deliberated what would be more satisfying: Lord Poseidon ripping him apart with vicious sharks or Lady Kymopoleia drowning him for ages.)

But Antinous wasn’t ready yet to admit defeat this easily, drawing a small dagger from his belt.

“Arrogant brat!”, the suitor snarled as he lunged forward.

From his position behind Percy, it looked almost playfully easy as the demigod caught the blade with his bracer. Percy then brought his arm up with a swift jerk. Antinous, completely surprised by his opponent's quick reflexes, subconsciously loosened his grip enough for the dagger to fall from his hand. The momentum of the parry sent the blade careening upward, cutting across the suitor’s face with vengeance, only missing the eye by a hair’s breadth.

The blade fell to the ground with a loud clang.

Antinous cried in pain and staggered back, but the son of Poseidon wasn’t yet done. As the first droplets of blood fell to the ground, the demigod pulled the older man closer by his chiton, head beside his ears, mirroring the exact same pose Antinous had forced upon Telemachus.

His brilliant Sea-Boy whispered poisonously: “Maybe I won’t get to take your hands now, but your eye is a fair first price for daring to touch my Prince.” The then pushed the bleeding man back before calling, loud enough for his voice to echo through the halls and into the nearest chambers: “Oh no, whatever happened to you, sir? Did you slip in your drunken stupor? My, look at your eye!” There was too much smugness in the demigod’s voice to be the slightest bit convincing, but Telemachus gave him points for creativity.

From the corner of his eye, he saw some other guards step out of a room and the prince decided to help out by stating: “There are some very sharp stones in the wall. Better make your way to the infirmary now, Antinous. Ask for Hyginus, he will take care of this.”

Telemachus sounded cold even to his own ears, but he couldn’t care less. His hands searched for Percy’s, pulling his Sea-Boy away from the scene and in the direction of the exit. The demigod followed instantly, his gaze still hefted upon the suitor, until they were finally under the shining sun and out of reach.

While the situation had unsettled him, Telemachus wanted to leave this whole thing behind quickly.

He had something better to do with his day.

Namely, to satisfy the possessive burn in his heart. He couldn’t contain the proud smile upon Percy’s defense of him. This fierce side of the demigod got his blood pumping mercilessly.

Telemachus’ gesture could not wait any longer.

Notes:

We had it all! Feral Telemachus, feral Percy, sucker Antinous!

It was finally time for him to show his ugly mug in this story. I hope I did him justice and made that bully as despicable as he was to me in the musical.

Next chapter is still gonna hit tomorrow, so stay tuned!!

Suggestions, questions, thoughts and feelings are always welcomed and appreciated :)

Chapter 26: Give it a try it's not that hard

Notes:

This is it...one of the moments we've been waiting for.

Telemachus is gonna make his move!

Please stay calm everyone. Mute your screams with pillows and only kick whoever deserves the bashing XD

Enjoy the depravity and schemes of a horny Telemachus ;P

TELEMACHUS’ mouth was dry and parched from all the nerves fluttering in his chest.

The arena near the city center was as full as it always was, since Percy had started offering his services as an instructor. Men of all ages, from children to seniors, were milling about the place, striking straw targets or sparring with wooden weapons against one another. It was chaotic and cluttered, with little space to maneuver or move at all. It wasn’t helped by all the spectators around the place, taking up the very few benches and filling the air with muttered conversations and high giggles.

However his Sea-Boy managed to focus on this many people at once was a miracle in Telemachus’ eyes. Something he had thought impossible for everyone else, but somehow, Percy’s brain just seemed to click, to strive, with so many stimuli around him.

He only let go of the prince’s hand when they truly stepped onto the sandy ground, sending him an apologetic, crooked smile before being pulled away by some children vying for his attention. Telemachus was used to this by now, finding his way easily through the crowd, the people skirting back for their prince. He still heard whispering and hastily hushed conversations around him, but it was by far less than the first time he had accompanied the demigod. By now, most citizens knew they were seen together more often than not.

Whatever other rumors they spread about them were of no concern for Telemachus. Even the most scandalous ones wouldn’t even come close to the truth (that they were friends for years, connected through magical dreams and destiny). Seeing as his mother wasn’t opposed to them being seen out and about (knowing fully well how much gossip it would spread), the prince figured he had no reason to stop following his heart’s desire.

Especially since he was about to throw even more wood into the already burning fire that was Ithaca’s rumor mill.

He couldn’t wait for all of them to truly see how deep his connection with Percy ran. And that no one had a chance to challenge him for his place by the demigod’s side.

For a second, the prince contemplated if he was about to do something immoral. His Sea-Boy hadn’t grown up with their customs or views. It was very likely that he wouldn’t understand what the prince was about to do. Would he be angry once he found out?

Would Percy, rightfully, see it as an invasion of his personal autonomy? Telemachus would shape a picture of him in the eyes of everyone, without Percy having any say in it or even knowing it was about to happen. He was practically forcing himself upon his friend. And no good intention could ever make it the right thing to do. It was selfish, born out of his own insecurity.

Telemachus remembered his mother’s words about oblivious man and his father needing to be forced onto the right path by his future Queen. It turned out great for them.

The prince decided to just do it. Even if only for his own peace of mind.

If Percy was truly against the insinuation once he found out, the prince would rather take the broken heart and anger over the crippling uncertainty he was forced to live with now. He wanted to be like his mother here; Brave enough to woe the person of his heart himself, instead of waiting for something that might never come. (And not because his Sea-Boy might feel different, but more so because he would just be too slow to grasp it in time). However unconventional (or immoral) it may be.

