Chapter Text
The competition was a distraction. In his heart of hearts, Poseidon knew this.
It was not often that he felt that immortal longing – not often that he allowed himself to recognise the deep ache between his lungs for what it was, Grief, and Want. But there were times that he could not escape from it. Times when that coarse grain of sand rubbed against his ribs and formed a bitter pearl that he could not ignore.
It was the same desire that had sent himself, his brothers, his nephews into their mortal lovers’ arms again and again and again, in the hopes that this time might be different. In the hopes that this time, a child might live.
So, yes, the competition was a distraction. Something he could make, something he could build, something he could pour his divinity into that would not turn pale and brittle as coral. That would not shatter into seafoam in his hands.
Zeus had given them a month. A month to create something worthy of a new city – as thought the mortals did not have everything they could ever want, as if children did not slip easily from between their thighs, once, thrice a dozen times over – the thought sent a low bitter grown thrumming through his chest and in the distance he twisted the clouds, twisted the waves up into a great storm, one part of his mind seeing to that chaos even as his hands twisted the curves of the fountain smooth. Not a moment too soon, he had just poured the last twist of power into the fountain when the part of him that was keeping track of such things felt his oldest niece step foot on the unnamed city.
With barely a twist of power he stood beside her. Beneath them the mortals dropped to their knees faces pale with awe and souls lifted in worship. Poseidon ignored their due, watching his niece out of the side of his eye, barely hiding the smirk on his face. His skin prickled faintly, a sure sign of his brother’s eyes on them and he flicked his ears back in irritation, rolling his eyes at his youngest brother’s ever-present overprotectiveness of his oldest daughter.
For all that Athena claimed cool logic and indifference, the tight grip she held on her spear, the proud arch of her neck, the wings that flicked faintly in excitement outside of mortal comprehension, they all gave her away. Poseidon grinned, full-toothed. He was not the only one of their family that enjoyed a good challenge.
As the greater authority, Poseidon stepped forward first to display his gift. With a bare flick of his hand the fountain appeared. He had not been wrong to think of it as his greatest creation. Made of the finest marble, polished to a smooth shine, the sides of the fountain held scenes of the greatest underwater battles, the mightiest feats of his people. In the centre three hippocampi gambolled together, stationary, their hooves and scaled tails still seemed to move, sending great arches of salt water up into the air to plumet back down into the waters surface. An everlasting saltwater spring, each spray of the water cast rainbows, fractals, shimmering across the fine spray of the disturbed water. Those who stared closely into those shimmering colours would see glimpses of far-off lands, and those who stepped beneath the arching waters would even be able to speak across great distances.
The mortals looked upon his creation with awe, as well they should, and the spokesperson of this town. A man with greying hair, the finest chiton and a name Poseidon had not bothered to remember stepped forward, reaching with awe into the fountain to cup the water and –
The mortal gagged, spitting water from his mouth back into the fountain. The ground rumbled ominously, scales flickering lighting-quick across his body.
“Forgive me, my Lord!” the mortal cried, dropping to his knees. “The waters are too salty, we cannot drink them.”
The fool, Poseidon felt his lips pull back in a snarl. They were not supposed to drink it. Did they think his divinity so poor as to only offer a pretty chalice to sate their thirst.
Sensing his fowl mood, Athena stepped forward quickly, wings rustling as she shot a considering glance towards him and Poseidon inclined his head in a nod. Let them see what the fools made of her gift, then.
Her eyes scanned the kneeling crowd for a moment, narrowing, before a spark of candlelight seemed to flicker across the grey, illuminating it from within.
His son, beloved Triton, had teased him of Athena’s gift. His grin had been sharp-toothed as he spoke of the whispers his land-bound messenger cousin had fed to him. An exquisitely lacquered amphora his niece had created, when opened it was answer the questions of the holder, offering wisdom and divine guidance. His niece did not call for her servants, did not bring forth this gift. Instead, his quick-eyes niece knelt and touched the ground, bringing forth a fine tree, of oval leaves and green fruits.
“The olive tree,” Athena said, shooting a sharp glance at Poseidon who narrowed his eyes in turn. “The fruit can be eaten or turned to an oil which can be used as soaps or as fuel for lamps or torches. The leaves, too, have medicinal properties protecting against illness and reducing fevers.”
The gaze prickling against his shoulders turned smug and Poseidon sent a glare towards Olympus where his brother no doubt watched the show as his daughter was named patron goddess of the city of Athens.
“Well played, niece,” Poseidon said, stepping forward and clapping her on the shoulder, something warm and indulgent unspooling in his chest at her obvious delight. He would not punish the spokesman at this moment – he would not ruin his niece’s celebration with bloodshed – though he would have to find something suitably poetic and painful to use against the man in the future. A punishment for his ignorance and his disrespect of Poseidon’s gift. Spitting water back into the fountain. He should have smote the man where he stood.
Unseen and unnoticed in the celebration, a breeze blew through the courtyard, slinking through the branches of Athena’s new creation and knocking several leaves and olives into the fountain below.
They may not have seen them fall, but all knew when they touched the water. The fountain began to glow a brilliant white, and Poseidon doubled over with a bellow of pain as agony tore through his chest in thick, pulsing waves. The ground shook beneath him and Poseidon was barely aware of the unholy shriek his niece let out as she hit the ground. He felt his knees crumble, fingers digging into the trembling earth, storms and flood appearing across the land – a response to a desperate, familiar pain.
A hand, broad and eagle-sharp, dug into his shoulder yanking him back and through his convulsions Poseidon saw his brother’s lightning-blue eyes.
“What have you done!” Zeus demanded, his hand turned white-hot against Poseidon’s skin, the pain a mere echo of the suffering that rippled through him.
“This is not of my doing!” Poseidon threw the hand off, needle-teeth blooming in his mouth and fins flaring along his spine as he snarled in his brother’s face. He managed a single step towards the fountain before he buckled and collapsed to his knees. “I did not – we did not –”
He had wanted a child. He had crafted a fountain in want of a child. But he had not planned this. He had not intended – he had not – there was planning. No preparation. No domains carefully set aside to feed into the new child as it splintered into existence. He had not – they had not – he reached desperately for his domains, threading through them, desperate for something he could break off, that he could tear away from himself and feed into the child, into his child before –
The pain stopped.
If the ache had been bad, it was nothing on the hollow emptiness it left in its wake. Poseidon wailed, a deeper, familiar chasm opening inside himself as he knew the child was dead. He felt himself sprawl across the ground, curled foetal as he had been all those years inside his father’s stomach. Coastlines shuddered and were torn apart beneath the waves of his grief, island sunk and trees stripped bare by ocean waves as he flicked between forms, finned and hooved and many limbed as he sought to find a shape that would allow him to escape this tearing sorrow.
There was no escaping this.
Finally, he took his most familiar form, raising himself up on shaking arms, sweet ichor dripping down his throat – a bloody reward for his screams.
The humans were gone. Those lucky enough to escape at least, the others lay littered across the ground, their twisted shapes a testament to the Gods’ suffering.
Athena knelt on the ground, cradled against her father’s chest as he rumbled soothingly at her – comforting sounds she seemed to barely hear. Her eyes were red-rimmed, face pale beneath the tawny feathers that had sprouted across her cheeks. Her taloned fingers kneaded restlessly at the ground, craving the comforting familiarity of her loom.
Poseidon felt a twinge of guilt. This had not been his doing, his design, but he felt for his niece’s suffering. His niece who had been so afraid after witnessing her step-mother’s pains bringing Ares and then Hephaestus into the world that she had sworn a vow of eternal maidenhood that those agonies might never touch her.
“What happened?” Zeus said again, running his fingers through his daughter’s hair. The fractured lightning of his anger had faded but a rumbling storm still lingered in his voice. His daughter had been hurt. He was waiting to see someone bleed for it.
“The leaves of my gift fell into Uncle’s fountain,” Athena said dully. She did not look towards the fountain. “The divinities of the two gifts must have mingled somehow and…” she trailed off, turning her face into her father’s chest.
“A child,” Poseidon said faintly, and his voice was the crack of the waves on rock. The shattering of the storm. “Our child.”
His gaze drifted to the fountain, barely aware of his brother’s anger fading slightly in the face of their shared torment. The memory of so many dead children. And now, one more.
Athena still looked away, still could not look at the fountain, but Poseidon had to – he had to see – it was his greatest curse. He always had to look. No matter how many came stiff and still and pale he had to cradle their still bodies at least once, before they were consigned to the earth forever.
A body floated in the water of his fountain. Poseidon did not need to breath, his heart did not need to beat, but he found his breath catching anyway, felt his heart lurch in his chest. He loved Triton. He loved all of his children. The one who had lived, and the ones who had not. But none of them, none of them had ever shared his look like the boy drifting in the fountain did.
He was…a small thing. Far smaller than Triton had been at his birth, he could have been mistaken for a mortal in size. He bore the form of a young man. Past childhood, but limbs still bearing the round cheeks and gangling limbs of a youth not yet fully grown. He was bare and his tanned skin had been leached of colour, taking on a faintly greyish hue and – Poseidon saw with a pang of sorrow – scars littered his body. The kind of scars that should never taint the skin of a newborn. His birth must have been agony, Poseidon mourned, if only he had acted faster, if only he had – but these were old recriminations. So rarely was there anything they could do. So rarely could they save one.
“I am sorry, my son,” Poseidon rumbled, part of him aware of Athena’s flinch at the confirmation of her only child’s gender. “Rest now.”
The body twitched beneath his hand and Poseidon let out a startled keen, snatching his hand back as the body convulsed, flailing in the water.
Sea-green eyes – Triton’s eyes, Poseidon’s eyes – snapped open, hazed with confusion and fear. Red lips parted, uncaring of the water that flowed over them.
“Dad?”
XXX
All of Olympus had felt Zeus’ rage.
Their father’s fury had rattled the foundations of their heavenly home, storm clouds swirling into existence in a bare moment, the air crackling with lightning that had not yet been called. Hera had disappeared into her private chambers, accompanied by her attendants. Ares prowled the halls, his blade shifting in his hand, shield, to spear, to kopis to makhaira and back again. His lover, in dove form perched on his shoulder, cooing comfort and warning into his ears. Dionysus, the youngest of them, sprawled on his chair, his careful nonchalance betrayed by the tight grip he had on his goblet and the way his wine-dark eyes flicked around the toom as though the threat would reveal itself if he just looked hard enough.
Apollo felt his sun grow brighter, bright enough it would have scorched the earth if his father’s clouds had not stood in between. His attention flickered to his twin, out in the wild in wolf form, far from home but safe and untouched by whatever had engineered their father’s rage. A whisper beside him and Apollo’s hand lashed out, grabbing his most slippery brother by the back of the neck.
“What do you know?” he demanded.
Hermes squirmed uncomfortably in his grip, usual fanged grin missing from his face. “No more than you,” he said sourly, the wings on the tips of his ears flicking. “Father has told me nothing. He has not summoned me. Uncle and Athena were competing for the city were they not? Perhaps they chose uncle over our sister.”
Apollo flicked a glance up at where the storm clouds swirl, raking the fingers of his free hand through his blonde hair and forcing down an agitated, rattling hiss, “Well, someone must know something. I don’t think I’ve felt father this pissed off since –” he paused, feeling himself jerk a step to the side as an urgent summons wrapped python-tight around him and pulled. “Father has summoned me,” a beat, just long enough for curiosity to kindle on Hermes’ face before a second pull, this one bringing with it a faint whirlpool brine. “As does our uncle – I must go.”
“Wait –!” Hermes lurched in alarm as Apollo dropped him, and as Apollo took to the skies he felt some of his brother’s essence follow and latch on, coiling around Apollo’s wrist. He glanced down, his brother looked up at him, a small golden snake, wrapped around Apollo’s arm and blending in with Apollo’s golden jewellery. He raised his eyebrows.
“Father is already furious. If you get caught spying I will not protect you from his anger.”
The snake that was his brother twisted around his arm in an almost human shrug, a small tongue flickering out to taste Apollo’s pulse. The summons around Apollo yanked again, squeezing firmly this time, an unspoken warning that Apollo headed. With less than a thought he flickered out of existence, reappearing at his father’s side.
They stood in the wreckage of what had once been a fairly beautiful courtyard. Mortal bodies were scattered across the floor, though Apollo barely spared them a glance. If one of them had been the cause of father’s wrath they would not have died so cleanly.
Close to the centre of the courtyard, Poseidon’s gift – Hermes and he had snuck into Poseidon’s workspace during the construction and been soundly exiled – sat. crouched inside the fountain, his godly form diminished to almost a quarter of his usual size, Poseidon sat, coiled around something that Apollo could not see. His skin swirled with bioluminescent patterns, bulbs of yellow light appearing and disappearing in mesmerising patterns across his body as he whickered softly to whatever he held. Athena perched against the side of the fountain, leaning as close as she could to whatever secret Poseidon protected. Her pupils spasmed erratically, narrowing to fine pinpricks before dilating until only a thin sliver of silver was visible around those black depths.
“Father –?” Apollo asked, approaching cautiously. Zeus was still, a respectful distance from the fountain, though it was clear from the way his body coiled forwards that there was nothing more he wanted than to lunge forward and close the gap. “What has happened?”
“Something…unprecedented,” Zeus said, a deep frown on his face. For a moment Apollo took it for an extension of his father’s rage but looking closer it was clear that there was a deep worry in his father’s expression. It sent a shiver of fear down Apollo’s spine, and above the sun shone brighter.
“Leaves from my gift fell into Uncle’s fountain,” Athena said, absently, her gaze never flickering from its narrow-focus. Apollo’s eyebrows raised, gaze flicking to the tree certainly not one he had seen before and – wait, tree? Hadn’t Athena been working on some fancy amphora, before Apollo could ask Athena continued, “When the gifts mixed it seems they created…” she trailed off, the tips of her wings flicking towards the bundle that Apollo could now see was squirming slightly.
Around his wrist Hermes contracted into a steel shackle, grinding his bones together painfully for a second before the pressure disappeared.
“A godling,” Hermes’ breathed, appearing as Apollo’s shoulder. His form flickered for a moment, shifting between a mass of wings and reptilian coils before he flicked back to himself. His eyes, clear blue as a summer sky locked onto the bundle and Apollo followed his brother’s gaze, the bundle had shifted, fabric giving way to angry green eyes that peered out of a tan face, glowering unhappily at Uncle as the boy struggled against the tight grip he was held in.
“Impossible,” Apollo breathed, the weight of prophecy pressed down against his brow for a moment as those green eyes locked onto him, the spark of something like recognition appearing in them. He forced the feeling down. He did not have time to prophesise, not when something impossible was happening before him. “…A trick?” he murmured, but no. He could feel his Uncle’s divine essence within the child and, far fainter, an echo of his sister’s.
A new, impossible godling.
Apollo wasted a moment allowing the thought to sink into his mind and then he lunged forward, power already surging into his hands.
He remembered his own birth, and his twin’s – how they had flickered like shades, neither real nor not until they had found the hunt, and secured the first of their domains. Remembered Triton, the way his bones had broken upon his birth, his wails of pain immortalised in the whistling echo of the sea-wind against the cliffs. He remembered Dionysus, the only of father’s demi-god children, their father’s essence poured into him like a faucet and still born too-thin and too-pale beneath the deep bruises that bloomed on his infant form like wine stained across fine cloth.
“How is he?” Apollo demanded, appearing in the fountain, uncaring to find himself ankle-deep within the water as he reached for the godling’s face. “How long ago was he born, what domain’s does he hold?”
“None,” Poseidon answered, petting restlessly at the boy who continued to attempt to wriggle free. “We were surprised – before I could reach one for him the pull ended.”
“Impossible,” Apollo breathed again. He tilted the boy’s face – and it truly was an exquisite face – side to side, ignoring the boy’s angry yelp and the strange sounds that he made as Apollo sent a thrum of power through him searching for signs of decay. Demeter’s every attempt had withered into dry husks of corn, Hades’ had gone cold and still until eternal night had clouded their eyes and stone had claimed their flesh. Who knew how this child of his Uncle and Sister might suffer.
The boy swatted at his hands, scowling harder as he attempted to jerk his head away from Apollo’s grip. Distressingly he could feel bruises blooming on the boy’s too-soft skin as Apollo did not let go and he immediately sent a surge of warmth through his fingertips, smoothing the damage as soon as it formed. He could feel the water of the fountain attempting to answer the boy’s distress and could also feel his uncle’s power soothing the waters before they could turn violent. More of that incomprehensible babble spilled from his lips a startled blush spreading across the new god’s neck and cheeks as Apollo pushed the blanket to the side.
The boy was covered in scars, as though he had battled the fates themselves to be born. Burns, cuts – clean from a blade, and jagged from claws, there was even a distinctive raised starburst on his palm from some sort of poisoned stinger. Apollo trailed warm fingers across the old wounds, but despite how hard he pressed, he could not wipe the scar tissue away.
“Well,” Poseidon asked sharply, the skin around his mouth bulging strangely as teeth appeared and disappeared within his jaw, an anxious clicking rattling between his jaws.
“He seems stable,” Apollo said, hardly able to believe it himself. The child showed no signs of the degradation the other newborn gods had experienced, showed none of the pain either, from the way he had began kicking at his father’s chest, giving up on his attempts to squirm out of his father’s tight hold and instead trying to climb over the older god’s shoulder to freedom. “The scars cannot be erased, but I do not think they cause him pain,” he hesitated, reluctant to bring up the other thing he had noticed. Particularly when he stood so close to uncle, who may yet lose control once Apollo –
“And his mind?” Athena demanded at his shoulder, interrupting Apollo’s musings.