Telemachus ignored the whispering thoughts of duty and legacy, the murmur about how he was the sole heir and had a responsibility to his kingdom. His heart didn’t care at all. Once he had his Sea-Boy, they could (and would) tackle all those problems together. They were powerful and resourceful enough to take on anything the old advisors would throw at them. And with Percy’s background, maybe, if Telemachus could be charming (deserving) enough when he met his Underwater-Family, they might even have a few divine supporters in their corner. As much as Lord Poseidon obviously loved his son, someone standing in the way of their love would not be something the god could allow (if Percy truly wanted Telemachus as much as the prince wanted the demigod).

But first things first: Telemachus needed to make those many simpering people fluttering their lashes at Percy back the fuck off. Soon.

Because right now, as the prince was leaning against a lone column by the side of the arena, he already saw how his demigod was surrounded by admirers. Again. Caught between girls that couldn’t be older than twelve, young women with demure veils and even some postering young man, Percy looked lost and overwhelmed with all the attention that had nothing to do with the sword in his hand.

Telemachus saw the tick in his jaw and the way he swept a hand through his hair twice in half a minute as the call for help it most likely was. The demigod may have smiled politely and answered their inquiries, but the way he twisted out of oh-so-innocent touches and practically sprinted away to help someone with their stance was more than clear.

The prince deliberated making his move right now, but the crowd was still very dense and teeming. Additionally, his Sea-Boy was now actually helping quite a lot of young fighters. According to the honest grin on his face, he enjoyed the task very much (even if it was always intertwined with other conversations and intentions).

So, Telemachus waited for another hour, gaze sweeping around and cataloging the faces of those that approached the demigod more than once to be close to him. It didn’t appear like Percy noticed, and there was no true interest in his expression directed at any of them, which calmed the prince’s boiling gut a bit.

Even when one young woman pressed herself really close against his arm, his Sea-Boy only raised an eyebrow. Not once his eyes dipped lower than the chin of the women, focused on her words and not her figure. But when she began to push herself up on her tiptoes, rubbing her bust all over Percy’s tan skin, every bit of the prince’s carefully curated patience snapped.

Before he could make the conscious decision to finally strike, his body was already moving on his own accord.

The atmosphere in the arena changed with Telemachus’ growing intent. The people around him felt the air shift and made room instantly, clearing a path for him, their eyes curious and hungry for drama.

Well, they would get fed very soon.

Percy, as always, was so in tune with his surroundings (or maybe just in tune with Telemachus) that his head snapped up immediately, and the sea-green eyes found him in the sea of people in the exact second that the prince called out: “Percy!”

The demigod straightened and brushed the girl on his arm away like she was just dust clinging to his clothes. Telemachus smiled victoriously and smug as she gasped in affront, but his gaze was fixed onto the figure of his Sea-Boy, turning to him instantly.

Their eyes interlocked and the world blurred.

The sun highlighted his broad shoulders under the form fitting leather armor. Percy’s stance, full of silent power and grace, ready to move at the drop of a hat (another idiom Telemachus had picked up in his dreams) was like a beacon in the dark, drawing the prince in like a moth to a flame. The scars peaking around his clothes gave the demigod the rugged look of some mysterious hero of old (which he was…kinda) and the sword, casually held by his side, underlined the troublemaker-smile that was so often seen on his face. Just like now.

Gods, how could anyone be this attractive?

Black hair, dark like the night, unruly and untamed as the person it belonged to, only parted by the one grey strand, was tousled and fell into Percy’s sharp face. His features were chiseled by an master carver of all arts and Telemachus could never hope to replicate his looks upon something as unworthy as paper.

He would never get the colors of him right anyway. Especially the piercing sea-green of his otherworldly eyes, gleaming and glittering like gemstones under the sun. How anyone could overlook his clear immortal heritage was the pinnacle of stupidity of humans. But Telemachus wasn’t complaining. The less others noticed, the more was there for him to worship (if Percy would let him).

Time moved slowly, as the prince’s hand finally found the thing in his chiton he had brought for exactly this purpose. This moment. His hand tightened carefully.

It was time.

The world seemed to hold its breath (or maybe it was just Telemachus) as all his focus narrowed down to the round object fitting perfectly in his palm. Then it happened very fast.

In one blink, he saw Percy’s questioning gaze and the next time the prince opened his eyes, they were on the apple sailing through the air.

It was a picture-perfect apple. One side was still green, sour and crisp like a refreshing morning, and the other side had an alluring red tinge, savory sweet and soft with sugary juice.

Telemachus didn’t know how Percy liked his fruit best, having seen him inhaling all kinds of food without regard for taste, so he wanted to cater to every possible whim of the demigod. The apple needed to be flawless.

And it was, a perfectly round fruit with a small brown stem, no impurities or wormholes in its firm skin. Telemachus had picked it himself from the hidden orchard behind the palace, which his mother had so painstakingly cultivated for years.

She had told him that only the royal family and the captain of the guard knew of the garden and all its hidden pathways. Odysseus had built the palace so that the orchard laid right between their bedchamber and Telemachus’ own rooms, connecting them through a hidden door in case of an emergency. It was only one of the many secrets the king had hidden inside his home. And while Telemachus already discovered some of them on his own, he knew there were many more he had yet to find.

Maybe, once his father was back and the palace was no longer overrun by stupid suitors, he and Percy could spend a few days truly investigating the architecture.

Assuming the demigod would not reject him before then.

For a second, Telemachus’ heart plummeted right through the floor when he remembered his bad aim and minuscular athletic abilities. He couldn’t even remember throwing the apple…what if it never even reached its (his) intended? Nothing would be more embarrassing than the fruit landing on the ground between them. The prince already felt faint just thinking about it.