Apollo yelped, almost slipping on the smooth marble beneath his feet, not having noticed his sister sneak up on him during his examination. Athena glowered at him, a soft crooning rising in her throat as her eyes tore away from Apollo and inevitably, back to her son. For his part, the boy just blinked incomprehensively at his mother, flinching back into his father when she tried to reach for him, more nonsense tumbling out of him.
Athena’s wings drooped, lips pursing tightly as she turned to Apollo who froze like a mouse under her owl-eyed gaze. “He has not spoken a true word since he awoke. He does not recognise his own –” her voice cracked slightly. “He does not seem to understand where he is, or what is happening. His mind…it is confused.”
Apollo winced. It would be the sort of bitter irony that grandfather’s curse seemed to favour. The children of Poseidon turned to seafoam, the children of Zeus never to draw breath, the children of Ares to die, never born, their mothers’ killed before they could carry to term no matter how his fiery brother conspired to protect them. It would make sense. A child of wisdom, trapped in their own incomprehension. Never to understand, never to know.
But – there was not emptiness behind the boy’s eyes. Whatever was going on, there was intelligence there. Apollo rocked back on his heels, observing the godling. Restrained in his father’s indulgent arms the boy huffed angrily, crossing his arms and sinking down. There was something wry in his expression as he resignedly babbled something at them.
The words were wrong, vowels stretched too long in places and in others barked too sharply. But in amidst the nonsense, he thought he heard ‘Apollo’, and not long after, ‘Athena’.
He hummed thoughtfully. If they were names, it was perhaps not that the boy could not comprehend but merely that he did not understand. And, in that case…
“Brother,” he said lightly and felt, not just Hermes’ but his father’s still present attention snap to him. “Holder of language. Come here. Do his words mean anything to you?”
Hermes leaned forward, eyes still lingering in fascination on the new godling. Hermes was the youngest of them bar Dionysus, Apollo remembered. He had been present at very few births, and none of his children had made it past their first sunset. His mouth opened, taking several shallow, scenting breaths.
“Okay, that’s fucking creepy,” the boy said, raising an unimpressed eyebrow before craning his head back. “Seriously, Dad? We’re just going along with this?”
“Oh, that’s interesting,” Hermes hummed, rolling the godling’s words around his mouth. “It’s definitely language. Though not one that I know. I could figure it out. But it would take time, and I would have to hear a lot more of it.”
“That is all,” Poseidon said eagerly, leaning forwards and running a proprietary hand through his son’s hair. “The scars, the language. He is healthy otherwise? There are no other signs of decay?”
Apollo hesitated a fraction too long. Athena bristled, wings mantling outwards, feathers brisling around her shoulders as a horse rattling cry started in her throat. Uncle’s eyes flashed flat and black as a shark’s, the pressure of the deep suddenly wrapping around Apollo’s shoulders.
“Speak!” Poseidon ordered.
“He is healthy!” Apollo squeaked, throwing his hands up in surrender and feeling relief sigh through him as the pressure eased. “He seems perfectly healthy in all ways but one. I – sister, uncle,” Apollo cringed slightly, hoping that neither of the two would chose to shoot the messenger. “The boy, he is mortal.”
Poseidon rocked a step back, tucking backwards against his face as though to hide from the terrible truth. Athena bristled higher, eyes snapping like thunder as she turned on him.
“That is impossible,” she said, “He is the child of two gods – he cannot be mortal!”
Apollo did not answer, merely reached out and grabbed the boy’s hand, pressing a sharp nail in just deep enough that they could all see a bead of crimson will up on the boy’s skin. The boy said something sharp, something scolding – and how novel, who truly scolded Apollo these days but for his sister and his divine father – gentling, Apollo’s thumb brushed the blood away, wiping the small scratch away with it.
A deep mournful croon echoed from Poseidon’s chest, the boy’s face furrowing into a frown as he looked up at his distressed father, placing a small hand on his cheek.
“It’s okay, son,” Poseidon said, dropping a kiss onto the boy’s forehead. The boy looked startled, pressing his hand against the spot as though he thought he might have imagined it. “I will take him to Atlantis. He will be safe there.”
“Uncle, you can’t,” Athena cried, lunging forward and placing her hand on their uncle’s arm. “I cannot stay so long beneath the sea. A child should stay with his mother.”
“You can always visit,” Poseidon murmured, his gaze enraptured by the impossible, vulnerable son in his arms. “It is better for him to be safe.”
Apollo could not help but share in a fraction of his sister’s despair. New gods were ever so rare, and Olympus had not seen this much excitement in decades. Poseidon would disappear with his new fascinating impossibility, and they would see neither again for years, if not decades. Not until the boy was fully fledged as a god in his own right. Poseidon rocked back on his heels, as though he intended to do just that.
“Father!” Athena cried, whirling on their father, desperation colouring her cry.
“Now, brother,” Zeus said, starting forwards and resting a comforting hand on Athena’s shoulder. “There is no need to be hasty. The boy should come to Olympus, of course. Where he can be surrounded by his family. Our sister and brothers would love to see him, the first god child born in over a century. Apollo says the boy is well, there is no need to hide him away beneath the waves.”
Poseidon snorted bitterly. “Well? When blood runs through his veins instead of ichor.”
Father laughed lightly, offering his brother a sharp grin that had the boy in his arms freeze prey-still.
“It is only mortality,” Father said, prowling forward lightly. “After all, mortality can be such a temporary affliction…We can fix that.”
Chapter 2
Notes:
So, this is no longer a one shot and the gods are no longer 'not that bad'. most of the worse stuff does happen off screen but there is implied torture and OC character death just FYI.
(If anyone thinks there are more tags that should be added to this fic at any point just let me know!)
Chapter Text
Percy Jackson didn’t have a fucking clue what was going on.
To be fair, that was had pretty much been his usual state for the past four years, but even for him, this was pushing it.
One minute, you’re riding high. The prophecy’s over and things have calmed down. Sure, monsters are still trying to kill you, but after The Minotaur, a Hydra, an entire army and a literal god – Titan, whatever – they barely even mess up your day anymore. You’ve finally got together with the girl you’ve been crushing on for like three years. And, thanks to your new stepdad, its looking like you might actually make it through a full year at the same school.
Then you wake up naked in a fountain with some weirdo version of your dad staring down at you and a bunch of hopefully not dead people on the floor in super old, like ancient Greek old, toga-things on.
Percy could practically feel the sweet smell of his incoming expulsion.
“Hey, is there any chance of you putting me down, now?” Percy tried again. Once again, this weird version of Poseidon just hugged him tighter with a weird purr-like rumbling that was deep enough Percy almost felt like he could feel it in his bones. It was super relaxing, and Percy wriggled harder. Again, it did nothing. He was pretty sure he was going to have bruises from how tight his dad was squeezing – and wasn’t that a trip when the person he was pretty sure was Apollo had dug his nail into Percy’s palm and he’d realised the curse of Achilles was gone.
That was a weird one. On the one hand, always good not to be cursed. Sure, invulnerability sounded good, but that was until you realised how paranoid having one insta-kill spot made you. For a while there Percy had been terrified that a badly placed splinter would do him in. On the other hand, he’d gone through kind of a lot to get the thing in the first place and it seemed kind of unfair that it could disappear just because Percy had apparently time travelled.
Annabeth’s Mum, who had been staring at Percy with literal bird eyes that she definitely didn’t have in the future, straightened. Her feathers flattened, disappearing into her skin, as she straightened to her full – giant – height and turned to speak to probably past-version Zeus.
Percy was definitely thinking that all the urns and statues and stuff had been missing some things out, if this was how the gods had been wandering around Ancient Greece. Athena was full bird person, covered in feathers, a pair of tawny wings at her back. Apollo, looked pretty much the same as he had when Percy had first met him, except for the short antlers poking out of his golden hair. Dad, well, Poseidon was younger than Percy had ever seen him. There was no sign of Hawaiian shirts, or board shorts. This was the wildness of the ocean, bare-chested and draped in dark blue fabric, his skin swirling with light and darkness, his jaw bristling with teeth and his eyes the exact same as they had always been.
He smiled at Percy, rumbling something in the language they’d been talking over Percy’s head in since he got there. He scowled slightly. Annabeth had said once that they were hardwired for Ancient Greek, but apparently there was Ancient Greek, and there was Ancient Greek. It sounded far older than anything Percy had ever heard in camp. He was only able to pick up a word, maybe two of whatever the lot of them were talking about. Something, something, fountain, something, something, Olympus, something, something, Celebration.
It didn’t sound like there was a smiting in his future, though sadly it also didn’t seem like his dad would be putting him down any time soon, either. It also didn’t seem like pants were high on anyone else’s priorities, Percy thought sourly, trying to sink further into the blanket that his father had wrapped him in when he’d first pulled him out of the fountain.
There was a lurch as his dad stood up and Percy gave out an undignified yelp as he suddenly found himself fifteen feet off the ground. He got his first good look at the guys lying around the fountain and yep, they were definitely dead. Living bodies didn’t twist that way. He shuddered and his dad cooed, tugging the blanket up higher.
Athena moved closer, also growing and leaning forward to say something seriously to Percy. Percy barely had time to shrug before the world dissolved around them.
They reappeared on Olympus. Percy stared with wide eyes. He’d never really been on Olympus without the looming threat of his own death which…probably wasn’t going to happen here? Not unless he became the first person in the world to actually die of embarrassment.
Olympus…looked different. He probably should have expected that, given the thrown back into Ancient Greece thing. But, he could swear it was emptier than usual. The statues of the Erotes were missing from outside Aphrodite’s palace, and several palaces – Hebe’s, Asclepius’, Alatheia’s – were missing. He felt a squirm of unease in his gut, leaning further out of his dad’s arms to see. How far back was he? Did those gods really not exist yet? Annabeth would know, he thought glumly.
He'd assumed that they would head to the top of Olympus, where the council chambers were – that was where he and Annabeth had usually been brought. Instead, Poseidon headed towards a gleaming marble temple, the symbol of a trident clearly etched above the entrance. The temple felt just like the cabin always had back at camp. Homey, with a faint smell of salt like you were standing just on the edge of a warm beach.
In the centre of the temple was a shallow saltwater pool – lit from below with a glow that couldn’t be natural. Poseidon headed straight towards it, leaning forward and depositing Percy in the warm waters. He flailed for a second, trying not to sink without losing his blanket and finally managed to flip so that he was floating in the water – blanket firmly tucked around himself.
“Thanks,” he said, treading water. “This new huggy version of you is really –” he trailed off, a deep primal terror strangling his lungs.
Poseidon had grown larger, the swirling patterns of his skin disappearing beneath an inky blackness that spread across his body like an oil slick. Gills carved jagged cuts across his ribs, fluttering to reveal deep pink tissue beneath as his legs grew, stretched and joined, a slick eel-tail the size of a truck stretching out behind him. The water around Percy surged as this massive, monster version of his father slid into the pool.
Panic surged through him, and he longed desperately for Riptide as he ducked under the water and attempted to swim for the side. To get away.
He barely made it two feet before large, webbed, hands were wrapping around him and picking him back up and clutching him close. Percy clawed at the soft prison around him, not even leaving a scratch as he was moved through the air. Finally, the fingers around him cracked open slightly. His dad had coiled up in the pool, large tail wrapped around his body and Percy stuck in the middle of it all, trapped once again in his father’s embrace. With a soft rustle, Athena, her fifteen foot frame dwarfed by this giant, perched delicately on Poseidon’s shoulder. Percy groaned, loudly, slumping defeatedly against the hands holding him.
“Once I get back to camp,” he said sourly, rubbing his forehead. “I am not telling anyone about this.”
Eyes shark-black from his blown pupils, Poseidon just shuffled closer cooed at him.
XXX
The rustling of wings woke him.
His eyes blinked open. Poseidon was still staring at him, but Percy had already gotten pretty good a tuning that creepiness out. He tried to squint past his father’s dark coils, but couldn’t see anything but even so, he could feel them. Dozens, hundred of owls, hidden around the temple. He could hear the rustle of their feathers, feel the slick of their beaks, the shuffle of their talons, even if he couldn’t see them. Athena was gone from Poseidon’s shoulder, and even as he realised that, he heard her voice, from somewhere beyond the mass of fins and flesh.
Poseidon let out an annoyed grumble, a flash of sharp teeth, as he slowly and with obvious reluctance uncoiled.
Athena was stood near the pool. She had changed, no longer wearing armour, instead dressed in a floaty dove-grey material, threaded through with flashes of silver. Her helmet was gone and her hair had been pulled back in intricate braids.
She shot Percy a small smile, before turning to Poseidon and calling something up to him – Percy thought he made out the word ‘Uncle’ and he definitely heard ‘Triton’ and ‘Amphitrite’. Great. Just who he wanted to see. He imagined they were thrilled by one of Poseidon’s bastards showing up out of the blue.
To his surprise, Poseidon also winced, he glanced up to see a familiar sheepish expression on his father’s face – he’s seen it in the mirror way too many times – he rubbed the back of his head, rumbling something that sounded embarrassed.
Athena laughed, something teasing in her tone and weren’t these two meant to hate each other?
With a long shiver, Poseidon shrank down to his more human form, plopped Percy on the side of the pool and then, before Percy could react, disappeared out of the door.
Percy froze, staring wide eyed at Athena. Sure, she hadn’t voted to kill him, yet and sure, he wasn’t dating this version of hers daughter, yet. But old habits died hard and Percy couldn’t help the feeling of betrayal at this weird version of dad for abandoning him to the…okay, not sharks. Sharks were great. But tigers, maybe.
“I don’t suppose you’ve learned English in the last hour?” Percy tried.
Athena looked at him blankly, and then stepped forwards.
“Yeah, figured,” he said, taking a shuffling step back.
Athena frowned, wings twitching behind her back and she took another, firmer step forwards, reaching out. She wasn’t holding anything, Percy could see that she wasn’t holding anything, and yet, somehow, he could feel her press something into his hands. He glanced down. It was a new blanket. It was pretty blanket. The same shade of grey as Athena’s dress-thing, the edges decorated with curving olive branches and sea waves.
“…thank you?” he tried.
Athena let out a hooting laugh and stepped forward into his space so quickly that he didn’t have a chance to react. Strong hands gripped him, turning him this way and that so quickly he couldn’t struggle as the fabric was thrown around him, tied in places and pinned in others. Athena stepped back, a proud tilt to her head as she looked at him and the old timey robes he’d been draped in.
“Thank you!” He said again, much more enthusiastically. “Oh, my gods, clothes! I was getting so sick of the blanket.”
Athena smiled, eyes blinking sideways like an owl and Percy manfully resisted the urge to shudder at the sight of that on human face. She pressed her hand to her chest, saying something that Percy didn’t understand.
He shook his head helplessly. He was getting real tired of not knowing what was going on.
Athena pressed her hand to her chest again, saying the word and looking at him expectantly.
Percy shrugged. Okay, it was only as the word left his lips that understanding hit him. “Mother.”
There was a beat, Percy pretty sure she was going to smite him. Then Athena let out a triumphant caw, lunging forward and grabbing his around the shoulders and tugging him forward into a hug.
“Wait, wait, wait!” Percy flailed, trying to break free. Mother? Did she think he was her…but Poseidon definitely thought he was his kid, the hugging and the cooing and the general everything had made that pretty clear. Did that mean his dad and Athena had, he wrinkled his nose. Ew. He had kind of popped up in that fountain, though, and that was a thing gods did, right? They were always having accidental babies by bleeding on a rock, or eating their wife, or weird stuff like that. A kid popping out of a fountain was probably a Tuesday for them. Only they had to know he wasn’t Athena and Poseidon’s kid, didn’t they? He’d bled red. They knew he was a demigod.
“Uncle!” Athena called over his head, and Percy twisted to see his dad return. Triton, actually wearing legs, even if they were green-scaled, and Amphitrite dressed in an elaborate gown made of seafoam, complete with small colourful fish darting through it, at his father’s sides. Amphitrite let out a loud gasp when she saw him and Triton stopped dead, his eyes turning sharp and intense as they locked onto Percy’s face.
“Uncle,” Athena repeated, joy in her voice as she finally allowed Percy to wriggle out of her hug, even if she kept a firm grip on his shoulder. “…called…Mother!”
Poseidon’s face dropped into a pout – and actual pout! – “…fair!...not called…father!”
Okay. Yeah. They definitely thought he was Poseidon and Athena’s kid.
That seemed like a mistake that would be easy to clear up when you didn’t speak the language, Percy groaned. “Dad,” he called hesitantly, trying to make his brain get with the program and start translating for him. “Father!”
Poseidon’s jaw dropped, the air in the temple actually seemed to get lighter, and then his father threw his head back and laughed joyously. He reached for Percy again and Percy braced himself for another hug.
Triton got there first.
He darted between Poseidon and Percy, shrinking as he went, so that by the time Triton reached Percy they were almost of a height – though Triton had kept himself a good head taller than Percy, Percy noticed irritably once again trying and failing to dodge as a god reached for him.
Cool hands cupped his face, tilting him up to look Triton in the eye. Instead of the disdain and disgust that Percy was expecting, he was looking at him with awe and wonder swirling in his green eyes.
“A brother!” he said reverently. “My brother.”
A hand appeared in his hair and Percy flinched, glancing to the side to see Amphitrite had appeared and was stroking his hair softly.
“…look…just like…Father,” she said, smiling gently at him, tears spilling down her cheeks – a far cry from the armoured woman who had refused to look at him in Poseidon’s throne room.
Okay. Ancient Greece or no, there was something seriously wrong here.
XXX
Father had really thrown out all the stops for the arrival of their latest godling. Olympus shone, the nymphs and naiads and satyrs that lived there had been thrown into a frenzy of activity. The place had been cleaned, covered in flowers and the finest of their tapestries – mostly Athena’s work, Apollo noted absently – and, judging from the delicious smells making his mouth water, cooking up a storm for the banquet Zeus had ordered thrown.
People sometimes wondered where Hermes’ trickster side had come from, but really they needed to look no further than their father. Because despite all this, despite the mandatory summons every Olympian had felt, Apollo hadn’t heard one word, not one whisper of their newborn god. Their father, it seemed, intended it to be surprise.
“Okay,” he said, leaning forward on his elbow and turning to Hermes. “What did he say to get you to keep quiet about this?”
Hermes’ ears fluttered, even as his blue eyes widened, “What do you mean?”
“You can’t tell me you haven’t been dying to gossip.”
Hermes let out a despondent whine, slumping backwards in his chair. “I know. But Dad says he’ll ground me to Olympus for the next century if I steal his big reveal,” he leaned forward suddenly, blue eyes flickering electrically. “You got closer than I did. Didn’t he look like Uncle? You almost couldn’t see any of our sister in him. What do you think? We have another ocean deity on our hands?”
Apollo shrugged lightly. “Maybe. There was something in the eyes though,” he thought of the defiant glare in the boy’s face as he had tried to slip away. None of his sister’s pride, but certainly her stubbornness. “He may surprise us.”
“Really?” Hermes said, raising his eyebrows.
Apollo laughed, shoving him playfully. “He is only a newborn. How much did you know when you were his age?”
“Enough to trick you,” Hermes said, tongue curling around his fangs as he smirked smugly at him.
Apollo sniffed, tossing his hair back. “I was distracted in trying to find my missing, new brother. On any other day you’d never have caught me with such a trick.”
“Really? What about that time four years ago when I –”
Apollo let out a rattling cygnine hiss, talons appearing on his hands and scratching the wood of the table before him. He glanced at his brother out of the corner of his eye, preparing to lunge sideways and knock the brat out of his chair. Then with a harsh shriek, Ares dragged a chair in between them and dropped heavily into it.
He propped his ankle on his knee, sprawling backwards in his chair, skin turning pig-coarse and bristled as he looked between the two of them with fiery, considering eyes, tusks flicking in and out of existence in his mouth.
“So,” he said finally, once the tension had crackled high enough to send the hairs on the back of Apollo’s neck rising and scales begin a slow spread up from Hermes’ fingertips. “What do you know.”
“About what?”
Ares shot Hermes a blank stare. “Alright,” he said, leaning forward, the chair creaking beneath him as he started to tick off on his fingers. “Uncle’s freaking out, Dad’s pissed, you both disappear. Then Dad’s calling for the biggest feast we’ve seen since that favoured human of his managed to kill some gorgon. Something’s up. And you both know what it is. Spill.”
“No idea what you’re talking about,” Apollo said with an innocent grin. He felt more than heard Hermes’ groan and Ares’ amused grunt. Whatever. He was the god of truth. He wasn’t supposed to be good at lying.
Ares’ hummed low in his throat, one finger tapping against his bicep at he looked Apollo and Hermes up and down. “Okay, how about this – you tell me what you’re hiding and I don’t tell Father about the that time the two of you –”
He cut off as with a showy display of power, their father appeared in flash of gold, their stepmother on his arm. His loosely draped chiton was a deep Tyrian purple, and there were thick cuffs of solid gold around his wrists. Beside him, Hera was equally dazzling, dressed in a deep blue veil and peplos, the himation draped over it a gauzy material that shimmered with deep blue, turquoise and green peacock feathers. Khol decorated her cat-eyes and she shot the room a knowing look at she and Zeus approached their thrones.
With a sour glare, Ares disappeared, reappearing in his own thrown beside Aphrodite, who immediately leant over the arm rest to drape herself across his shoulders. A vague sense of unease, or confusion rippled around the room. Every Olympian, every member of their family had been summoned and yet, not every Olympian was here. Poseidon and his family were missing. Athena was missing. Out of the corner of his eye, Apollo saw Aunt Demeter lean over to whisper something to a frowning uncle Hades. His dear twin, who had abandoned him for aunt Hestia the moment the arrived shot Apollo a narrow-eyed glare from across the room – a silent promise of retribution for keeping secrets from her. Apollo shrugged innocently, shooting her a smug grin.
Zeus clapped his hands, the sound thundering through the room and everyone snapped to attention.
“My siblings,” he said wide smile drawing across his face, “My children. A most wonderful thing has occurred. As you know, by beloved oldest child, and brother competed today for patronship of a new city. Instead, when the divinities of their two chosen gifts merged, a child was created. An accident. A miracle. Another son for our brother, my,” he paused to squeeze Hera’s hand. “Our, first grandchild.”
There was a screech from where Uncle Hades sat, shadows growing thick around him for a moment, skin pale and eyes dark as pits as he leaned forward, apparently unnoticing of the claw marks scraped into the side of his goblet. “Our brother, my niece. They are well? I felt many drowned enter my realm but I assumed our brother was just in another of his moods. I had not realised…” guilt pulled his face tight for a moment, his canine ears pressing flat.
“Both well,” Zeus said gravely. “The pain took both by surprise. They hadn’t planned, or expected for a child and there was a moment when we believed…” he cut off sharply eyes drifting far away for a moment. Apollo shivered, forcing himself not to dwell on their shared pain. On the memories of too-small shrouds. “But the child lives, the boy is healthy and undamaged. The only signs of the curse some confusion – he cannot speak yet – and an unfortunate mortality.” He shot an indulgent glance towards Dionysus. “And that can be easily resolved in time.”
Apollo coughed loudly into his fist and Zeus shot him a startled look for a moment before clarity stole across his face.
“Ah, yes. We will need to refrain from taking our true forms on Olympus or exuding our full power while the child resides here. His divine blood offers some protection, but we cannot be sure if it will damage him. Until the ascension is complete, we must be careful with him.”
The door swung open, Triton and Amphitrite walking through, behind them, side by side, Athena and Poseidon walked proudly through the doors, the child between them. He had been dressed in a fine chiton in Athena’s colours, a circlet of blue coral nestled in his dark hair. He froze when he saw the assembled gods, eyes darting wildly around the room. But then Poseidon placed a hand on the small of his back – something that made him give a full bodied twitch – and Athena placed a firm hand on his shoulder, encouraging him to stumble fully into the room.
“Poseidon, Athena,” Zeus said, rising to his feet. “We welcome your child to Olympus, be at home here…”
He trailed off looking expectantly at Poseidon and Athena and Apollo was blessed to see the two freeze, identical expressions of shock and embarrassment flicking across their faces. Zeus’s eyebrows raised into his head and Apollo barely managed to muffle his own laugh, hearing Aphrodite’s bell-like amusement and Dionysus’ full bodied-cackle from across the room.
“You forgot to name the boy?” Zeus asked, amusement curling through his voice.
“Shut up,” Poseidon grumbled, a green blush stealing across his cheeks. “It was – I was distracted.”
“Forgive me, Father!” Athena said, stepping forward. Below, the boy looked up, face scrunched into a sharp frown like he was trying to follow what was being said. “I am afraid I let myself become…distracted,” she turned to Uncle, the feathers around her ruff puffing up as she said shyly, “I have always favoured the name Daedalus.”
Poseidon’s face scrunched up like he’d been pinched by a crab. “Really? Surely something like Arion or Bellerophon would be more suitable.”
Athena’s face sharpened with her displeasure, lips pulling back from sharp teeth. “we are not naming him –”
“Percy!” a small voice piped up from between them and every eye in the room snapped to the child as he scowled up at them. He flushed faintly red at the attention but pointed at himself, “Percy,” he said again, with a small stomp of his foot. “Perseus. Percy.”
Poseidon melted. “Perseus, hmm,” he said, scooping his child into his arms, Percy letting out a long-suffering sigh as he was lifted into the air. “My little destroyer.”
Apollo shot a smug look at Hermes, picking up language already. He had told Hermes there was something there. His brother rolled his eyes.
As Poseidon, Athena and the new godling, Perseus, took their seats, Zeus clapped his hands. The nymphs and satyrs that typically attended them at these feasts spilled into the room. Shock and awe on their faces as they caught sight of the young god – though Triton did growl loudly at one who started too long, the girl immediately ducking her head to look at the amphora of wine she carried. Father really had pulled out all the stops for this feast and soon the smell of roast meat and spices filled the air and more and more plates were brought in.
A few satyrs split from the group led by a middle-aged satyr named Marsyas, his horns carefully polished and his fur well-groomed. Apollo has always found his arrogance grating, but could not deny his skill with music as the satyr led the others in a jaunty tune, the music the perfect accompaniment to the meal.
Apollo piled a generous serving of beef onto his plate and reached for a bowl of figs, drizzled with honey, and crumbled with soft cheese, one eye kept on Perseus. He had warned Poseidon and Athena to make sure the godling didn’t eat too much nectar, unsure what it would do to the warring natures inside him. Luckily it seemed that Perseus instinctively avoided the stuff, placing only a small square on the side of his plate.
Relaxing, Apollo let himself enjoy the feast. Dionysus had clearly been ordered to relinquish his finest stock, for the wine was light and slipped down as easy as breathing, leaving a rich aftertaste on the tongue. All talk was on Percy of course, and throughout the meal, Apollo saw his siblings slip over, offering their uncle and sister their congratulations and attempting to pull a confused Perseus into conversation.
Leaving Perseus with his mother, Poseidon slipped away at one point, heading towards the shadows of the room where Hades and Demeter sat. Apollo deliberately turned his attention away. Of the older generation, Poseidon had Triton, Apollo’s father and stepmother had his siblings, shared between them, and Hestia had taken a vow of eternal maidenhood, unwilling to suffer the pains of childbirth. Only Hades and Demeter both longed for a child, and were eternally denied. Their efforts crumbling in their hands each time the finally regained the strength to try. They would be happy for Uncle, Apollo knew that they would both rejoice in a new nephew. But it would still serve as a reminder of their pain. Instead, of listening to their conversation, Apollo turned his attention back to their new cousin. Triton had slipped into his father’s abandoned seat and seemed to be attempting to convince Perseus to try the lobster. From the look of abject disgust on the newborn’s face, Apollo assumed he was having no luck. His view was blocked as one of the nymphs leaned forward over Perseus to refill his cup.
A different nymph walked by Apollo’s seat with a small filled with Athena’s latest – well, almost latest – creation and Apollo was about to wave her over, curious about this new fruit that had won a city, when Triton let out a terrible snarl.
Apollo’s head whipped around.
His cousin was on his feet, looming over one of the serving girls, shark teeth bared and scales appearing and disappearing across his skin in a dizzying swirl of green, black and orange. Spines, thin and dangerous began to press through his back as he grabbed the girl by her wrist and bodily threw her over the table away from Perseus.
Perseus let out a startled cry lunging to his feet as though he meant to follow after her, to throw himself between the girl and his furious brother. Before he could, Athena’s talons caught him by the shoulders and pulled him back into his seat.
“You were to serve my brother, not touch him!”
“An accident, my Lord,” The nymph cried, cringing close to the floor. She was a pretty thing. With pine-green hair and freckles like sun-touched stone. She was also, Apollo realised, the nymph who had looked so closely at Perseus when they had first entered. “I did not mean to get so close, I only wished to refill the Lord’s cup.”
“And was it an accident to stare so greedily at him?” Triton demanded, his hair growing longer, the pressure of the deep swirling around himself and Apollo had to brace to not struggle beneath its weight.
“Curiosity!” The Nymph wept, trying to herself lower. “I didn’t mean to stare. It is only, I have never seen a new god before. I was only curiosity.”
“My brother is not some road-side attraction, for you to –”
“What do you have in your hand?” Athena asked, her voice dropping smoothly into the room like a snake sliding free from its cage. Her grip on her son was gentle and unforgiving, and her eyes were sharp and narrow as they stared down at the nymph’s closed fist.
The nymph shuddered, her fear thick enough that when Apollo parted his lips slightly he could taste it, he inhaled slowly.
“I – I – I didn’t mean –”
“Show me,” Athena said coldly.
Shaking so hard she could barely move, the nymph slowly turned her hand over and unclenched her fingers. In the centre of her palm, sat a single black hair, clearly plucked from Perseus’ chiton as she had leaned over him.
A wave of hisses, snarls and rattling growls swept through the room, a vague interest sharpening into displeasure.
“I – I didn’t mean any offence,” the nymph croaked, dropping the hair onto the floor – if anything that only made the anger in the room grow. “It is so rare to actually meet a godling. I only – I only wished for proof, so that I could –”
“So what?” Athena demanded, “So you could run down this mountain and tell the story of how you plucked a hair from my son’s head?”
“No – I –”
Hera did not speak, did not make some grand pronouncement as Zeus would have, did not thunder and clap to make them silent. She simply stood, with a rustle of skirts, and every soul in the room quieted. Danger dripping from her gait like she was one of her so-adored lions, Hera stepped into the centre of the room, dropping into a crouch before the nymph.
With one slender hand, she reached out, the tips of her fingers pressing lightly against the nymph’s chin and tilting it up – just the barest prick of claws visible. She observed the trembling nymph for a long moment, before red lips split in a dangerous smile.
“Tell me, girl,” Hera said mildly, the hint of claw growing more pronounced. “Have you ever heard the story of the Oceanid named Maia?”
The girl went white.
“She was a nymph, like you,” Hera continued, as though the girl had not reacted, slowly getting back to her feet – the nymph forced to scramble up too by the nails as her chin. “A She desired a child. A divine child. With the blessing and status that all my husband’s children receive. She snuck into our rooms one night, and stole his blood. She used it to create our beloved, Hermes, who we love, of course. But that does not mean she had the right.”
Next to him, Apollo heard Hermes’ hiss slightly, a low uncertain sound, his caduceus appearing in his hand, gripped tightly. His brother at barely three days old had bartered clemency for his mother’s crimes. But, Apollo knew, in the years since Dionysus’s birth, witnessing the pain that the father had uncle had gone through, Hermes no longer visited his mother on Cyllene. He pressed a hand to his brother’s shoulder, a quiet comfort.
“Now stepmother,” Apollo said genially, narrowing his eyes on the nymph. “I am sure that it not what she intended.”
The nymph nodded frantically, uncaring, or unnoticing of the sharp cuts left on her skin, gratitude bled across her eyes as she stared at Apollo, “Yes, Yes, I swear I never meant, I never wanted to –”
“After all,” Apollo cut in cruelly. “Perseus is only a day old. He is too young to survive the strain of creating a child. To do such a thing,” Apollo let his gaze linger significantly on the black strand of hair on the floor. “It would be a death sentence.”
Athena’s eyes narrowed to slits, an owl, about to swoop down and snatch a helpless mouse in unforgiving talons. She did not get the chance. The pressure changed. The weight of the ocean slamming down on the room, the light dimming, the music screeching to a stop as a low, eerie rattling emerged from the corner where Poseidon had been. Apollo felt his ears pop, and barely noticed as the nymph collapsed to the floor with a frightened wail, accompanied by Perseus’ distraught yell as he still struggled to defend her.
Still stood in the shadows with Uncle Hades, his brother’s darkness cloaked around him, all you could see of Poseidon were the flickering lights that danced across his skin, the whiteness of his too-sharp teeth, and the glistening white glow of his eyes as he stepped forward.
“Triton,” he said the word as heavy as an anchor. “Take your brother back to the temple. Now.”
Nodding sharply, Triton reached for his brother, ignoring the way that Perseus struggled and kicked, yelling furiously at them as he was slung over Triton’s shoulder and carried out of the room.
Hera stepped back, with a sweep of the arm, conceding the room to her brother and stepdaughter as Poseidon prowled forwards and Athena launched herself over the table, feathers growing sharp, and armour blooming over her clothes. Still pinned to the floor with the force of Poseidon’s anger, the nymph began to beg.
Taking a long, satisfying sip of his wine, Apollo leant forward to watch the show.
Chapter Text
Dad had put a barrier around the temple.
Percy scowled at the almost invisible shimmer in the air in front of him, rubbing his throbbing nose. Great. Apparently, dad had gotten tired of the escape attempts.
After the disastrous dinner Triton had brought him back to Dad’s temple and then they had just not let him leave. It had been days now. For the first two days Dad had just kept him in the pool, Athena hovering nearby and occasionally disappearing only to reappear with food or new clothes or fancy jewellery. Every time Percy had managed to wriggle his way free Dad had just scooped him up with an indulgent coo or a half-hearted scold and then dropped him back into the water. They’d lightened up after the first few days, giving him enough freedom to explore the temple but somehow dad always seemed to know when he’d tried to leave. Percy had never managed to make it more than a step outside before his dad has appeared, scooping him up with a laugh and dragging him back inside.
It was the only thing that made Percy glad that Annabeth and any of the others hadn’t been dragged into this with him. The whole thing was embarrassing enough without witnesses.
The only good thing about the constant attention was it meant that he was starting to get used to the super ancient version of Greek that his pare – that Dad and Athena spoke. Athena seemed to have taken it upon herself to be his teacher and would often lead him around, pointing at things and naming them until Percy repeated it back to her. He was picking it up faster than he’d expected to. Languages had not been his best subject at school, but apparently his brain had just needed some time to get used to it. Unfortunately, his mouth still hadn’t got with the programme. Every time he tried to speak it came out clumsy and broken and it took a lot of effort to stop himself defaulting to English. Mostly he was stuck with the odd word and Charades.