But whatever deity was watching had mercy with him, making his aim and strength good enough to carry the apple perfectly over to the demigod. He felt the hundreds of eyes following the path of the fruit, as it was plugged from the air effortlessly by a big hand.

All the air rushed back into Telemachus’ lungs and his heart soared instantly, knowing what it meant for his Sea-Boy to catch the apple instantly (even though the demigod might not have the same knowledge).

It was as if Olympus itself was singing in elation and joy. Telemachus mind was still blank, just bathing in the self-satisfaction and smugness of a job well done.

Heat traveled through his body with tickling fingers as Telemachus watched transfixed how Percy lifted the apple, head cocked to the side in consideration. His glittering gaze flittered to the prince, before it swept over the watching crowd.

The demigod wasn’t stupid. He caught onto the tense silence and impatiently waiting people for sure, even though he was missing some important context clues. (Like the meaning of giving apples as presents to someone, especially after the whole debacle with Paris…)

Telemachus could practically see the thoughts drifting behind the pretty eyes, but whatever conclusion the demigod came to was hidden from everyone, even the prince.

It didn’t matter in the grand scheme of things. Whatever Percy might do now; he had still caught the apple. Fast, and without hesitation. That was enough to make the gesture land. After the old (for Percy, even older, maybe even unknown) tradition, they were kind of (definitely) promised to each other.

Telemachus wanted to scream in joy.

Of course it was tentative at best, seeing as they were, for one, both male and, for the other, no patriarch of either of their household was present, but the intention was what counted in this case. Telemachus had boldly claimed, and his Sea-Boy had accepted (even unknowingly). That should be enough for everyone else to back off and give them time to figure things out at their own pace.

Maybe the jealously burning monster in the prince’s chest would finally retreat now.

Relief. Pure, devastating relief crashed into the prince’s mind and his lips turned into a shy little smile. Which froze on his face instantly as the demigod finally reacted to the (for him surely very strange) situation.

And in no way Telemachus could have ever anticipated.

Percy Jackson, ever the tease, slowly lifted the caught apple, his eyes not straying from Telemachus anymore, catching the caramel gaze of the prince and not letting him escape. The intense burn of sea-green fire was the perfect honey trap, as the demigod fluently set his lips again the taunt skin of the apple, perfectly placed between red and green. The demigod’s lips quirked into a sly, secretive smirk before he opened that bold mouth of his.

The crack of his bite echoed either through the whole arena or only in Telemachus’ head. But it vibrated through his bones either way, sending a delicious shiver down his spine.

The prince’s throat was constricted, and he felt a boiling heat slowly travel from his heart and soul down into his belly and groin. Telemachus couldn’t rip his eyes away, as his Sea-Boy ate the sweet flesh of the fruit like the temptation he was.

Especially when a small trail of juice dripped down the stubbly skin of his chin in a sinful, sticky path.

Telemachus wanted to follow the drops of sugary seduction with his tongue, taste the warm skin of the demigod, leave dark marks on his exposed throat and collar bones in a claim much more permanent than a thrown fruit.

Percy’s eyes glittered in amusement, as if he knew exactly what scandalous thoughts plagued the prince’s mind. The smirk on his lips as he chewed was no longer mischievous, but smug.

His Sea-Boy was devious enough to tease him (torture him) like that.

But Telemachus could play this kind of game as well. And he felt competitive enough to forget all rules of courtship and decorum.

The rest of the world didn’t exist in that moment.

He crossed the small gap between them in a few quick steps. The son of Poseidon awaited Telemachus calmly, blinking curiously. No one spoke when the prince gripped Percy’s wrist between his long, thin fingers. The fingers of a musician.

Pulling the hand that held the apple down to his own mouth was easy, seeing as the demigod didn’t resist the guiding at all. Their eyes stayed interlocked the entire time. Thousands of thoughts and feelings switching between them, but Telemachus was too distracted, too drunk from the high of having his plan working this well (too well), to distinguish any of them.  

Without blinking, the prince of Ithaca leaned in and took his own bite of the fruit, tasting the sweeter flesh of the red side, his mouth touching the edge of where Percy’s lips had been moments before. Only after he had drawn back and swallowed, Telemachus allowed himself to analyze the black holes that were Percy’s eyes. The irises were blown, nearly extinguishing all the turquoise color. There was a very visible blush right under them, the red matching the apple quite well.

His Sea-Boy locked exactly as ruffled as Telemachus felt. His heart was fluttering (nearly flying away) with how close they stood together now.

The smell of salt and sour apples was nearly overpowering.

But the voice of his mother in the back of his head advised him to stay calm. Telemachus had already earned very much through this interaction (even besides the very vivid daydreams he could now conjure of the demigod, his mouth and dripping juice), but there were still many more steps to go before he could taste the sweet victory of having who he wanted from the demigod’s lips himself.

For now, the prince needed to pull a bit of the tension, the weight, out of the situation. They were still very much in a public setting. And from how shallow his Sea-Boy breathed right now, he was nearly at the limit of how much obvious flirting his brain could take without combusting. A pity.

Telemachus had a few more tricks up his sleeve, but for now, he would show mercy to his Dearest.

“I never said you could have all of it.”, the prince pointed out with a steady (if deeper than usual) voice, eyes flickering from the apple to Percy in a joking reprimand.

He could practically see how the brain of his Sea-Boy needed a second to reboot. It was dangerously endearing and flattering. Telemachus needed to keep in his fond smile and the small chuckle that wanted to escape him. His mother had been right. Men were adorably easy to throw off track.

He wondered how much more he could push before the tight restraints around his Dearest snapped. Would his grip turn bruising? His lips hungry or his hands raving? How far could the son of a god lose himself in desire? Would Telemachus be devoured or worshiped?... Did that even make a difference for him?

There was so much left to learn…

But in the end, Percy found his words again. Even if they were stilted and dark like the abyss of the sea.

“I apologize.”, the demigod rasped, head bowed, but the burning flame of sea-green didn’t waver. Telemachus enjoyed the delicious tension between them. He preened when Percy purred the claiming little phrase: “My Prince.”

Telemachus knew that his Dearest saw his reaction and hurried to distract the other man by saying: “Nah, it’s okay. I like sharing with you.” The intent of the last sentence was made clear with a cool look at the people all around them, making them both more aware of the spectators.  

But I’m not sharing you.

From the corner of his eyes, the prince saw the women from before shuffle back and vanish in the crowd. His silent satisfaction was interrupted when Percy drew his attention again.

“I am honored then.”, the demigod grinned cheekily, the tension between them melting into something more innocent. Banter was always their default state of conversation. That made it easy for Telemachus to answer haughtily: “You are indeed. Don’t forget it in all the gracious work you do here.”

Oh, the prince was on fire right now. His words might sound kind and appreciative at first, but they also carried a hint of warning and apprehension, making it clear to everyone that Percy was only here because Telemachus hadn’t said anything against it yet. And Percy’s response made it so much better.

“I won’t.”

Sweet was the victory, as the citizens were forced to realize just how much his Sea-Boy valued Telemachus opinion and their time together. The prince would come first for the sword trainer. (Maybe not always yet, but most of the time. They had a long future ahead to work on the always though…) And that was the only thing he had wanted to make clear.

Telemachus truly loved that the demigod found so much joy in helping those who had little else. His friendly and approachable disposition was just perfect to become a hero of simple people. And as long as the citizens felt they had someone fighting for their rights and wants inside the palace, they had no reason to raise the voices themselves. And as long as it was Percy, there was at least no sleezy old politician exploiting them.

But that didn’t mean that his Sea-Boy belonged to the people. He didn’t even belong to Telemachus. But their bond was far greater regardless. It would triumph against nearly anything.

Now that his point was made, Telemachus had little reason to be disapproving of his Sea-Boy’s time spent down here.

Smiling like the cat that got the cream (which he had!), the prince said primly: “Very good. I need to leave for now, but I’ll look forward to our own lesson later.” Telemachus let go of the wrist still in his soft grip, but his finger lingered in the air for a second, before they settled gently in the hollow point of Percy’s throat, where once his pearl rested.

The gift that had brought the demigod back to him in the first place. And as much as he disliked the naked skin there now, Telemachus couldn’t be really sad. A little pearl, as perfect as it had been, was a small price to pay to have his Dearest back.

Back by his side.

Especially when the prince was allowed to touch him so easily. His naughty finger slowly dipped lower, painting a quivering line down to Percy’s collarbones. Goosebumps rose under the tanned skin and the prince leaned in a bit, until his mouth was as close to the demigod’s ear as possible without him standing on his tiptoes. Then Telemachus whispered as alluringly as possible: “Don’t be late.”

Percy swallowed. Hard. Telemachus felt it against his finger. The son of Poseidon sounded hoarse and darker than ever when he promised: “I wouldn’t dare.”

The prince didn’t need to see his Dearest’ face to know that he meant it. Fully satisfied with how the afternoon had turned out, Telemachus couldn’t suppress the smug purr as he voiced, deadly serious: “No. You wouldn’t”

Drawing back after, he turned around for one last, long look. With an enticing sway of his hips, the prince of Ithaca left behind the arena and the hundreds of gaping and scandalized people, as well as his fully flustered Sea-Boy.

Telemachus had never felt more invincible.

Notes:

My, oh my! Where is the steam coming from?
It is getting hotter here or is that just me blushing furiously? 😳

ANYWAY, let me know your reactions in the comments, please! XD

Next chapter: Wednesday, the 10th of September.
- Don't soar too high or you'll fall, little Icarus.

Suggestions, questions, thoughts and feelings are always welcomed and appreciated :)

Chapter 27: And we can build his skills as I teach him

Notes:

Oh boy...
This chapter is a rollercoaster for real.

Buckle up, Buttercups and keep some pillows ready for the sake of your neighbors ;P

Enjoy!

(And sorry for the late update, but you get ~5k words as an apology)

PERCY had never felt more confused.

And aroused.

Like a train had run him over while dumping piping-hot lava all over his body. It was a rush of endorphins that refused to die down even after the cause for all of it was long gone.

It was such a strange feeling that the demigod couldn’t concentrate for the rest of his time in Ithaca’s city. Apparently, he wasn’t the only one who felt strange today, because soon after Telemachus had left the arena, most of the watching people vanished as well, murmuring behind hidden hands and sending calculating glances his way.

Percy wasn’t stupid.

Of course he knew that, whatever his Dream-Boy had tried to achieve with his bold and sensual display, was the reason for the difference in people’s treatment of him. Where before there had been many thoughtless and casual touches (which always made him flinch if he didn’t see them coming in time), Percy was now given space in spades. Everyone seemed conscious of his movements, backing off before he came to close (if it wasn’t to actively try and help with a grip or stance).

The change was very welcome, if only because Percy was now able to turn his whole attention to the tasks at hand, not needing to keep his awareness sharp to notice any approaching people (or threats).