He’d…he’d tried to ask what had happened to the nymph. She’d looked so scared when Triton had grabbed her and then – Percy shuddered. He had no idea what she’d done to piss all the god off so much. One minute she’d been reaching over him, the next Triton had moved. Every time he tried to ask though Athena and Poseidon didn’t seem to understand what he was saying. Or they just tried to reassure him that he was safe.
He didn’t feel safe.
Like, he didn’t think they would hurt him. Dad had never been a birthday parties and parent’s evenings kind of parent, but he did at least stick up for him whenever the ‘should Percy die’ conversation came up, and he helped sometimes, and didn’t even obliterate Percy for sitting on his throne or anything. But it was obvious that for some reason Athena and Dad thought that Percy was their kid. How, when they also obviously knew he was a demigod he had no idea. But from the prodding and the hugging and the goddamn barrier. He was guessing they thought something had gone wrong. He was…worried about what would happen when they figured out that wasn’t true.
Dad would probably be cool with it. He’s just drop him off on some island and leave him too it. But Zeus would probably lightning bolt him extra crispy.
The other problem was…he was pretty sure he knew this story. The whole, fountain, olive tree thing. Annabeth had told it to him once, when she was explaining why their parents hated each other. They competed over Athens, dad made a cool fountain, Athena made an olive tree. Dad lost, and they’ve hated each other ever since. Percy arriving slap bang in the middle of it all seemed to have messed things up.
Was he going to have to Mary McFly his parents into hating each other before he could go back home? Because he had only seen that movie once and he wasn’t sure that was how it went.
A flutter of wings from behind him, the feel of a hundred eyes on his neck. Percy cringed, turning just as Athena appeared behind him. She was standing way too close, tall enough that he had to crane his neck to see her face.
“Perseus,” she said, shooting a wry look at the open doorway behind him. “Little explorer. Come.”
One taloned hand reached out and caught him by the wrist and he felt strange buzzing warmth press into his skin where she touched him. It happened every time. Same for Dad, thought that felt more like a rush of cool water filling his veins. He’d gotten used to the feeling. He figured it was just cause the gods were so much more powerful in the past. The hand around his wrist tugged slightly and Percy flushed, realising that he had zoned out again as Athena gently but firmly pulled him after her. Right, Percy shrugged to himself and reluctantly followed along, apparently it was language time.
Instead of taking him round the temple and pointing things out as Percy had expected, Athena instead led him into a side room, one of the ones Percy had explored. He had no idea what the room was actually for, but he figured it was sort of like an Ancient Greek living room. The walls were covered in brightly painted murals of under-sea scenes – fish and merfolk chasing each other around the room. There was a fireplace, though it wasn’t lit so early in the day with a number of large plush-looking cushions splayed around it. There was a couple of…sort of couches? Maybe day beds or something. They had squat legs and a thin wooden surface covered in thin padding, with a single arm (or head) rest at one end. Percy had tried to lie on one and immediately rolled off the other side, so he was relieved when Athena led them to the cushions instead.
He flopped down on one, immediately sinking down into it. It did feel like he was sitting on a cloud – heck he might be, seemed like the kind of thing the gods would do. Percy snickered slightly at the thought of his dad trying to catch a cloud and stuff it in a pillow.
Athena sat down opposite. Unlike him, she didn’t relax into the cushion, back perfectly straight, hands resting gently on her crossed legs. She was close enough that her knees brushed his, reaching out to run her talons gently through Percy’s hair and smiling at him.
Percy smiled hesitantly back, knowing it must look more like a wince on his face.
Athena leaned back slightly and suddenly was holding thick pile of folded fabric. She shifted slightly, unfolding the fabric and laying it out between them, half over both of their legs. It was soft, a dark blue embroidered in threads of gold and silver that shimmered like they could actually be the metal. There were small pictures, and what looked like words, spreading out across the fabric, connected by lines. One word was surrounded by swirling clouds and crackling lightning, in another flickering flames of hearth-fire and yet another an elaborate fan of peacock feathers. Beneath the lightning, connected by twining threads, the words held sunshine and moonlight, clinging grapes, and speedy winds.
“It’s a family tree!”
Athena cocked her head, raising her eyebrows uncomprehendingly in a move he was way too familiar with from their language lessons. Waiting for him to try again in Ancient Greek.
“Um…” Percy frowned in concentration, “It is. Family?”
“Very good,” Athena said proudly, smoothing the tapestry out, and pressing her fingers against the lightning bolts. “Zeus, king of the gods. You met him at your,” her mouth soured slightly, “Welcome feast. He is my father – your grandfather – and your father’s brother – your uncle—”
Percy couldn’t keep the grimace off his face and Athena laughed.
“Don’t let your birthplace infect you with human sensibilities,” she said with an arrogant tilt of the head. “We are beyond them.”
With a great deal of effort, Percy swallowed down the sarcastic comment he wanted to make.
“Anyway. Your grandfather, is the youngest of the Chronides, he and his siblings…”
Athena continued, waving her way through the history of the family. Percy would never tell Annabeth, who he thought might genuinely have stabbed him for the chance to be taught family history by a god, but he was only half paying attention. Mostly he was trying to figure out if tying some fabric to the robes they made him wear – apparently called a chiton – would count enough as a pocket. He missed Riptide.
He was half-paying attention to the story, though. A lot of it was things he had heard before. Like how Zeus ate his previous wife, Metis and then Athena jumped out of his head like the world’s worst headache. Other bits…didn’t sound right. Like, something about Zeus having Artemis and Apollo with Leto because he hadn’t wanted to cause Hera pain. Percy had just kind of assumed it was cause the guy famously couldn’t keep it in his Chiton. And there was stuff about Hera raising Zeus’ children as her own which just didn’t make sense. Hera had wanted Thalia dead.
The other thing…where the hell was everybody? The council of Olympus was there, plus Uncle Hades and Aunt Hestia, but that was it. Where were the minor gods? It was a family tree, so Percy got why say Nemesis or Eris weren’t included. But didn’t Apollo have a bunch of immortal children with hard to pronounce names? And where was Pan? And Persephone? Shouldn’t they be there? His sisters weren’t even on the list, only his brother.
“…Mother,” Percy interrupted. It felt weird calling her that, but Athena insisted, and Mother was at least better than Mum. There was only one person Percy would give that title too. He pointed at the empty space beneath Demeter’s name. “Where? Children of Demeter?”
Athena’s talons softened into flesh as she trailed her fingers gently across the empty space beneath Demeter’s name. “My aunt has no children.”
That wasn’t right. Percy pointed again, “Hermes? Apollo?”
“None of my siblings have been blessed with living children,” Athena said gravely, and her figure seemed to shrink slightly, shifting away from its inhuman size into something more normal.
That didn’t make any sense. Percy scowled at the fabric, chewing his lip and crossing his arms. If there was one thing everyone knew about the gods it was that they had a whole bunch of kids. Even if Percy was early, none of them had any? How did that make sense? There was no way that Percy was earlier than Persephone. She should already be chilling in the Underworld by now.
His mouth felt weirdly dry and Percy leaned forward, scrutinising the tree. The grapes gave him an idea and he pointed at them hopefully. “Me and Dionysus, demigods,” he spread his hands wide, “Other demigod children? Where?” hopefully in a nice convenient camp that Percy could get left at where he could start trying to figure out how the hell to get back to his own time.
Athena’s feathers drooped, here eyes lightening to a pale almost sorrowful silver as she swept her hand gently across the cloth. “There are no other children,” she said. “You and Dionysus are the only demigod children to have ever lived.”
What!?
“What?” Percy blurted, eyes widening in horror. “That can’t – how can – why?”
Athena let out a low, whistling sigh, like a winter wind rattling through the grass. “Our grandfather, Cronus. A final unkindness that he laid upon our blood. Before my father Zeus took over the heavens, Cronus ruled as king of the Titans. He was cruel man, and an unkind leader. It had been foretold that he would one day be overthrown by his child – as he once had overthrown and killed his father, Uranus – to prevent that fate at each of his children’s birth, he ate them.” Athena’s face twisted in disgust and grief. “Swallowed them whole where they lived and grew inside him. With each child, our grandmother’s sorrow grew and finally, when her youngest child was born – Zeus – grandmother managed to hide the child, tricking Cronus into eating a rock instead. Zeus was raised in secret and, when he grew old enough returned in disguise to take the place of Cronus’ cupbearer. He tricked Cronus into drinking a poisoned wine which forced him to disgorge my aunts and uncles. Together, they rose up and destroyed Cronus, cutting him into pieces and throwing him into Tartarus.”
Yeah, Percy nodded absently, okay, he knew that story, what did that have to do with –
“Just not fast enough,” Athena continued. “Before they could kill him, Cronus cursed my father, my aunts and uncles, cursed the whole line. Their children would die. That’s what he said. That their children would die, that any that lived would only be brought forth through great suffering and pain, that they would birth monsters, and corpses. We have been lucky. I remember well the agony of my own birth, the power father fed into me that allowed me to stabilise, to live instead of fading away. This has allowed my father and my stepmother to create more children, to bring my brothers and sisters into being – has allowed your father to create your brother, Triton. But, mortals are so much more fragile than gods. No matter how much my father and brothers and uncles try, their half mortal children do not live. Dionysus is the only exception, and the process of binding him to my father’s thigh almost killed them both. It is not a method any of us would be willing to try again.”
Athena shifted slightly in her seat, pulling on the cloth to bring Dionysus’s name closer. “But my brother did live. The first demigod to do so. He’s not so far of from you in age, only a couple of centuries. He was born to my father and a Theban princess named –”
Percy tuned the rest of the lecture out. He wouldn’t have been able to listen to it anyway. Not through the ringing in his ears and the pounding in his chest. He didn’t – that wasn’t how that story went. It wasn’t – it couldn’t –
Percy stared, wide eyed out of the window and the gleaming, empty streets of this Olympus.
He was in the past.
He just wasn’t in his past.
Xxx
Apollo strolled casually down the streets of Olympus. In the distance part of him was occupied with driving the sun chariot across the sky. The sun was bright and high, a perfect warmth accompanied by high clouds and a faint breeze. The perfect accompaniment to the general optimism that has swept through Olympus these past few days since Perseus’ birth.
Apollo had dressed for the occasion, and the light weather. His chiton, bright gold in colour, fell to mid-thigh and draped across one shoulder, leaving the other and large portion of his chest bare. He favoured more human appearances than most of his family did, but he had allowed a few crow feathers to mingle with his hair, knowing that the black feathers would only make his bright blonde hair stand out that much more.
He waved cheerfully to pair of naiads as he passed, preening at the way they flushed and giggled as he passed. Taking a mental note to return and find them later, Apollo turned towards his uncle’s temple, stifling a smile at the faint blue barrier that surrounded it. Apparently, Perseus’ attempts at escapology after his birth had not been a one off. Father insisted on regular updates, and could be heard bragging only the other day about how Perseus had apparently managed to scale a pillar and hide in the temple rafters for almost an hour to Poseidon’s dismay.
Knocking politely, Apollo rocked back on his heels, the wind taking on a salty tinge as his Uncle’s attention turned to the front of the temple and the barrier fell. With a wide grin, Apollo bounced inside.
“Uncle, sister, and how is parenthood finding you both!” he exclaimed, laughing as Poseidon rolled his eyes and Athena flushed slightly, face turning more owlish so that she could click her beak irritably at him. Apollo dodged with another laugh, eyes scanning the temple.
“And where is my new nephew?”
“Sleeping,” Athena said. “You’re early, I thought we agreed noon.”
“So, the sun went a little faster through the sky today,” Apollo said with a languid shrug. “The mortals won’t notice. And besides, I was excited. You can’t keep the kid secreted away in here forever, you know? Father’s already grumbling about not getting to see the grandbaby, and I know you’ve both been neglecting your duties,” Apollo arched an eyebrow at his uncle. “I know you haven’t been back to Atlantis since the birth.”
“Triton can handle things in my absence,” Poseidon grumbled, looking away.
“Right,” Apollo drawled, “And I’m sure there’s nothing that needs your attention.”
Poseidon glared, but there was no heat in it, which meant that he knew Apollo was right.
“I’ve heard about how often he tries to escape,” Apollo said. “Clearly Perseus is eager to explore. I’m sure some supervised trips around Olympus would be fine. You know that none of us would let him come to any harm. How is he, anyway? Has everything been progressing as planned, so far?”
Poseidon nodded, “We’ve been making sure he gets small amounts of nectar and ambrosia each meal and been making sure to keep feeding him low levels of our divinity. We’ve been keeping an eye out for the warning signs you mentioned, but so far he seems to be taking to it well.”
“He’s picking up the language quickly,” Athena jumped in eagerly, eyes glowing with invisible candlelight. “We had worried but – it doesn’t seem there is anything wrong with his mind. He can clearly understand more than he can speak, I’m certain he will be fluent in no time.”
Apollo grinned, “Well, he didn’t get that from uncle.”
Athena’s feathers ruffled proudly, before suddenly drooping. She shot an uncertain look at their uncle who shifted on his feet slightly before offering a shallow now. Apollo felt a slither of ice run down his spine.
“He does,” Athena grimaced. “He does seem, most of the time he is fine. But there are moments when Perseus seems a touch lethargic. Like he doesn’t have enough energy. I am sure it’s nothing, but…”
“I’ll keep an eye out during my check up,” Apollo said easily. “Speaking off…”
“I’ll fetch him,” Athena with a nod, disappearing with a faint flap of wings into one of the private rooms and leaving him alone with Uncle.
Apollo carefully hid his grimace behind a light smile. He loved his uncle. But the guy was almost as intense as Uncle Hades and way more unpredictable. Apollo could still remember how anxious and overprotective his uncle had been when Triton was born. He imagined he was far worse with a mortal offspring.
“You should take him down to Atlantis. Just for a visit!” Apollo hurried to tack on in case his older sister overheard and murdered him. “He is your son. There’s a fair chance some of his eventual domains will be oceanic. If he’s lethargic perhaps he just needs some time in the ocean.”
Poseidon’s demeaner immediately brightened, hair turning from the deep blue of the ocean depths to the crystalline turquoise of the shallows. “Of course,” he said, with a light laugh. “All this dry air can’t be good for him. And besides, it would be good for him to spend more time with his brother. I don’t like Triton and Amphitrite missing so much of his early days but of course Athena cannot spend so long under the waves, and it would be cruel to separate a mother and child so early.”
“A day visit, though,” Apollo suggested. “To introduce the new prince to his kingdom. I’m sure –”
He broke off as a door swung open, Perseus stumbling through with a wide yawn, one hand rubbing his eyes. His hair was rumpled with sleep and the light chiton he wore was half falling off as he stumbled into the room. Athena followed close behind, anxiously trying to tug her son into some semblance of her own habitual neatness.
Even half asleep, Perseus dodged her talons with the ease of experiences, eyes clearing when they fell on Apollo.
“Apollo!”
Apollo grinned, feeling the sun shine brighter. “You remember me,” He threw his arm around Perseus’ shoulder, leading him towards a plush rug near the entranceway. “It’s nice to meet you properly now that you know what I’m saying. I hope my uncle and sister have been treating you well, not being too overbearing. Don’t worry,” he leaned in, voice dropping to a conspiratorial hush, “Me and the other cousins are hatching a plan to spring you from jail. Show you how fun Olympus can really be. Joking!” he yelled over his shoulder at Athena’s rattling hiss and Poseidon’s warning growl.
Perseus snorted, “Promise?”
Apollo laughed, tugging Percy down onto the floor and waving Athena and Poseidon back slightly. There was no way he was going to get them to actually leave the room, but he could get his patient some privacy
“I have the feeling we’re going to get on very well,” he said. “Now, cousin, I’m just here to do a bit of a check-up. I didn’t get a very good look at you at your birth, and we just want to make sure everything’s developing as it should. Make sure you’re healthy.”
“I’m healthy,” Perseus said, withdrawing slightly, his ocean green eyes turning slightly turbulent.
“Glad to hear it,” Apollo said, grabbing his hand before the boy could retreat completely and oh, calluses. “I just need to do a quick scan. It won’t hurt.”
Perseus squirmed uncomfortably, trying to squeeze his hand free. Apollo was careful not to hurt him, but didn’t let him go, either. “What…what will scan see?”
“Just generally how you’re doing. Make sure there’s no illnesses or injuries we need to worry about in the future. Make sure you’re developing as you should. Just normal things.”
Perseus’ face twisted into a grimace, clearly reluctant, but he obediently fell still and let Apollo examine. Apollo’s eyes burnt slightly, like the sting of jumping into the salty ocean, as the turned from their usual blue to a deep burning gold. His vision shifted, not just seeing Perseus but the shifting energies that made him. They seemed healthy, though the boy could stand to eat more, he seemed slightly underweight and, ironically enough, he could do with more sunlight. A service Apollo was more than happy enough to provide. Already, he could see the fruits of Athena and Poseidon’s labour start to take form. When Perseus had been born ichor and blood has swirled within him as an even fifty-fifty split. His divinity and mortality perfectly balanced. Now, that shimmering gold was beginning to encroach on the red, carefully, slowly – mortals were so delicate, a drop too much of divinity too soon and Perseus could burn from the inside out – the demigod’s mortality was being consumed in divinity. If they kept on track in only a few more weeks the boy would ascend to full godhood.