But he simply could not pinpoint which nuance of the prince’s actions he had missed that caused such drastic adjustment of everyone around. Was sharing food such a novelty here? Did it insinuate something the demigod had no idea about?

(Somewhere very deep in his mind, a dusty drawer rattled in the dark with some lecture from Annabeth years ago about fruits in ancient Greece, but Percy lost the feeling pretty quickly when he thought back to Telemachus little act.)

Well, obviously it had been a somewhat…lewd display of closeness between him and the prince. Percy had been stunned for a second after he had caught the apple, too distracted by the sudden hunger in Telemachus’ expression to register that his body had reacted all on its own. The prince’s dark look and confident grin had sent a pleasant shiver down the demigod’s spine instantly.

Telemachus’ gesture of care, in making sure Percy had enough to eat during his busy day, was a very sweet sentiment of the prince, but there was obviously more behind it.

(Not even considering everything that came after…)

In hindsight, Percy blushed horribly while thinking back to just how close he had been to give into his instincts and pulling the other man even further into his space. The sudden urge to feel that breathtaking body of his prince against his own had been nearly overpowering, just as the wish to close that smart mouth with his own. The son of Poseidon had been shocked by his own lecherous thoughts.

He had never wanted to kiss anyone before.

Especially not like this. (Would the sweetness of the apple be even more enticing if it came from the plush lips of his Dream-Boy?... Most definitely).

Percy knew just how irresistible and forward Telemachus could be. Flirting and teasing was in his blood, given and taught by the Queen as a means of control. And it worked. Really well, actually. Especially for Percy.

The demigod wasn’t even sure if Telemachus was aware of all the times he slipped back into the habit, fluttering his eyes enticingly or smirking that cute little grin that drove Percy crazy. He tried his best not to take it too seriously, not wanting to make his friend uncomfortable by pointing it out.

It wasn’t as if the demigod was bothered by it at all. The flirting and touching was kind of nice, and never overpowered the connection of genuine care and friendship they shared. It was more of an added bonus (that fed into Percy’s delusional daydreams more often than not, to his mediocre shame. But hey, who would judge him? Telemachus was a beautiful man!)

Keeping the whole of their complex and deep relationship in mind, the demigod hadn’t been too surprised by his friend’s dramatics. Sharing food was not unusual for them, even if eating from the same fruit was a first. But the apple had been delicious and big enough for both of them to get a piece, so Percy saw no problem in letting the other man have a bite.

He had gotten the most hypnotizing view as a reward, when Telemachus’ pretty pink lips spread sensual and arousing around the red skin, hooded eyes never leaving the demigod.

But that was just Percy’s hormonal brain talking. He was sure that the prince had meant nothing by it. And either way, none of that should’ve been a reason for people to suddenly give him space and stop their approaches with random questions and stories. 

When he tried to ask Elpenor and Perimedes later on the way back to the palace, even his friends were dodgy about the subject, not looking him straight in the eye and walking a few feet further away than normally. Percy shut that behavior down very quickly when he pulled Elpenor in a headlock and demanded answers. Perimedes laughed heartily, before he came to help the other soldier in fighting him off. The son of Poseidon let them win easily, and soon they were smiling and joking like always, pushing against shoulders and clapping backs like silly schoolboys.

Shortly before they split up (Elpenor was ordered to keep an eye on the suitors and Perimedes had to guard one of the many gardens) the older of the two stopped Percy from walking away to the personal lesson he had promised Telemachus.

“Maybe you should speak to his Royal Highness. If you don’t know-“, Perimedes interrupted himself with a rueful smile, “Speak with him, alright? It’s nothing bad per se, but you two should be on the same page for this.”

It only confused Percy more, and he was deep in his thoughts when he found his way down to their little beach.

When the prince had first needled those private lessons out of the demigod (not that Percy needed much convincing. Personal time with Telemachus was all the incentive he needed for literally anything nowadays) they had debated on where to meet for them. The arena would be an obvious place, but it was seldom truly empty, and they would always need to be guarded with what they’d talk about in case someone came by. It would cause tension that had no place in the time they spent together. Percy had suggested their meadow, but the prince had rightly pointed out that the ground was too hard to fall on. And he had wanted to keep the little space a sanctuary for both of them. A place of peace and relaxation, of whispered confessions and quite conversations.

Percy agreed with that sentiment wholeheartedly.

So, the beach it was. Granted, people could also stumble upon them there, but it was far less likely. And the space was big enough to avoid being overheard. Besides, being so close to the ocean helped Percy control his powers, and his senses were getting pretty good at picking up other people’s blood flows from afar. It wasn’t a failsafe option, but the best they had for now. (Percy had thought for a second to teach his friend underwater, but it would be pretty exhausting in the long run to keep an air bubble big enough for the both of them.)

Telemachus was already on the beach, waiting for him. (How he had managed to shake his personal guard again was a mystery the demigod vowed to find out eventually – it was a dangerous habit with the suitors around, especially after the disaster that morning…Percy was still boiling with rage about that meeting).

The prince hadn’t changed his clothes, which was a slight hindrance for their training, seeing as he was dressed in formal garb, completely with the ceremonial blue himation and golden jewelry on nearly every visible piece of skin. He was required to wear clothes like this for the more formal council sessions and Percy, in the silence of his mind, was kind of obsessed with the expensive way it made his Dream-Boy look.

Sometimes it was easy for the demigod to forget that Telemachus was an actual, real prince. But not when he was dressed like this.

It conjured the vision of him biting into the apple again, eyelids lowered alluringly, and Percy swallowed hard, scolding himself to get his mind out of the gutter.