Apollo felt himself relax, tension he hadn’t been aware of easing out of his shoulders. “All good, nothing to worry about,” he said. “I must say, you’re my least troublesome patient. Hermes managed to nick himself on Uncle Hades’ sword once and pinning him down long at me to look at the injury was an absolute nightmare,” he got to his feet, glancing over at where his sister and uncle lurked in to corner not even attempting to look as though they weren’t listening in. “I’d better go tell your parents that they can stop being so paranoid.”
Before he could take a step he felt a tug on his chiton, turning back to see Perseus had risen onto his knees, grabbing the fabric.
“I – Apollo. The lady,” Perseus made a low sound of frustration, and Apollo could see what his sister was talking about. He could see on Perseus’ face as he tried to find the words he wanted and the annoyance when they weren’t there. “From the – the –” he made a violent gesture with his hand. “She is okay?”
Apollo stared blankly at him. “Lady?”
Perseus’s face twisted in frustration and then he bent his fingers into claws, pulled a deep frown onto his face and let out an attempt at a rattling hiss. It was adorable, a little like watching a lion cub try to roar for the first time. But it wasn’t really a sound human vocal cords could make, it did make him look a little bit like his brother, though. Is he had spikes and scales you could almost imagine –
“Oh, the lady at your welcome feast?” Apollo asked. Why on earth was Perseus asking about her.
Perseus immediately brightened. “Yes. She is okay? Triton hurt. But she is okay?”
“Ah,” Apollo dropped down into a crouch. “That must have been scary, huh?” he said reaching out to ruffle Perseus’ hair. His cousin scowled, jerking back at the move. “Not knowing what was going on? She was a bad lady, Perseus. She was going to hurt you.”
Perseus shook his head, confusion twisting his face. “No. Didn’t hurt.”
“She was, thought,” Apollo said firmly. “It’s lucky Triton caught her before she could do any damage. It would be terrible to lose you so early. Your brother was just keeping you safe, okay?”
Perseus still looked confused, and there was a defiant tilt to his chin but after a long moment he ducked his gaze and nodded. “…okay.”
“Right,” Apollo held out his hand, a soft square of nectar appearing in it. He pressed it into Perseus’ hand. “Breakfast. I’m going to talk to Uncle Poseidon and Athena quickly before they kick me out.”
He jogged over to his uncle and sister, both of whom were practically vibrating with tension. Athena was obsessively grooming the feathered ruff on her chest, and Poseidon’s gills fluttered restlessly along his ribcage.
“Well?” Poseidon snapped as Apollo got closer, as thought he hadn’t been listening to every word Apollo said.
“Perfectly healthy,” Apollo said with a shrug. “You can increase the amount of nectar you’ve giving him. No more than another portion a day. I’ll check back in in three days and see if we can increase it any more. He could do with going outside though, fresh air would be good for him. And, if you can get him to eat larger portions that would be good. He’s a little underweight.”
Athena looked downcast at that, muttering under her breath, clearly already coming up with a new meal plan and daily schedule. Apollo nudged her with an elbow, plastering on his best innocent expression when she glared at him.
“Have you caught the calluses on his hand?” he asked, holding up his own hand and tracing them out on his palm. “Definitely a weapon of some kind. We may have another budding war god on our hands.”
Athena preened, shooting a smug glance at Poseidon.
“Please, he’s made for the seas,” Poseidon grumbled. “The spitting image of me and his brother. He’ll be a god of tidal currents, or ocean creatures or deep seas. Something worthy of an ocean gods. Speaking of,” he turned to Apollo, “His mortality?”
“Burning away as we speak,” Apollo said, laying a comforting hand on his uncle’s arm. “You have nothing to worry about. He’s taking to the transformation perfectly. You and Athena have done everything right. He’ll be a full-fledge god before you know it.”
Notes:
Me trying to write a story about Percy Jackson's adventures in AU history: Apollo, no! Why are you here again?
The three apollo statues I have in my room looking down on me in judgement.Look, I have a favourite god okay. And he keeps muscling his way in. I PROMISE we will get some other gods next time. Apollo cant take over the narrative every chapter.
Because my brain is a nightmare, it is now trying to convince me to think about what would happen if the all the Broken Pantheon kiddos had wound up in Trojan War times instead. I'm assuming the war would have quickly been put on hold while all the mortals under strict instructions to help the gods track down the missing kiddos OR ELSE. Achilles and Hector making eye contact across the battlefield when the have to go back to murdering each other after spending two weeks bonding over having to wrangle five very bitey, very wriggly demigods.
Chapter Text
Poseidon took a deep breath in, gills fluttering along his ribs, and relaxed.
He loved Olympus, he loved the swirling clouds, the shimmering walls, the place where he had built so many glorious memories with his siblings and their children. But there was just something about being home. About feeling the water in his lungs, the salt on his skin. He had not appeared immediately inside the palace of Olympus – Athena would have been angry about the risk, but he wanted his son to see it for the first time from the outside. For that reason, he had ensured that they would appear a short distance from the entrance, on the top of one of the underwater cliffs that surrounded his realm. It was not visible yet, and Poseidon looked forward to his son’s face when he saw his true home for the first time.
He felt the tension slide eel-like out of his spine as he let his bones grow denser as the water around him swirled and carried his weight. His legs dissolved into a thick tail, scaled and finned, starting with a pale, milky-blue at the fin and darkening to a deep midnight where the tail met his torso. His hair swirled, becoming less soft, closer to the stiff barbels of a catfish. Claws, thick and dark erupted from his fingertips as he summoned his trident to his hand, relishing the feel of the sea beneath his hand.
The white-gold band around his wrist buzzed slightly and with a sharp sound Perseus – Percy as he had started to insist upon – who thought he was being subtle in his attempts to edge away, snapped back at Poseidon’s side.
Poseidon chuckled. Reaching out to ruffle his son’s hair and taking the opportunity to feed a small tendril of his power into him. When they had first started, Percy had winced and complained, but now he barely seemed to notice, the slivers of half-mortal divinity with him eagerly absorbing the power. There was a warm glow in Poseidon’s chest, and he felt the bioluminescence across his skin ripple with the feeling, the pride at providing for his son – he had a son, a second child after all these years, finally, finally –
There was the scraping of fingernails on metal beside him as Percy spun the matching cuff around his own wrist around and tried to wriggle it over his hand. An impossible task, they had been crafted by Athena who had been precise in her measurements. The only way that Percy was going to get the cuff off was if either Poseidon or Athena removed it.
“It’s not coming off until we get back to Olympus,” Poseidon said indulgently, warm feeling growing as Percy scowled up at him like a wounded seal-pup. “I know, I know, the world is exciting and you want to explore. But you’re far too fragile right now. Anything could happen to you without your Mother or I there…” Poseidon broke off with an invisible shudder, skin flashing dark for a moment. “It’s better to stay close, until you’re a little older.” Like four hundred, five hundred years. Maybe more, if he could stretch it. They had left Triton out of the next after only a hundred and Poseidon missed those days, curled up warm and safe together with his wife curled beside him and their precious, delicate, child cradled in his hands.
“Not fragile,” Percy sulked, pouting harder and still tugging at the wrist-cuff.
“Come now, don’t sulk,” Poseidon said gently, taking his son’s wrist in his and tugging him along. “You’re going to love Atlantis, it’s your home.”
As he pulled Percy out from the sandy plateau they were hovering over and out into open water, the city of Atlantis stretched out beneath them in all its glistening glory.
When he and his brothers had decided which realms to split between themselves, when Poseidon had been graced with the ocean, he had disappeared beneath the waves for almost three years and built his palace with his own hands. Then, it had stood alone, built into a great chasm at the bottom of the sea. As Poseidon’s authority had grown, and Oceanus had stepped down, the folk of the sea had flocked to the new centre of power, and the city had grown around Poseidon’s palace.
Aside from his sons, and his wife, the palace was Poseidon’s pride and joy. The turrets were built in the style of the spiky coral that filled Poseidon’s oceans, except crafted from polished shell and gleaming in all the colours the ocean had to offer. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Percy’s mouth drop open, his son’s eyes wide and awed and Poseidon couldn’t help but puff up with pride at his son’s obvious appreciation.
“It’s so different…” Percy muttered, barely audibly.
“Yes, my brother favours a more human-style of architecture for Olympus, I suppose Atlantis would seem very different compared to that.”
“…Right,” Percy agreed, eyes flickering away for a second.
Poseidon kept his hand loosely around Percy’s wrist as they swam closer. As his son Percy was, naturally, an incredible swimmer. But his form was still human, which obviously served as a disadvantage under water. It was easier to keep Percy at his side and pull his son gently through the currents. As they moved through the city, merfolk stopped what they were doing, eyes wide as the saw the new prince tucked close against his side. His people, as least, knew how to conduct themselves. They bowed respectfully as they passed and moved back, none of them daring to move closer to Atlantis’ king and its new prince.
The guards at the palace saluted respectfully as they approached, moving aside to allow them entry and Poseidon moved them quickly towards the throne room. Percy didn’t seem to notice whether they were heading, his eyes were fixed on the mosaics Poseidon had had crafted along the floor out of different coloured pearls. There was the birth of Triton, Poseidon’s marriage to Amphitrite, the defeat of the Titans, the creation of his and his brother’s three symbols of power. He would need to have a new scene commissioned, Poseidon realised. The birth of his youngest son.
The doors of the throne room were already open, and Poseidon noticed a few merfolk standing around the room, immediately dismissing them as inconsequential. Sat proudly in their thrones were Amphitrite and Triton, both in their full royal regalia. Amphitrite looked resplendent in a chiton the colour of the sunlight through water, her crab-claw horns clacking together in alarm as she saw him come in, before he eyes found Percy at his side and she relaxed. Triton didn’t even bother hiding his delight, disappearing from his throne to reappear at their side. Poseidon raised an eyebrow as his eldest son neglected to greet him in a show of bad manners that Triton would normally be mortified by. Instead, he simply shrunk down to his brother’s size and welcomed him to Atlantis.
“Husband, Poseidon,” Amphitrite said appearing at Poseidon’s side, and placing her hand on his arm. “Is everything alright? You did not say you planned on returning home, I don’t have anything prepared to welcome you both, I thought you had intended to keep him on Olympus a while longer.”
“We do,” Poseidon said, “But Athena was pulled away – some responsibilities that she needed to see to in relation to the newly named Athens – and it seemed a good opportunity to bring Percy to the ocean for the first time. He will be an ocean deity, after all, and this can only help bring him closer to his domains,” he smiled fondly down at where Triton was chatting with Percy. Percy seemed slightly uneasy at the attention, drifting slightly back when Triton swam too close, his eyes flicking often to Poseidon. Still, they had only met the once. It was good for his son to get to know his brother better.
He glanced at his wife who was looking at the boys with something gentle and pleased in her eyes. A well of fondness rising up in him, Poseidon squeezed her hand. She could have married anyone else. She may not have been a queen, but she could have made a good match with many children to fill her home. Instead, she had agreed to marry him, with all the burdens that came with that marriage.
“I will put something together, worthy of our new Prince,” Amphitrite said before turning to Poseidon, something warm and mischievous in her expression. “As you are home, I assume you do intend to do some work? There are a few things that cannot be approved without your sign off, and court is in session,” she waved her hands at the merfolk lingering in the room that Poseidon had dismissed – petitioners apparently – “It would do the people good to see their king returned. Word of your new son has spread, but all in the ocean felt your pain at his birth, and with you ensconced in Olympus…your people will be relieved to see you whole and well.”
“Of course, my Queen,” Poseidon said, pressing a kiss to the back of his hand.
Amphitrite’s eyes twinkled back at him, clearly the only one in the room who could read his disappointment. He wanted to show his son around, not be stuck listening to boring disputes that truly could be solved by anyone with a lick of sense.
“Now let me greet our new son,” she said warmly, disappearing from his side and reappearing beside their sons. She greeted Percy warmly, taking him by the shoulders and kissing both cheeks as he flushed a bright red and stuttered something in response. She laughed kindly, cupping his cheek and muttering something in response before disappearing from the room – no doubt to arrange something for tonight in honour of Perseus’ arrival.
Poseidon sighed to himself, “Triton,” he said mildly.
“Yes, Father,” Triton said, cheeks and pointed ears flushing a faint green as he evidentially realised that he had been ignoring his father all this time.
Poseidon slid the cuff off his wrist, tossing it light towards Triton. Percy made a desperate grab for it, but Poseidon swirled the currents, ensuring that the bracelet made it into his elder son’s waiting hands.
“I have some duties to attend to, you two should spend some time together,” Percy let out an indignant squawk that Poseidon ignored. Brothers should be close. “Do show him around – nothing too dangerous, mind.”
“Of course,” Triton agreed, holding up the cuff slightly, “And this?”
“I’m afraid your brother is a bit of an escape artist,” Poseidon said ruefully, “As long as you have that on, he cannot get too far.”
Triton stifled a chuckle. “The Fates revenge for you mocking uncle, for all the trouble he had with Ares, Hermes and Artemis?”
Poseidon laughed. “I am afraid so. It seems several of our number are destined for restlessness,” he shot a stern look at Percy. “Not when they are so young, though.”
“I can take care of myself!” Percy objected, attempting to stomp his foot and swaying sideways when he hit only water.
“Of course,” Poseidon agreed indulgently, taking his son’s face in his hands. “Be good for your brother, okay? And have fun! But don’t wander off,”
“Can’t anyway,” Percy grumbled, plucking resentfully at the cuff on his wrist.
“Triton,” Poseidon said, turning to his eldest and putting a hand on the back of his neck, as he pressed their foreheads together. “I have missed you. I am sorry to be away so long. I am very grateful for the wonderful job you have done in my absence,” he squeezed slightly, Triton letting out a low, relaxed rumble and Poseidon let out his own, deeper purr. “Take care of your brother, okay? And enjoy yourselves.”
“Yes, Father,” Triton said with a smile, reaching for his brother and they both disappeared in a swirl of water.
Already feeling bereft of the warm weight at his side, Poseidon headed for his throne, sinking down in it and waving his hand for the first petitioner to begin.
Open court seemed to drag on more than usual. A blur of faces and problems that were easily solved and yet somehow took hours of debate. A man’s hippocampus has sired a foal on his neighbour’s filly and they were arguing who the foal belonged to. A woman claimed that a man had taken her maidenhead and then refused to take responsibility for her or the unborn child that had resulted from their union. A herdsman who had been careless with his fish near the surface had lost almost his entire school to human fishermen and now sought permission to seek his revenge.
The hippocampus would sire a second foal and each household would take one. The man would marry the woman and pay her family the bride price of their choosing for his disrespect. The man would be paid the cost of his fish and warned not to take them so close to the surface in the future.
Finally, as the session began to come to a close, the final petitioner walked in and old man, with a long white beard and hair hidden beneath a heavy sailor’s cap. He looked strangely human, standing in the throne room of Atlantis among the more brightly coloured, decorative mer. But if you looked closer you could see that his skin was the soft, spongy texture of an eel, his eyes wer black and flat as a shark’s and his walking stick, a gnarled piece of wood taken from a wrecked ship, was covered in barnacles.
Poseidon frowned, “Nereus,” he said, grip tightening on his trident.
He had never liked Nereus. Despite the air of geniality the old god wore like a favoured cloak, there was something sharp and cunning behind his eyes that had always made Poseidon wary.
“My King,” Nereus said with a respectful bow. With precisely the right kind of bow to be respectful, not an inch higher or lower.
“What brings you to my court, today?” Poseidon said, shifting slightly in his seat. “If there was a matter that needed our attention you could have brought it directly to my wife and son, they would both have been happy to greet you in my absence.”
As much as he hated the man, Nereus was once the god of the sea before ceding his title to Poseidon, and still had his supporters among the waves even as his human worship had dwindled. It would not do to be openly hostile.
“I only wished to be among the first to greet you upon your return,” Nereus said, pressing his hand to his chest. “I have heard news of your son. I wanted to wish you my congratulations…and my condolences.”
There was a ripple of unease from the merfolk still in the room and Poseidon felt his eyes narrow dangerously. “Condolences?” he asked lightly, grip flexing around his trident which crackled with power – a reminder that whomever else they may once have heeded, the seas were Poseidon’s now. “And what is that supposed to mean.”
“I meant no offence,” Nereus hastened to say. “But word has reached even my people about your youngest’s…affliction. I understand the boy – the prince, Perseus, I mean – was born mortal?”
Poseidon titled his head slightly. “This is true.”
“Well, my king,” Nereus said with a soft smile – his teeth were flat, something that would not have surprised Poseidon in the halls of Olympus but here in the ocean, surrounded by his sharp-toother berthing, always felt a tad uncanny. “I only wish to offer a solution to your problem. After all, it is well known that one guaranteed way for a mortal to ascend is through marriage to a god.”
“Marriage?” Poseidon asked lightly, an eel waiting in the dark shadow of a rock for its prey to drift carelessly close.
“Not immediately, of course,” Nereus conceded, “The boy is still young. But I have many daughters. I am sure there is one among that number that would be suitable to elevate your son to godhood. I would even be happy to open my home to him to allow him the chance to get to know his future bride. I would be happy to foster the boy in my household until he ascends and is ready to be presented as a true child of the sea –”
The water around them turned black.
Xxx
When he wasn’t being a giant, overreacting freak, Triton was actually kind of cool.
It was weird, Percy was sort of getting used to the idea that all the people who hated his guts back home actually liked him here. But Triton really seemed happy to have a brother. It was going to suck when he got home, and Triton reverted to being a stuck-up prick that wanted nothing to do with him.
For now, thought, Triton seemed thrilled to have a younger brother, dragging Percy around the palace and then out into the…training grounds? Were they still called training grounds if you were underwater? Triton is seemed was at least slightly less overbearing than their dad, though he still didn’t let Percy try any of the weapons, or join in. It was so annoying. He got that they all thought he was newly hatched from the fountain or however gods saw it, but he was still obviously a teenager. They all treated him like he was five or something.
“You’re very slow,” Triton said, floating in the water with judgement on his face as Percy paddled along to catch up. “We’re hardly going to get to see anything before Father calls us home. I wanted to show you the Hippocampi stables and at this rate we’ll never get there.”
“Am not!” Percy protested. “Not my fault. You’re half fish.” He waved at Triton’s two green tails and his brother preened slightly, flicking his fins out.
“I suppose you are a little young to be able to control your form,” Triton mused, crossing his arms and staring consideringly at Percy. “It took me a good century before I could.”
“And that’s what you chose?”
“Oi!” Triton swiped playfully at Percy, who laughed and ducked out of the way.
“Right, come here,” Triton said, holding out his hand.
“What, why?”
“Just come!”
Percy drifted hesitantly closer, Triton pressing a palm against the centre of his chest. There was a strange sensation, like bubbles, spreading out from that point, along his skin and around his body and Percy yelped at the feeling, instinctively trying to twist away only he couldn’t move his legs properly as the feeling spread down into them and he felt his whole-body spasm and twist. When it finally stopped, Percy looked down
“What the hell!” Percy yelped flailing in the water as he took in the tail where his legs used to be. Instead, he now sported a thick tail. Unlike Triton’s, or even their father’s, his was not scaled. Instead, it was covered with fine fur, dark and slick in the water. The fur was soft when he touched it, grey and covered in darker spots, just like the harbour seals he and mum would sometimes see on the beach at Montauk.
He gave an experimental kick and instead spun wildly through the water as his tail jerked. he could feel himself trying to move with legs that were no longer there – with knees that no longer existed – sending the muscles of his tail twitching senselessly.
Triton laughed. “Maybe that didn’t help. I’ll turn you back.”
“No, I’m good, I’m getting it,” Percy said, his arms outstretched for balance, his tongue poking out in concentration as he managed to bob in place. “Just need a minute.”
“Well, if it’s practice you want,” Triton said, leaning forward with a mischievous grin. “Tell me, are you familiar with the mortal game, ostrakinda? One hunts, the other is hunted,” he kicked off, swimming in a loose circle around Percy who spun in place to keep him in sight. “Once one is caught, we reverse the order.”
Percy frowned, that sounded a lot like. “You want to play tag?”
“Tag? I am not familiar with…”
“That’s not fair,” Percy objected, waving his arm at Triton and scowling at the matching bracelet his brother had slipped around his own wrist. “I can’t get far. That’s cheating.”
“Trust me brother,” Triton said, grinning with sharp teeth as he continued to circle. “I am very fast. There is no likelihood of you exceeding the bounds of your leash.”
Percy scowled, twitching his tail slightly. Then, without warning, he lunged forward, slamming his hand against Triton’s shoulder. “Tag!” he yelled, before turning and swimming away as fast as he could, Triton’s startled laughter filling the water behind him.
Percy lost track of how long they were playing for. Annoyingly Triton had been right. His older brother was annoyingly fast, and Percy could tell that he was deliberately keeping without the bounds of the stupid bracelet’s distance limit. Still, he was sure he had managed to surprise his older brother a time or two, and by the time they stopped Percy was spinning through the water like he’d been born with a tail.
It was Percy who flagged first, tail burning – lungs burning – as he drifted to a stop unable to force himself to swim another yard as he just hung there. He flipped onto his back staring up at the sunlight dappling through the waves. They must have drifted closer to the surface during their game, though Percy hadn’t noticed the change.
“We’ll make a swimmer of you yet, little brother,” Triton said, swimming up beside him resting his head on his hands as though he were lying in a bed, not drifting in the ocean. “You’re a fast learner.”
“Still a cheat,” Percy mumbled, too tired to really argue, eyes starting to drift closed when he felt a shadow fall over him. He frowned, eyes popping back open as he squinted at a strange shapes passing above them. “What’s that?”
Triton twisted, narrowing his eyes at the shadows. “Fishing boats,” he said sourly. “We’re not far from the mainland. They usually pass over at this time of the day. Come, we should head back to Atlantis. Father won’t like you being so close to humans so young.”
“There were humans when I was born,” Percy said, rolling his eyes and feeling a pit in his stomach at the reminder of what had happened to those humans. “I want to see.”
“We really should –”
The sea turned dark.
It came out of nowhere. One second, they were fine, and the next dark clouds rolled in overhead and the ocean around them swirled and boiled and raged. Percy yelped, water slamming into his side and tossing him from side to side like he was in a washing machine as the whole world suddenly seemed to collapse around them. A hand grabbed him and he was tucked against Triton’s side, one arm wrapped protectively around him so tight that Percy could feel the edges of the metal cuff dig into the knobs of his spine.
“What’s going on?” Percy yelled above the crash of water.
“Some fool has angered father,” Triton said, “can’t you taste his rage in the water?”
No. Because that wasn’t a thing that normal people could do.
Except, Percy sort of thought that he could. There was something, an almost painful buzz in the water behind ever wave, every rush of water that brushed against his skin.
“Come on,” Triton said, “We must return home.”
Dragged along by Tritan’s hand the world was a terrifying curl of colour and sound that swirled around them but, as they moved deeper into sea, Percy saw a shadow move above them. The fishing boats, spinning on the surface above them like bath toys, caught in the whirlpool of a draining tub.
“Wait, wait, wait!” Percy yelped, struggling in Triton’s grip which reflexively tightened, hard enough for bruises to bloom on his wrist.
“No, we need too –”
“The sailors – they’ll drown!” Percy flung his hand up, pointing at the swirling boats. Even through the water he thought he could hear screaming.
“It doesn’t matter.”
“Doesn’t – they’ll die!” Percy yelled, anger enough for him to snatch his hand out of Triton’s grip.
“That’s what mortals do,” Triton snapped back, “Come on, we need to go home. It is not safe out here.”
Percy snarled in frustration, barely noticing when the noise came out more guttural than he ever would have managed before. If it wasn’t for this damn bracelet – he paused, eye lingering on the cuff on Triton’s wrist. The cuff had been made for their father. It didn’t quite fit, too loose around Triton’s wrist – he had had to keep adjusting it during their game. He lunged, Triton reeled back, clearly not expecting it, and Percy grabbed his wrist, snatching the cuff free before Triton could react and pushing off his brother to swim towards the surface as fast as he could, dodging a clawed hand that tried to snatch at him. He shoved the second cuff onto his arm, having to shove it all the way up almost to his shoulder for it to stay put.
Halfway to the surface, Percy felt the water around him go still and then constrict around him, a heavy pressure that held him in place. He yelled in frustration, throwing a glance over his shoulder to see Triton glowering up at him, one hand held out before him in a fist. His brother slowly began to pull his fist back towards his chest and Percy felt the water around him react, slowly dragging him back down towards his brother.
“Let go!” he yelled, thrashing as mush as the deep pressure around him would allow.
“No chance,” Triton snarled back.
Up above, one of the boats tipped to the side and Percy saw the distinct shapes of humans in the water, five of them, all struggling upwards and being pushed back down against and again beneath the mountain sized waves that thrashed on the surface.
Panic thrummed through him, a familiar rushing sound filling his ears and without thinking he pushed. There was a yelp from below as the pressure released him and Percy spared a single glance down to see that his brother had been thrown back before sprinting upwards towards the surface.
He reached out a hand, even with the storm buffeting him, urged higher and harder with his father’s rage, Percy knew water. Could feel it. And he sent a current swirling up to grab the drowning men and hold them above the water.
His head breached the surface, water cascading down his shoulders and plastering his hair to his face almost blinding him. Rain lashed down, freezing cold and stinging like hail when it hit his sting, his ears filled with the terrified shouts of men and the creak of tortured wood as the fishermen tried desperately to stop their boats from going under. Boats that were suddenly far too close. A terrible, splintering sound and Percy ducked back underneath the waves, dodging to the side as mast crashed into the water where he had been. He surfaced again, bobbing helplessly in the water, barely able to keep himself up as the waves tossed him around.
A horse scream and he felt another body hit the water, instinctively sending out another current to keep them up, but what did that matter when the boats were being thrown about like leaves, at risk of toppling over completely with every massive wave. Panic thrummed through Percy’s chest, building and building and building and he could feel the rushing of his blood in his veins, the rushing of currents in the ocean, the swirl of water all around them as he felt that old familiar lurch in his gut, as he felt the pressure in his head snap. His ears popped.
And calm bloomed around him.
Like a flower, spreading its petals at dawn, or a bubble, blown into a large, perfect circle, an area of calm water stretched out from where Percy floated. The boats fell still, the waves receded. Outside the perfect eye that Percy had created, the storm raged on. But it no longer touched them. Percy’s head felt…light. Buzzy. It was barely any effort to wave his hand and see streams of water raise all six men from the ocean and place them onto one of the upright ships.
Water dribbled down from Percy’s nose, warm and thick and when Percy licked his lips he tasted iron.
There was a shout from the boats. Not fear this time. Or, not entirely fear. Worship. They had seen him. Had fallen to their knees on the deck of the boat, ropes and oars falling from their hands. That was silly. They were still at sea, after all. There was still a storm raging on. And it was strange to have them kneeling, though Percy’s brain was still too strange to properly think about now.
He glanced around, seeing land to his right, and pointed to it.
“Home?”
He didn’t shout. He barely raised his voice. And somehow, he knew, every man on every boat had heard the word as though he had whispered it into their ear. Some remained on their knees, only for their more practical brethren to drag them up and push them towards the sails or shove bailing buckets into their shaking hands.
The boats turned and headed towards shore. Percy swam alongside them, his body felt natural, undulating easily and pushing him through the water at speeds he never would have managed only hours before. Currents that he knew had not existed before he willed them into existence twirled and spun around him before rising up and pushing the boats faster, Percy’s bubble of calm accompanying them.
As they reached shore, Percy fell back, dropping down beneath the waves, pushing the eye he had created on ahead, to see the fishermen and their boats safely back to shore. He did not go with them. He was so, so tired. When he felt the last pair of sandals hit the wooden floor of the docks, Percy let calm go.
The waves immediately buffeted him, but they were not so dangerous, not so strong this close to the shore – of perhaps his father’s anger was starting to wane. He let himself drift down to rest against the sandy slope beneath him. It was soft, and warm and he found himself instinctively burrowing into the sand like he was pulling a blanket over himself, head hitting the sand and eye blinking blearily up above him. There was something swirling in the water, driting up like ribbons of scarlet and gold, he reached absently for it, but the swirls of colour split and vanished when he tried to grab for them.
“Percy! Percy!” The voice was distant and familiar. It made him think of green scales and sharp teeth. He was too tired to respond though, sinking deeper into the sand.
There was something warm and wet in his nostrils, in his ears and he whined at the uncomfortable feeling. His head was stuffed with clouds and his body ached like he’d run a marathon and also like he’d had the shit kicked out of him with a baseball bat. He felt like one big, aching bruise.
“Percy!”
Percy hummed something back, a strange chirping whistle emerging from his throat – that somehow he knew would travel further underwater than his voice. He blinked blearily, as a piercing whistle came through the water in return, growing closer.
He was so tired. Maybe a nap. He could take a nap, right?
His eyes drifted closed, the last thing he saw before the world went black the swirling ribbon of red and gold drifting up through the water, and a flash of panicked green darting towards him.
Notes:
(I will admit that I’m doing Nereus dirty here who by most accounts seems to be a chill guy.)
Chapter 5
Notes:
Hey all! Unfortunately September is an incredibly busy month for me, so I just wanted to get this up before it all kicked off. I am unlikely to be back before October, but hopefully the fact that this chap is almost 8000 words will make up for it. I have been dying to get to this one!
I am not super happy with the opening but I hope the rest makes up for it!
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
The sun was probably going to rise late Apollo decided, stretching languidly in bed, the sheets cool and pleasant against his skin. Father would be annoyed about it, but Apollo all Apollo wanted to do was melt into his mattress, and even splitting an aspect of his consciousness off to drive the chariot felt like too much energy.
An arm wrapped around his lower back, a warm chest pressing against his side – a different warm chest pressing against his other side – and Apollo relaxed even further, turning as limp as one of his brother’s snakes, boneless and warm.
“Apollo!”
Apollo groaned, pressing his arm over his eyes, really? He was barely five minutes late, he couldn’t get one lie in? After a very…athletic evening. He needed the rest. And then, perhaps. To go again.
A hand wrapped around Apollo’s arm and he yelped as he was dragged from the bed, one of his lovers giving a startled scream.
“Hey!” he snapped, scrambling to his feet, almost slipping on the sheets that pooled on the floor around his naked form. “You can’t just burst into my temple and –”
“Get dressed!” Hermes snapped, not letting go of his arm, fingers digging deep enough that, were they mortal, Apollo would have bruised. There was something wild-eyed and panicked in his younger brother’s expression. “You’re needed at Poseidon’s temple.”
Apollo’s eyes widened, sucking in a startled breath. His brother smelled like Ichor, and blood. “What happened?” he demanded, already dressed. With a wave of his hand his latest lovers disappeared from his bed and returned…probably to their homes. He was barely paying attention, hurrying after Hermes.
“I don’t know,” Hermes said, grabbing Apollo and dragging him along, the world rushing past as Olympus’ fastest god hurried them towards their uncle’s temple. “The told me to fetch you. It looks. It looks bad.”
“Got it,” Apollo said, as they burst through the doors. Their family were gathered in the main chamber, around the salt-water pool that Poseidon kept for his family’s comfort when they visited.
Poseidon was in mortal size and form, hair dark and wild and spilling down his back like the ink of one of his water-beasts. Cradled in his arms, in the water was an unconscious Perseus, mostly hidden by his father’s bulk, a seal tail drifting limply in the water and his head cradled in the crook of his father’s arm. Triton stood nearby, half-hidden in shadow and face twisted in guilt. Athena paced by the pool, father’s ruffled and wings half extended like an eagle crouched over prey.
“I leave him with you for one day and this is what happens! How could I ever have thought – how could you be so irresponsible. Perhaps I should bring Percy back to my own temple where I can keep him safe myself!”
An empty threat. No matter how upset Athena was none of them would deny a parent their child. Besides, Apollo knew that Athena had been meeting with Demeter and Hephaestus to improve her temple to better host her new child. Athena’s temple was a testament to progress, and rationality and architecture. But it was not warm. On the rare occasions that Athena sought comfort, she did so in the temples of her siblings, or parents. Her temple was for her great works.
“What happened?” Apollo asked, appearing in the water and instinctively shrinking to mortal size. The floor of the pool rose to meet his so that he could crouch beside Perseus, rather than attempt to tread water. The boy was limp and unresponsive, and there was gold and red crusted around his nostrils and ears. When Apollo held a hand over his mouth, his breathing was steady, and reaching for his wrist Apollo was relieved to find that his pulse was normal.
“We are not, really sure,” Poseidon said with a pained grimace. “I was dealing with…a pest. And then Triton appeared and said that the boy had tried to control my storm but it injured him.”
“Succeeded,” Triton said dully from the corner. “He succeeded in controlling Father’s storm. At least a little. We had been…playing,” Triton grimaced slightly as though ashamed to admit to it. Their cousin had always been particularly mature, perhaps a result of being kept under that waves so long in his more delicate years after his birth. “I was showing him how to use the tail I gave him. We had happened upon some human ships and decided to turn back when Father’s storm hit. He refused to return, insisting that the humans might drown,” Triton rolled his eyes slightly. “I was careless. He got away from me. Created a bubble of calm in the storm and escorted the sailors home. By the time I caught up he was bleeding on the sand.”
Apollo sent a wave of healing energy through his unconscious cousin. He found soreness, aching bruises along Percy’s sides and back, most likely from being tossed around in the storm. His eardrums and the vessels in his nose had burst, likely under some pressure, and it was the work of second to sooth that ache. Aside from that, and a bone deep exhaustion, Percy seemed unharmed. Unharmed from a feat that would leave most mortals dead or gibbering wrecks from attempting to go against the power of a god.
“He…should not have been able to do that,” Apollo said with a frown
“Yes, obviously,” Athena snapped, turning on him, wings puffing out behind her. “How badly is he hurt, can you –”
Apollo held up his hand, cutting her off, even if she did bristle at the move. “He’s not. Hurt, that is. He overexerted himself, yes. Did some superficial damage, I’m not keen on what he managed to do to his ears but it was an easy fix. Somehow, the kid managed to hold back the weight of Uncle’s storm without doing any permanent damage.”
With that, the tension seemed to roll out of the room like a spring storm – heavy, but over quickly.
“What does that mean for him?” Hermes asked, edging closer and attempting to peer around Uncle at the boy. The really had been keeping the kid way too cooped up. Apollo knew that Zeus was getting impatient to meet his grandchild properly. And Apollo could barely leave his temple without someone badgering him for details about the new soon-to-be god. “Dio was cute as a mortal but he couldn’t have done that.”
“It’s actually sped things up,” Apollo said. “Cut our estimated timeline in half. He is on the cusp of ascension.”
Poseidon hummed thoughtfully, shifting so that he could run a large hand gently through Percy’s soft hair. “If that’s the case then maybe we should –”
“No!” Apollo interrupted sharply. “I said that he hadn’t done any damage. Not that it wasn’t dangerous. Now more than ever, we need to be careful. If he ascends before he is ready it could kill him.”