Telemachus greeted him with a happy smile, totally unbothered by whatever happened earlier. He was already starting to chat about the totally exciting (boring) meeting he had today, while the son of Poseidon still tried to find his footing again. It helped that his friend was so cheery himself. If he didn’t made a big deal out of it, maybe Percy could ignore it as well? At least for a while?

His heart was still beating faster than normal though...

But there was another, more pressing matter anyway. Percy decided to focus on that first. Giving himself a bit more time to come to a decision concerning the other thing occupying his mind.

“You look great…but Tel, that is no outfit to fight in.”, he said fondly and with a little smile once the prince took a deep breath in his rant. Telemachus didn’t look offended and sheepishly rubbed the back of his neck when he said: “I know. But I was too impatient to change. Help me get the jewelry off? We can start then.”

Without waiting for an answer (most likely knowing that Percy would follow his request anyway), his Dream-Boy turned around and fumbled with the buckle of the golden belt keeping the himation in place. The demigod stepped closer once it fell into the sand with a dull thud. The sound took Percy’s gut one floor down as well, making his belly swoop like a rollercoaster as the fabric slipped from the prince’s shoulders.  

Telemachus directed him to the clasp of the jewelry around his neck and biceps with quiet words and a long look. Even without using his powers, the blood of the son of Poseidon heated up a bit, as he came so tantalizingly close to the others fair skin once more. Still, there was no hesitation as Percy’s fingers landed on the soft skin of his friend.  

The jewelry was mostly golden chains, twisting around Telemachus’ limps or locking certain charms in place. Some were lower than others, but all of them spoke of great care and craftsmanship in their creation. The delicate and pretty accessory highlighted the swoop of lean muscles perfectly, drawing attention to just the right places.

Percy swallowed. Hard. His blood going places it didn’t belong.  

Undressing Telemachus from his princely finery was an experience that Percy wanted to remember forever. Touching his skin, caressing the freckles softly while slowly pulling the jewelry away was reverent and adoring work. It delighted the demigod unimaginably. He thrived on how much care and patience it took to make sure nothing ripped or broke. And from the way goosebumps and shivers wrecked the prince regularly, he also enjoyed the intimate closeness. Percy couldn’t stop himself from lingering against certain pressure points, feeling the fluttering pulse of his friend through the veins under his fingertips like a trapped bird. Percy’s hands were burning from the silky feel of skin and gold. The heat travelled through the demigod’s whole body, nesting behind his ribs, navel and high on his cheeks.  

The intoxicating smell of honey and parchment filled his nose and all his senses, making him feel giddy and drunk.     

They both stayed silent through it all, bathing in the shy touches and bashful little looks. Somehow, this felt far more intimate than even the shared apple.

Maybe because no one besides them was there right now and everything they did (and felt) only belonged to them. Kept safe in their hearts and minds like a sacred treasure. Percy liked that thought very much.  

Once Telemachus was free, only dressed in his silky chiton and slightly breathless, Percy stepped back carefully, trying not to break the spell of silent companionship that had fallen over them. “Thank you.”, the prince whispered hoarsely, and the caramel was like molted gold in his eyes.

“Anytime.” Percy meant nothing more than that.

After that, it took a few minutes for the son of Poseidon to get back into the mindset of training lessons. He had gotten a lot of practice on how to direct certain activities efficiently for many people at once, but Percy didn’t want for this to be like all the other lessons. Telemachus deserved more.

He deserved everything.

So, the demigod took it upon himself to demonstrate everything thoroughly and detailed, beginning at the best stretches and warm-up exercises. The prince was not as flexible as Percy, but he had a great core strength for a mortal and his coordination was nothing to scoff at either. With a few determined and firm hand movements, he guided his Dream-Boy through the exercises, forcing his fingers to not linger like they had before. It was much more difficult than expected. Especially when Telemachus looked at him with big, trusting eyes.

As a royal heir, the prince had obviously been taught all the basics, and in a battle, he could obviously hold his own for a while, but his movements were still stiff and too learned. He needed a bit more experience to get the attacks and parries into his natural movement.

In comparison to both Percy’s training of the guard and the citizens of Ithaca, sparing against Telemachus was like a breath of fresh air. No questioning his method or experience, no doubting his expertise or instructions. Sometimes, the princes asked a clarifying question, but that was all he did on that matter. The rest of the time, he was focused and willing to follow Percy’s example down to the T. And he was good doing it.

There was no rush in their fighting, no desperate need for one to prove himself.

Telemachus and Percy found a rhythm in seconds, meeting the other exactly where they needed it, moving fluently with each other without much talking. It felt like a natural development, falling into steps together, attacks and parries a play of swords that felt more like dancing.  

It became obvious pretty fast that Telemachus was more a strategical fighter than an instinctual one like Percy, so the demigod adjusted himself to demand more of the prince in that regard. It was scary how easy they tuned into the others demands. The demigod quietly mused to himself that the sword may not be the best weapon for the prince, but decided to gather more experience before voicing something like this.

In front of his inner eye, Percy saw Telemachus fighting with some kind of spear. A longer ranged weapon to keep foes at bay while the demigod disposed of their enemies with his sword in close combar. But such a vision was hopefully never to come true.  

As the sun sunk slowly down, announcing the evening, both men stopped their training amicably.

Now that his body and mind had time to reset, Percy found himself thinking once more about the situation back in the city. The avoidance of the people and his friends still bothered him deeply. He didn’t want to be feared or something like that.