Poseidon flinched, pulling Percy deeper into his arms, Athena disappearing and reappearing beside them, running her talons gently across Percy’s cheek.
“What do we do?”
Apollo sat back on his heels. “We keep doing what we’ve been doing. Lots of rest, careful amounts of nectar, constant exposure to our own divinities,” he paused tapping his finger against his lips and turning to Triton. “You said this happened because of the humans.”
Triton grimace, teeth growing sharper, “Yes. He grew distressed when he thought they might be harmed.”
Apollo hummed thoughtfully. “He was asking about that nymph as well. Seemed upset that she might be hurt.”
Triton growled lowly, the low rumble overshadowed by Poseidon’s far deeper growl.
“I know, I know,” Apollo waved them off. “Obviously she had to die. But Percy seems’ rather…soft-hearted,” he shot a mocking glance at Athena and Poseidon, “especially for a child of the two of you. Are you certain Aunt Hestia didn’t drop something into the fountain as well?”
Hermes barked out a laugh and Athena gave an outraged squawk, quieting quickly when Percy moaned and shifted in his father’s eyes. Apollo glanced over at him, but the boy was still in a deep, deep sleep and would not wake any time soon.
“Still, perhaps until Percy is properly ascended and we don’t need to worry so much for his safety, we should avoid exposing him to such distressing scenes, yes?”
Poseidon hummed, the deep trilling croon of a whale. A cloth appeared in his hand and he dipped it in the water, beginning to gently wipe the blood from Percy’s face. “Strange,” he mused. “That a child of sea and strategy should be so gentle.”
Apollo shrugged, “Maybe not that gentle, Uncle. He has to have named himself Destroyer for a reason.”
Poseidon, clearly was done with the conversation, attention now solely on his son now that he knew he was not in any danger. Taking the hint, Apollo grabbed a slowly edging closer Hermes by the back of his himation and pulling him from the temple.
After such a display, Apollo was certain he wouldn’t be seeing Perseus up and about for a long time. Even if he was needed to monitor the boy’s upcoming ascension Uncle and Athena certainly wouldn’t be letting the boy out of their sight.
So, Apollo was certainly surprised to receive a summons from his sister only five days after his previous visit.
When he arrived at the temple the barrier was one of his sister’s make, not their Uncle’s. It was a silvery grey, seemingly calm but with power crackling behind it, like one of their father’s clouds, looming overhead but not yet ready to unleash its storm.
Apollo knocked politely and waited for the barrier to fall away like cloth before he stepped inside, feeling it snap closed again behind him.
Athena was knelt straight-backed and graceful beside Percy, her son – who apparently had his legs back – had a cute frown on his face as Athena guided his hands through shaving careful slivers of wood off a larger block with a whittling knife.
There were a variety of half finished crafts around them, a lopsided jar drying on a potter’s wheel, a strange half-formed instrument with a wooden body and strings abandoned to the side, there was even a handheld wooden frame holding a tangled knot of weaving. It was fair to say that the child hadn’t inherited Athena’s skill for crafts.
Athena stood up, “Keep going, I’ll just be a moment, I need to speak to your uncle.”
Percy looked slightly panicked as she let go, staring sceptically at the carving in his hand before waving wildly at the mishappen crafts around them.
“You’ll be fine,” Athena said indulgently, “I’m sure this is the one.”
The vaguely green look on Percy’s face didn’t ease at her words, but Apollo barely had time to see it before Athena had grabbed him by the arm and dragged into a side room.
“Hey!” Apollo said, sidling away from her and making sure the sunshine fabric of his chiton hadn’t been messed up. He had made the fabric himself out of literal sunlight and was rather proud of it, even if it did wrinkle like nothing else. “Why must everyone be so grabby lately. You could just ask.”
“Sorry,” Athena said tersely, making Apollo’s eyebrows disappear into his hair. An apology, from his proud sister? She must really want something. He let a faint smirk touch his lips, ruffling his hair as he leant casually against the wall.
“And what, dear sister, can I do for you? I assume you have a favour to ask of me?”
Athena’s feathers ruffled, nails flicking into talons for a second before she clearly forced them back. “Yes,” she said reluctantly. “You are the only one Percy has spent much time with aside from Triton and obviously I have no desire to leave those two alone together after what happened last time and I would prefer he stays with someone he is at least passingly familiar with.”
Apollo felt his eyes slipping from their usual blue to stag-brown, prey-brown, in his surprise. “Alone? Sister…are you looking for a babysitter? And here I thought you and Uncle wouldn’t be leaving the child alone for another century after the most recent incident.”
“Percy seems recovered,” Athena said tightly. “And I would not do this if I had any other choice. Uncle has had to return to Atlantis. Apparently some former sea deity is causing issues about an insult Uncle levied against him last time Uncle was down there. Nothing that can’t be handled, but Poseidon’s presence is needed. I need to travel to Hypaepa.”
“So far?” Apollo asked. “And what could possibly have drawn your attention there?”
Athena grimaced. “There is a woman there who is a rather skilled weaver. She had been rather boastful lately. Claims that her skills are not a testament to me, but that she is the greater weaver of the two of us.”
Apollo sucked a slow breath in through his teeth. “And father hasn’t already stuck her down for the insult.”
“I am not a child,” Athena snapped. “I do not need father to punish mortals for me. But…with Percy. I have been reluctant to leave him. I have ignored her words as long as I could, but this has only made her more arrogant. As she continues to insult me without punishment, the people of her hometown too grow bolder. Their sacrifices have lessened. Their prayers hold less reverence. I can no longer leave such hubris unpunished. And I dare not bring Perseus with me. He would likely try to protect the girl from her just punishment.”
Apollo curled his lip. “Yes, I really don’t know where he managed to get that from.”
“Will you stay with him? I will not be gone long.”
“Of course,” Apollo felt a wide grin stretch across his face as he pressed off from the wall. “Anything for my older sister.”
Athena narrowed her eyes, pupils flashing silver for a moment. “Do not endanger my son, Apollo.”
“Cross my heart,” Apollo said, crisscrossing his finger over his chest. “Come on, you know I would never actually do anything to harm the kid. I used to babysit Dio, didn’t I? And nothing bad ever happened…” that Athena found out about. That would have been a surefire way for Father and Hera to find out and neither Apollo nor Hermes had had any intention of being grounded to Olympus for the next two centuries.
Athena nodded hesitantly. She glanced at the door for a moment, fingers curling and uncurling before resolutely folding into fists as she vanished with a faint flutter of wings.
Apollo immediately vanished as well, reappearing beside Percy, one arm wrapped around his chest and his chin propped against his shoulder.
“Hello, Cousin.”
Percy shrieked like a startled seagull, hand jerking and lopping off the wooden head of what was either a very skinny seal, or a particularly mishappen goose. The whittling knife was spun with dextrous fingers, to point in, as Percy instinctively dropped the knife over his shoulder. Moving fast as the sun, Apollo grabbed the boy’s wrist before he could plunge the short knife into Apollo’s eye.
“Interesting,” Apollo said, examining the knife. It wouldn’t have done any lasting damage, of course. Though it would certainly have hurt. And regrowing sensory organs was always such a pain. “You have fast reflexes.”
Percy’s skin turned pasty as he craned his neck to see who he had just tried to stab. For a moment he looked panicked, and then his sea-green eyes sparked with anger. He yanked his wrist free – Apollo letting go before he could hurt himself – and shoved him hard in the chest. Apollo was impressed to realise that he actually swayed backwards at the force of the shove – Percy really was developing faster than Apollo ever could have imagined. A boon. It would be a relief when he ascended and was no longer so fragile. Though, he was, perhaps, not so fragile as Poseidon and Athena feared.
“What the hell!” Percy yelled, slipping back into that strange gibberish of his. “Don’t do that! I could have hurt you.”
Apollo laughed. “You’re a few centuries too early for that, I fear.”
Percy’s glower grew deeper and his eyes flicked over Apollo’s shoulder to the room that Athena had pulled him into earlier.
If possible, Apollo’s grin grew even wider, head growing heavy as his antlers appeared, teeth growing sharper. “Just us, I’m afraid. My sister had to take care of something below.”
Perseus frowned. “Take care of what?”
“Just some chores that she’s been letting slide. You know, one disastrous feast and one short trip to Atlantis, and that’s it,” Apollo leaned closer. Excited. Predatory. And sent a quick message off to Hermes. “You’ve been cooped up in your father’s temple since you were born. Tell me, Perseus. Wouldn’t you like to get out of here?”
Xxx
Percy should have stayed in the temple.
When Apollo had asked him if he wanted to get out of there, he’d sort of been hopping for a ride on the sun chariot – maybe even getting to drive the thing. Sure, he doubted it would currently look like a sick Maserati but driving the thing and not almost taking out half the East Coast would be something to brag to Thalia about next time she and the Hunters visited camp.
Instead, Hermes had appeared and managed to bring the barrier down – according to him and Apollo – in a way that wouldn’t alert his Mother…wouldn’t alert Athena that it had fallen. Hermes had disappeared again, saying something ominous about getting the others and Apollo had dragged him through the streets of Olympus (making him keep his head down so no one could recognise him) to a garden that he had proudly declared was one of his stepmother’s.
Percy, who sure tended to accidentally run his mouth but certainly didn’t try to get cursed had objected but Apollo had just waved him off, claiming that his stepmother wouldn’t mind – yeah, not in Percy’s experience – and dragged him inside.
Inside, lounging around a grassy knoll on luxurious rugs and plush pillows were way more gods than Percy generally like to deal with at once. Hermes, Dionysus, Ares, Hephaestus. So hey, only two of them had ever voted to kill him, and only one had actively tried. Great times.
Apollo slung his arm around Percy’s shoulders, letting out a birdish trill that immediately caught everyone’s attention.
“Everyone,” he said smugly. “Perseus – Percy – our newest little cousin…Percy, these are my little brothers, Hermes, Ares, Hephaestus, and Dionysus. They’ve been dying to meet you.”
“Little,” Ares scoffed, with a shake of his head. He was almost twice the size of Apollo’s slim build with bulging muscles and thick scars littered across his skin. He, and Hephaestus, at least, looked somewhat like they did in the future, even if both of them were far younger, and sporting the inhuman traits that Percy had quickly learned were common to the gods of this time – world. Ares’ fiery eyes were accompanied by thick, rough looking skin and curved tusks. Hephaestus was covered in cracks like dry earth, glowing magma moving slowly beneath his skin, he smiled at Percy, most of his attention taken by some small metallic…thing in his hands. It looked sort of like a metal beetle.
“Good to finally meet you,” Ares said, appearing in front of Percy and clapping a heavy hand on his shoulder. Percy staggered and would have fallen if Apollo hadn’t kept a tight hold of him. “My Aphrodite –”
Hephaestus let out a pointed cough, twisting something on the beetle’s back.
“Our Aphrodite,” Ares rolled his eyes. “Is going to be furious we managed to snatch you away first. I can’t believe Apollo managed to wriggle you out of Poseidon’s temple. I thought it was going to be at least a decade before Uncle’s attention slipped. He’s protective at the best of times. You should have seen what he and father and Uncle Hades did to the Aloadae’s after –”
“I helped!” Hermes said, appearing in Percy’s face, crowded way too close beside Apollo who seemed content to watch the proceedings with a smug, cat-like satisfaction, still draped over Percy’s shoulders. “Hermes. Do you remember me? We met briefly earlier, and I was there at your birth. And one other time but you were unconscious,” he grabbed Percy’s hands and Percy tried to jerk back, only there was nowhere else for him to go. “It’s good to have another god around –”
Percy frowned, opening his mouth to object, but Hermes continued before he could.
“—me and Dio have been stuck being the youngest for ages. You know it’s good to have company. Who knew that Athena would be the first of all of us to have a child! She, who swore never to do so!”
“Hermes,” Apollo said softly. And Hermes let out a strained laugh.
“Sorry, sorry, let us not talk about such unpleasant things. Come, sit!” He dragged Percy down onto one of the blankets. Apollo quickly claiming a seat at Percy’s other side and sticking his tongue out at Ares when the other god grumbled about ‘hogging the newby’. “Did you really steal control of one of Uncle’s storms?”
“I no –” Percy shifted uncomfortably. “Not really.” He’d only calmed the sea a little bit. That was. That was normally. I mean, he’d done similar stuff, right? Like that earthquake on St Helens. Sure, he’d felt…different since. Sort of, sort of like there was something he was trying to remember, whispers just out of earshot in the back of his mind. But that was probably nothing. It would go away one he got home again.
“He did,” Apollo said, leaning around him and shooting a teasing glance at Dionysus who was sprawled across one blanket, arm over his face – though Percy had noticed his deep purple eyes paying sharp attention to their conversation – “Just think, Dio, if you hadn’t been such a lazy kid maybe you could have been doing something like that back when you were still mortal.”
“Why on earth would I have wanted to?” Dionysus drawled, panther tail sweeping lazily behind him and one ear twitching sharply.
There was laughter from the others.
“Dio hated anything like that when he was mortal,” Hermes said, leaning in eyes bright and ear-wings fluttering – a far cry from the defeated, mourning father he had been the last time Percy had seen him. It sent a stabbing, guilty pang through Percy’s gut. “Father tried and tried to get him to show an interest in, anything really, he wouldn’t call the storm, he had no interest in justice, he didn’t want to lead the dead. It really worried Father.”
“Those domains were boring,” Dionysus said, sitting up with a loose-limbed reluctance and slumping sideways as he yawned, revealing needle- sharp canines. He looked – well, the middle-aged, bloody-eyed, portly camp director from home was gone. This Dionysus was a young man, late teens or early twenties, with deep brown skin, his hair and eyes a deep purple like the sea at sunset. “Besides, if I had taken on the domains father wanted for me, I never would have invented my greatest creation. Speaking off –” he snapped his fingers. Half a dozen nymphs appeared out of nowhere, all carrying trays with fine golden goblets and glisten fruit and gently steaming pastries.
Between his nerves and Triton losing his shit Percy hadn’t really gotten a good look at the feast, but he didn’t think he recognised any of them from there. They were all beautiful, even for the typically pretty nymphs, and their dresses were all made in pale floaty pinks and purples, so gauzy they were almost see-through. Percy felt his cheeks burn, looking fixedly at the blanket as he grabbed one of the pastry things off the nearest tray. It was warm and sticky and when he bit into it was almost like a donut, fried dough and sweet honey, immediately coating his tongue.
Apollo let out a dangerous sounding rattle, shifting so that he was between Percy and the nearest girl, shooting them all narrow-eyed glare. The nymphs all immediately dropped their gaze, refusing to look anywhere near Percy.
“Be nice!” Percy scowled, poking him in the knee.
Apollo looked startled, before softening, “Okay, little cousin. I’ll ‘be nice’. For you.” He reached out, not even looking, just expecting what he wanted to be there, and grabbed two goblets off a tray and passing one to Percy who shoved the rest of the pastry into his mouth quickly so that he could grab it.
Apollo took a deep gulp of his drink, and visibly relaxed, his skin taking on a soft sunshiny glow, freckles blooming across his cheeks. “This really is some of your best work.”
Dionysus flushed proudly, sitting straighter, “Yes, Hephaestus has allowed me to use some land on Mount Etna to cultivate my latest crops. I find that the volcanic soul really brings a smokiness to the finished product – and the grapes grow wonderfully on the land.”
Percy, cup halfway to his mouth got a whiff of acrid alcohol, and grimaced as an image popped into his head of Gabe, red-faced, spittle flying from his mouth as he shouted, breath reeking of that same bitter smell, flying behind his eyes. Dionysus’ ear flicked, as Percy lowered the goblet.
“I have got to find someone who can invent soda early,” Percy muttered to himself, and then jerked back, wine splashing over himself as Hermes darted forward hummingbird-quick and got up in his face, one hand on Percy’s knee his eyes flicking between green and blue and brown.
“Your language!” Hermes cried. “I heard a little of it when you were born, but only a little. How strange, that you were born knowing a different one. It is so unlike any I recognise,” his mouth dropped open, teeth sharp and curved inwards, tongue thin and split as he breathed in deeply, almost huffing the air as if trying to catch a scent so thick he could taste it. “Say something else.”
“Er, no,” Percy blurted, the last thing he needed was the Ancient Greeks picking up English a thousand years early. Hermes leaned closer taking another deep breath and Percy panicked taking a big gulp of his drink and immediately coughing at the sour taste. Self-preservation made him clamp his mouth shut before he could spit a mouthful of wine onto the face of a god and instead it felt like his entire chest twisted as the cough caught in his throat and he managed to snort wine out of his nose – thankfully not on Hermes.
Percy leant to the side, coughing and spluttering against the burn in his nose and felt a warm hand pat him on the back, Apollo tutting softly beneath Ares booming laughter.
“Honestly, has Uncle really never given you wine before?”
“No,” Percy croaked.
“More importantly, did you just spit my personally brewed wine all over yourself!” Dionysus said, sitting up, his tail twitching behind himself, the wraith of vines nestled in his curls bloomed, the flowers sending out a pungent smell. “That took me twelve years!”
“I’ll stick with water, thanks,” Percy croaked out.
Apollo laughed, waving one of the nymphs over. “You really are a child,” he said, taking the cup and passing it to him. Percy took a grateful gulp, letting the cool water sooth the slight rawness in his throat.
Dionysus narrowed his eyes and sniffed, looking away. “Well, I was going to invite you to join me this eve at my ekstatikós but clearly you wouldn’t appreciate it.”
“You can’t invite a newborn to an orgy,” Hermes said scandalised.
“It’s not an orgy,” Dionysus said, curling hip lip back to show his perfectly white teeth. “It’s a festival of divine ecstasy and excess. He might enjoy a little wildness, there’s certainly something…uncontrolled in him,” Dionysus’ eyes caught on Percy’s and in their deep purple depths Percy felt a deep well bubbling up inside him. The urge to laugh and scream, and run mindlessly through the woods until his lungs burned like scorched sand, until the muscles in his legs felt like they were going to snap free of the bone, until the skin of his feet tore away and he ran anyway on the exposed flesh.
A hand covered his eyes.
“Play nice,” Apollo chided. “He’s still young. Once his domains settle he can go to whatever orgies he wants.”
“Not an orgy!”
“I’m not going to want to go to any!” Percy objected, batting Apollo’s hand away. “I have a –” girlfriend. He cut himself off. “I’m not going to have any domains anyway. I’m a demigod.”
“Well, yes, obviously not right now,” Hermes said flicking his fingers dismissively. “But once you –”
“Speaking of domains, I’ve been wondering,” Ares interrupted, leaning around Hermes. “Perseus. Interesting name. I get not wanting to be stuck with Bellerophon,” Ares’ tusks glistened with imaginary firelight as his grin widened. It had a lot of teeth. “But Destroyer. What made you pick that?”
“I –” Percy shifted. He didn’t think my mum named me after a non-existent son of Zeus would fly. And the gods of Truth and Lies were right there. He shrugged. “It’s my name. It’s the name I always had.”
“Interesting,” Ares drawled, the fire in his eyes flaring. “Want to put it to the test? Little Destroyer.”
Percy’s eyes narrowed, hands clenching into fists. There was a surge of anger, yes, he had felt that before with Ares. But this time it was accompanied by a flutter of excitement. It had been…It had been super weird, but it had also been sort of nice, his Dad and Mother giving him so much affection. But at the same time, Percy had been trapped in that temple for weeks. He hadn’t gone so long without someone trying to kill him since he was twelve. Part of him was raring for a fight, just for a chance to move. The feel the adrenaline coursing through his body and a sword in his grip.
“Bring it,” he said, glaring at Ares who’s grin only widened.
“Please remember that I need to bring Perseus back to our sister and uncle in one piece after this,” Apollo said, pinching the bridge of his nose and sighing deeply.
“That’s fine,” Percy said, rolling his neck, and feeling his body go loose-limbed in preparation for a fight. He raised his chin, meeting Ares’ fiery eyed stare. “Only matter if he gets a hit in, right?”
Ares barked out a laugh. “Oh, I do think I like you. This is going to be fun.”
“For one of us,” Percy agreed, getting to his feet, excitement thrumming through him. “How are we doing this?”
Ares titled his head, and a number of weapons – swords, tridents, spears, axes, wooden staffs, a couple of things that Percy didn’t recognise at all but that looked sharp – appeared in the garden around them. To his left, Percy spotted a wooden rack, filled with shorter double bladed xiphos. Similar to Riptide. He headed over, testing a couple before settling on a simple bronze blade that had a similar heft to Riptide. He twirled it in a circle, relishing the familiar feel of the sword in his hand.
Ares was right. This was going to be fun.
Xxx
If Apollo hadn’t been convinced that Percy had inherited some of his mother’s war domain before, this would have convinced him.
As soon as Ares summoned his personal armoury – not all of it, Apollo noticed, just the weapons he used to train – Percy had headed straight towards the swords. He had ignored his mother’s spears, and his father’s tridents, instead weighing each blade with a practiced air, before settling on one of the shorter swords, the blade moving easily in his hand.
Apollo let his gaze go hazy for a moment, watching the divinity and mortality circle each other beneath the boy’s skin. But it seemed stable. He would keep an eye on the divinity throughout the fight. If it started growing too fast again, he would put a stop to it.
“Ten Drachma on Ares,” Dionysus muttered to Hermes, a curl to his lips.
Hermes pouted, “Well, that’s not fair, we don’t even know if Percy –”
Apollo tuned them out, regretfully filtering the alcohol out of his own bloodstream. He had drunk a lot of Dionysus’ admittedly divine wine since they arrived and if anything happened to her child Athena would gut him.
“Wait,” Hephaestus said, getting slowly to his feet, a thick cane of twisted, burnt wood appearing in his hand as he made his way towards the two fighters. “Here,” he held out the metal beetle he had been working on, pressing something on its back, with a loud whirring the beetle shifted, expanding into a burnished copper shield the perfect size for Percy. In the centre of the shield had been carved an intricate fountain, an olive tree growing from its waters, tall and proud with a sharp-eyed owl hidden in its branches. “A gift. For my new nephew.”
Percy flushed a mottled red, ducking his head and mumbling out a thank you that was almost hidden beneath Hermes’ tea-kettle hiss.
“Cheat,” Hermes pouted at Hephaestus who just looked smug as he made his way back to his seat. “No one said we were doing gifts yet. Mine isn’t finished.”
Ares clapped his hands together, “Enough talk,” his figure rippled, shrinking down to match Percy’s height. His chiton rippled, replaced with his armour as a similar sword to Percy’s appeared in his hand. “We fight!”
And with that, he struck.
It was immediately clear that Percy knew what he was doing. Ares was careful to move with human speed, to strike with human strength, but even so he was the God of War. His movements were practiced, and skilled. Percy immediately brought his sword up, effortlessly knocking the strike away before bringing up his shield and blocking the next one before ducking back, Poseidon’s eyes, with his mother’s intelligence narrowing as they looked Ares up and down, searching for a weakness. He dived in, ducking under Ares’ next swing and going for the ribs, in a blow that – though it may not let a cut through the armour – would certainly knock the wind out of someone, and maybe even damage the ribs. Ares dodged with another laugh and the two exchanged another flurry of blows before breaking apart and beginning to circle each other.
Ares lunged, sword slicing forward and almost slashing Percy across the face if he hadn’t just managed to jump back in time.
“Hey!” Apollo said, jerking upright. “Careful.”
“Wouldn’t have hit him,” Ares grunted, “He’s good. Fast little bugger.”
“Maybe you’re just getting slow in your old age,” Percy shot back, jabbing forward and almost catching Ares in the ribs again before having to dart out of the way of his defensive swipe. “Can’t keep up, old man?”
Ares grinned with far too many teeth. He struck out and this time, when Percy blocked the blade, Ares reared back and kicked out, hitting the middle of Percy’s shield and send him flying backwards. Apollo jolted upright with a startled caw.
Percy groaned loudly, rolling to the side and pulling himself back to his feet, getting his shield up again in time to stop Ares’ sword for going for his head. When the two began to circle each other again, Percy was noticeably limping.
“Oh no,” Hermes let out a worried whine through his teeth, his many wings fluttering anxiously. “Athena is going to murder us all.”
Apollo narrowed his eyes, watching as Percy limped around, Ares’ growing bigger, smelling the blood in the water. “I wouldn’t be so sure.”
Ares lunged, Percy, stumbled backwards, shield coming up. Right before Ares’ sword struck the shield, Percy let go, dancing to the side onto his ‘injured’ leg and dropping to one knee beneath Ares’ swing. Percy twisted on the ground, sword lashing out like metal lightning as Percy spun around Ares, throwing himself up onto his feet behind the God of War. He raised his sword, and brought it down.
Ares ducked, scooping Percy’s own shield off the ground and twisting to block the blade aimed at his back. Percy stumbled backwards and before he could brace, Ares slammed the shield into his chest, bringing him to the floor. He sword stabbed into the ground beside Percy’s head, one knee pressed against the demigod’s chest, the shield pinned between them. Percy wheezed, scrabbling in his dirt for his sword that had been flung off to the side when he hit the ground. Drops of ichor hit the ground, a trickle of molten gold, dripping down from a long, jagged wound, opened in Ares’ thigh.
Ares had won the fight. But Percy had drawn first blood.
“Oh, just what we need,” Dionysus said, with a lazy roll of his eyes. “Another war god.”
Ares let out a booming laugh, getting off Percy and pulling him too his feet. “Good fight!” he said, clapping Percy on the shoulder and shaking him slightly. “Ignore Dio, he’s just sore. He won’t spar me anymore. Not after last time.”
“I have better things to do with my time,” Dionysus sniffed.
“Clever move with the fake injury,” Hermes said, appearing at Percy’s side. “I believed it,” he shoved Ares affectionately. “And this lug definitely fell for it.”
“Can’t beat the god of war in a fair fight,” Percy said with a shrug. “Next time we fight on the beach. I’ll kick your arse.”
“You can try.”
“I don’t suppose you’ll let me heal that,” Apollo asked Ares, pointing to the still bleeding wound on his leg. “Or is this another one of your –”
“Leave it,” Ares said, with a wave of his hand, he grinned at Percy. “A memento of our first fight.”
“Right,” Apollo rolled his eyes. Even if Ares wouldn’t let him heal the wound he still snapped his fingers and manifested bandages around the wound, making sure to pull them just a fraction too tight, and taking a dark satisfaction in Ares’ almost inaudible ‘oof’ at the pressure. “No need to go around bleeding everywhere then.”
“And you can explain how you got it to Aphrodite,” Hephaestus cut in dryly. “Give him the shield back, I didn’t make it for you.”
“Yeah, yeah,” Ares said with an eyeroll. He tapped something on the shield and it immediately shrank back into a beetle, flying out of Ares’ hand and attaching itself to his chiton like a broach. Percy touched it, a faint smile flicking across his face as he scooped up his sword and headed over to the rack, to put it back.
Ares threw himself back onto the cushions, calling loudly for more wine, and loudly needling Hephaestus for betting against him while Dionysus argued with Hermes that he should have a higher cut of the winnings because he had called Ares’ win first.
“Apollo!”
The strangled fear in Percy’s voice had Apollo lunging to his side before he had even fully registered the call, his powers flaring around him in a golden glow as he clutched Percy’s arms.
“What is it? What’s wrong?”
Percy was staring, wide eyed and pale at a small graze on his knee – it must have happened when he spun across the ground to injure Ares – it was barely bleeding, just oozing a faint, rust coloured liquid.
Apollo let out a relieved laugh, running his fingers through his hair. “Ah, you’re okay. Is this the first time you’ve seen yourself bleed?” Percy had been unconscious when he’d been brought back to Poseidon’s temple. He may have passed out before his ears burst. “That can be scary, but I can fix it.” He dropped to his knees, reaching out to sooth the injury and to his surprise the demigod twitched his leg away, shaking his head.
“Why -Why not red,” the boy asked, grimacing as he defaulted back to his broken Greek and clearing his throat. “Why – sorry. Why is that colour. My blood is red. It should be red.”
“Don’t worry about it,” Apollo said, “It’s perfectly natural. Just the Ichor mixing with your blood. It’s a good thing.”
Percy didn’t look like he thought it was a good thing, face going pinched and eyes going wider, “I – I’m a half-blood. A demigod. I don’t have ichor.”
“Well, not at first, you had hardly any,” Apollo said, shaking his head. Given that his only impediment had seemed to be the language barrier and how he clearly had more knowledge than his few weeks would have suggested they had assumed that he would have some of the instinctual knowledge that gods were born with, even if he had been unable to articulate that from the start. Given how confused Percy seemed perhaps they had been mistaken. “We fixed it.”
Percy had gone very, very pale. “Fixed – you’re turning me into a god?”
“Of course,” Apollo smoothed the offending injury away with a brush of his fingers – Percy didn’t pull away this time, didn’t react at all – and leant up to cup Percy’s face. “Percy, Perseus. My little cousin. My first, and only nephew. My Uncle’s second child, my sister’s first. You cannot truly have thought we would have let you die a mortal’s death? You belong among us. And we will never let you go.”
“You can’t –” Percy fell silent, a storm swirly in his eyes that he did not voice.
Apollo smiled gently. He would need to speak to his sister about filling the clear gaps in his cousin’s knowledge. The boy apparently thought that they would let him die, who knew what other strange ideas he had picked up? “Come,” he said, “You really should eat and drink something. Spend some time with your cousins before your mother and father return to snatch you away.”
Percy remained somewhat subdued for the rest of the meal. Apollo made sure to remain between him and any of the lurking servers, taking drinks and food off the trays for his little cousin, who seemed happy enough to take them from his hands. Though Apollo noticed that he ate slowly, and barely seemed to enjoy the decadent fare that Dionysus had arranged. Still, he reminded himself. It was probably the first time that Percy had seen himself bleed. That could be scary for a young god – and was probably even scarier for a mortal, who could die with the slightest wound! Not hat they would let anything like that happen to Percy of course.
Things were just wrapping up, and Apollo was getting ready to escort Percy back to uncle’s temple when he felt an impatient wind wrap around his wrist and tug slightly. The wind smelt of petrichor and crackled faintly with lightning and Apollo grimaced. He considered ignoring it, but as if Father had somehow picked up on the thought, Hermes’ caduceus buzzed.
“Ah, it seems Father wants you,” Hermes said, twisting his neck too far around to shoot an amused glance in his direction.
Ares cackled. “Golden boy’s in trouble.”
“Don’t be childish, it’s probably just because –”
“You keep blowing off sunrise to chase after nymphs and minor river gods?” Dionysus cut in innocently, his tail curling up behind him.
“I’ve only done that like…four times in the last century,” Apollo said dismissively, okay it was more like six, but no one was really keeping count. “The mortals barely noticed and the sacrificed were worth it. We all know mortals pray better when they’re scared.”
Percy shuddered violently and Apollo ran a soothing hand through his hair. Right, their new cousin was sensitive. No talk of scaring mortals around him. “Hermes, can you make sure Percy gets back home safe? I would do it myself but…” the wind around his wrist tugged more insistently. “I don’t think Father wants me to keep him waiting.”
“Of course,” Hermes said, shouldering in between them and pushing Apollo rudely to the side so that he could sling his arm over Percy’s shoulders. “He’s safe with me!”
Twitching his wings in an irreverent salute, and ignoring Percy’s startles ‘what?’ Hermes and Percy disappeared with an unnecessarily theatrical crack.
Xxx
It was a couple of hours before Apollo was able to leave his father’s side. Apparently, his father was getting somewhat miffed that he had not been allowed to spend any time with his grandson and wanted Apollo to persuade Athena and Poseidon to allow the child more time around his family. He apparently took comfort in the fact that at least if he wasn’t allowed access to his grandson, no one else was either. Apollo had kept very, very quiet about what precisely him and his siblings had been doing that afternoon.
By the time he was allowed to leave, the sun was beginning to set in the horizon, the sky not yet darkening, but certainly taking on the streaked pink and purples of sunset. The barrier was still down when he reached Poseidon’s temple and he muttered something uncomplimentary about Hermes under his breath as he made his way inside.
“Hermes?”
“Yeah!”
Apollo made his way to one of the side rooms, finding Hermes sprawled on one of the low sofas, his head tucked against his arm at he held his caduceus close and listened with sharp eyes and a poison-grin as his two snakes hissed lowly at him.
“Catching up on gossip?” Apollo asked wryly.
“Oh yeah,” Hermes said, sitting up,” You remember Dio’s friend, Silenus? Well, apparently he –"
Apollo raised an unimpressed eyebrow. “Not as interesting as the gossip I heard about how Uncle Poseidon fed us both to his sharks after he returned home and realised we’d snuck his child out of his temple…. you didn’t put the barrier back up.”
“Oh, Khaos,” Hermes’ bolted upright, eyes flashing white as with the faint rustling sound of cloth dragged against stone, a barrier impossible to tell apart from their sister’s wrapped around the temple. “That was close. Lucky you got back first.”
“Very lucky,” Apollo agreed dryly, eyes drifting around the room. “Where is our cousin, anyway?”
Hermes grimaced, jerking his thumb towards the door of a room that had rather hastily been attached to Uncle Poseidon’s temple at the arrival of a mortal child. “Bathroom. I cannot wait until he is a god. Mortals are disgusting.”
Apollo couldn’t help but agree. He sent of soft tendril of power towards the bathroom, nothing invasive, just to brush against his cousin’s presence and – what?
“Hermes,” Apollo said slowly, voice dipping lower in warning. “How long has Percy been in the bathroom.”
Hermes shrugged, “Since we got back, why?”
Apollo didn’t answer, lunging for the door. The bathroom that Poseidon had put together for his son was a beautiful thing – if one ignored what the block of marble in the corner with a hole in it was for. The walls were tile, mosaics of the ocean in all different weathers, calm and smooth as glass, boats balancing upon a gentle wave, grey and dark beneath summer storms, there was even a swirling whirlpool in one corner. For the window, Poseidon had filed shells down to translucent circles and embedded them in pine wood shutters – allowing some natural light into the room.
“Shit!” Hermes swore loudly behind him, losing grip on his humanoid shape and devolving into a mess of scales and feathers. Apollo felt his own form waver and forced himself to remain solid with an iron grip on his being, feeling a pained lurch in his stomach that had nothing to do with the slip.
Those windows were flung open, the room was empty, Percy was gone.
Notes:
The gods explicitly talking about how they are going to turn Percy into a god in his earshot:
Percy: can’t speak Greek, not paying attention, unconscious.
Percy: stubs his toe and sees gold blood.
Percy: Those conNIVING MOTHERFU—
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wonderfan7 on Chapter 1 Fri 08 Aug 2025 12:59AM UTC
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updatebug on Chapter 1 Fri 08 Aug 2025 11:57AM UTC
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