After one look at the slightly sweaty prince sitting beside him, the son of Poseidon decided that it was only right to ask his friend directly. Telemachus must’ve had a reason (or explanation) for the events and what they meant. And there had never been big lies between them before. Percy knew there wouldn’t be now either.

The demigod took a deep breath before asking: “I know something important happened back in the arena. When you threw me the apple, I mean. Everyone treated me differently after that, and even Elpenor and Perimedes were weird for a second. I’ve never heard them splutter this much!” He saw how the prince lowered his head a bit, playing with the soft sand by his feet. The other was avoiding Percy’s gaze for the first time in forever. It made a hard knot form in the demigod’s gut and his voice sounded hollow in his ears when he demanded: “What did you do, Telemachus?”

“Made sure everyone knew just how close we are.”, muttered the prince defensively, “I know you were uncomfortable with some of their attention but too kind to reject their… advances. That shouldn’t be a problem now.”

“So that stunt with the apple did…what exactly? Show them I am very close friends with the prince?” Percy didn’t understand how that could trigger such strong reactions. Had their friendship been in question without the son of Poseidon knowing? He was not in tune with all the rumors going around (and didn’t care for them, if he was being honest), but if Telemachus found a reminder was in order…had he done something to make the impression that he wasn’t invested in their relationship?

The huffed answer of his friend pulled him out of those thoughts: “Something like that.”

The dismissive way in which Telemachus spoke made Percy a bit suspicious. He recounted the words of his Dream-Boy and found some of the emphasizing off from his usual melodic drawl. The prince wasn’t normally this cynical. It took a few seconds, but the son of Poseidon finally thought he had identified the real issue here.

But to be sure, he needed a bit of provocation.

Getting his speedy heart in check was nearly as hard as getting the following words out of his mouth. But it was necessary if Percy wanted to get a clearer picture: “What if I had wanted some of their…advances?”

It was a lie, of course.

The demigod had not even looked at anyone in that way since he landed on the shores of Ithaca (or even before that…years before that. Since he first saw caramel eyes gleaming in the sun). Percy had no need (or want) for fleeting affections or hookups. He was happy with the friendships and closeness he had established until now with the people he really cared about. And there were always other ways to satisfy more…primal needs.

His brain had enough fantasies to last a lifetime.

However, the way Telemachus head snapped up, eyes wide, jaw dropped, an expression of utter betrayal, hurt and sadness on his face, was enough to tell Percy that he had hit a sore spot with that question. “Did you?!”, the prince asked loudly and with a breaking voice, eyes swimming in a silent plea.

Maybe the demigod had even hit the bullseye of the prince’s issues. It was very enlightening.

The flutter in his chest glowed under the perceived jealousy of his friend. Percy couldn’t fight the small, teasing grin on his lips when he instantly confessed: “No.”

Telemachus immediately relaxed and the relief was obvious in his pretty face.

Very enlightening indeed.

But whatever this new development meant, it didn’t change the crux of the issue for the son of Poseidon.

Percy pressed his lips together tightly, before finally commenting: “But it would’ve been nice to know the plan beforehand. I don’t like being some pawn. I’ve had enough of that back in my time with that blasted prophecy.”

“You aren’t a pawn to me!”, the prince objected at once, visibly scandalized. But the quick answer wasn’t helpful for Percy’s temper, which finally boiled over in a harsh rant.

“Then don’t treat me like one! Seriously Telemachus. I would do anything you ask for in a heartbeat. I don’t need to know all the details or reasons or consequences! If you think something needs to be done, then I trust your judgment implicitly! Can’t you try to give me the same in return? Trust me to have your back without the need to plan and plot around me? We’re in this together, aren’t we?”

The son of Poseidon knew that his eyes were most likely glowing, but to his great relief, Telemachus didn’t flinch back from his gaze. The caramel eyes were dark and tight with something akin to regret. That sentiment was mirrored in the whispered words of the prince: “We are. Of course we are…I know you’d do a lot for me.”

“Anything.”, Percy heatedly corrected, not at all caring on how else that could be understood. All interpretations would be true anyway.

Telemachus visibly wilted and his hand was hesitantly raised in a silent plea for contact. His Dream-Boy seemed to know that the demigod wasn’t in the mood to be soothing, but still touched his arm in a small, excusing caress. A spark fizzled between them and Percy’s troubled mind settled a bit. He felt the tide of his anger and frustration ebb away like the ocean to their feet.

The demigod hadn’t even noticed the water rising with his anger.

Telemachus had. The way his eyes roamed over the waves gave him away. But to Percy’s great relief, the prince didn’t look scared at all. His eyes spoke of a completely different emotion. 

 “I’m sorry, Percy. Truly.”, came the grave apology of his Dream-Boy. A perfectly sincere one, with open eyes and regret written in every part of his face. It placated the demigod greatly. And the added sentences calmed him even further. “I was selfish….and scared you would reject the idea of me…standing up for you.”

“Why should I?”, the son of Poseidon breathed, done with feeling angry or confused. He just wanted the conversation to get back to the safe feeling Telemachus always awoke in him. He no longer cared for whatever strange thing had happened in the arena today.

Still, to make that clear, he added: “To be honest, some of the girls were actually pretty persistent. Keeping them off my back is a good outcome in my books.”

Telemachus answering smile was weak and insecure. The prince was still plagued by something, and Percy waited for him to finally speak of it. He hadn’t expected his friend to say: “Because my gesture was…drastic.”

“Drastic…how?”

That perfectly normal question somehow made the face of his prince bloom into a myriad of different expressions, all connected by a flushing blush that even climbed down his throat and up his ears. The demigod blinked perplexed, trying to find the reason for the mortification on Telemachus’ face, but his friend stopped his musing by burring his face in his hands and wheezing: “I can’t- I don’t- Please, Percy, I promise it wasn’t anything bad, but…I can’t tell you right now!”

What a strange sight it was, to see his Dream-Boy fiery red, obviously flustered, stuttering like a child and with a pitiful pleading face. Percy had the instant reaction to backpaddle with whatever he had said, not wanting to torture the prince with whatever…this was. He looked really uncomfortable.

But a little corner in the back of his head was getting a bit of a suspicion, and the demigod needed to be sure. So he cautiously asked: “Did it imply anything that isn’t true?”

“No.”

Percy nodded slowly, resolved to remember this whole thing for later contemplation. (Maybe he should ask his father about it on his next visit…) But for now, he let it go for the sake of Telemachus by saying: “Then we’re fine.” Which was completely true.  

There was nothing said after that for a while. Both young men simply sat at the beach, watching the sunset and letting the silence settle the last of their churning emotions. Percy felt himself fall back into the resting and comfortable state he always had around his Dream-Boy. There were still things unsaid between them (and assumptions the demigod was unsure about – hopeful, maybe, but unsure), but it was more like a buzzing in the background than a scream in their faces.

The resolve of the last remaining tension came naturally when Telemachus started to explain his reasons for the gesture in the arena a bit more. 

“I just…”, the prince began quietly, “hate how you were treated by my people until now. Like some novelty they’re entitled to. Like your expertise and time is something trivial and easily given.” Telemachus captured Percy attentions instantly with how hesitant he sounded. “You are so much more than any of them can ever comprehend. It makes me…angry to see them disrespect you like this. Not following boundaries and proprietaries. Ambushing you and demanding things like they have any right to them. You are a Hero, for Hades’ sake! You fought and won unimaginable battles and now you are here, defending them, teaching them without asking for anything in return. That should be enough! They have no right to demand more.”

His Dream-Boy had talked himself into a rage, and Percy was touched by the concern his friend had for him. It warmed his heart with fondness, to see Telemachus this invested in his well-being and comfort. It was unusual for anyone to speak about their concern so plainly, and it was even rarer for someone to be this angry for his sake.

But the son of Poseidon couldn’t let the prince stew in wrong feelings like this.

“I offered it, Telemachus. And I am no hero here. Not to them. They don’t know.”, Percy stated calmly, not really sad about it.

It didn’t help in soothing his friend.

“But you are to me! I know.”, Telemachus insisted forcefully, “And I refuse to let you be treated like this anymore. What kind of prince, what kind of friend am I if I don’t use my influence and power to make your life as uncomplicated, as peaceful, as possible. Enforcing your boundaries should be the bare minimum!”

He took a deep breath and, before Percy could intervene, continued to vent his frustration: “It’s infuriating to see you being treated like some….toy, they can use and throw away if it isn’t needed. None of them know- I just couldn’t stand by any longer and do nothing.”

Telemachus huffed, before he sagged back, eyes softening when they found Percy’s astonished gaze.

The demigod hadn’t expected such an outburst.

“I am sorry for not asking – for not telling you what I had planned.”, the prince apologized once more, “But I don’t regret doing it.”

It was easy as breathing for the demigod to say: “I forgive you.” The blooming smile on his Dream-Boy’s beautiful face was reward enough. Percy lifted his fingers to brush aside a stray strand of brown, soft hair.

The sun warmed his skin and heart as he quietly stated: “But Tel… you don’t need to protect me-“

“I know that!”, the prince burst out, interrupting him with vengeance, catching his wrist once more in a much tighter grip this time, “I know you are strong and capable and have faced far worse situations with your head held high, won battles and wars and even beating time… But just because you can deal with these things doesn’t mean you should have to! You’re not alone here, Percy. It’s not about me needing to protect you, but about me wanting to! You’ve always been my greatest strength. And I care so damn much for you that I want to be in your corner as well. As minimal as my contributions most likely are.”

The demigod stopped resisting his impulses and pulled his Dream-Boy into a tight hug. He didn’t care for the sweat or heavy breathing against his chest, when Percy burrowed his face in the neck of the prince. He breathed the scent of honey, parchment and home while muttering against the warm skin, lips grazing a fluttering pulse: “You are more powerful than you think.” A shudder rippled through his friend, and he both heard and felt the other’s breath hitch traitorously.

The little flame in Percy’s belly danced in happiness. He intentionally sighed against the throat near his lips, tracing a vein with his mouth while he said: “And, Telemachus?”

“Yes?”, came the breathy and weak reply. The demigod grinned softly.

“Thank you.”, he quietly mumbled, “I’ve never had anyone trying to protect me like this.”

Telemachus relaxed in his hold, curving his own arms around the son of Poseidon, squeezing him back tightly. “I know. And that wasn’t fair. You deserve so much more…”

“I’m glad to have you now.”, Percy admitted shyly, ignoring all the feelings fighting for dominance in his heart, especially when he heard his Dream-Boy’s answer, whispered in his black hair: “You do, Percy. You do.”

Notes:

We have the first undressing, the first training and the first little fight in one chapter <3

But our Communication Kings solve all issues flawlessly ;P We love a clear conversation and plainly stated feelings, alright?

Next chapter: Saturday, the 13th of September.
- A year has passed. Who knows what that means? ;P

Suggestions, questions, thoughts and feelings are always welcomed and appreciated :)

Notes:

If you want to join the Discord: https://discord.gg/bEDEJk3e

Series this work belongs to:

• Part 3 of EPIC: The Heroes Saga