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Annabeth stands in front of the imposing temple, feeling smaller than she ever has before. She's seen the blueprints and the early architectural sketches, of course, but she didn't exactly have time to visit her mother's temple before coming to live there. It’s daunting, in a way she hadn’t expected.
“Well, Annabeth, are you going to come inside?” Athena asks.
She shakes her head to clear the awe from her head. “Coming, Mother!”
The inside of the temple is gorgeous, of course. Her mother designed it, and it was built by immortals. High, vaulted ceilings, walls coated with frescos of her mother’s various noble acts. There is one section, cordoned off by curtains that appears to be under construction.
“You have proven that you are more than worthy to dwell here, my daughter. You are resourceful, brilliant, and quite determined to get yourself in trouble. WIth my grandfather’s rising threat, I will be unable to reside in our old home as much. It has been preserved, but I find bringing you here to be the best solution.”
“Yes, Mother,” Annabeth says, careful to avoid sullying the place even with her breath.
Athena smiles, and it’s the gentlest smile she’s ever seen on her mother. “None of that, Annabeth. This is your home now, as much as it is mine. Further, while I may not have approved, you have completed your first quest, successfully, and it is not one that mortal heroes have had the honor to attempt before you. An extended solstice break could be in order.”
Annabeth blinks.
“What movie would you like to watch tonight? We have nothing else for the day, and Father gave me the day off tomorrow as well.”
Annabeth considers. If it is a test, it is a strange one. Her mother offers many tests, it’s what makes the heroes she trained so legendary. But it seems strange. She thinks quickly, running through her options. She settles on one that is a likely safe choice if it is a test, and one of her favorites anyway.
“Lord of the Rings?” she asks.
Athena pulls her close, and Annabeth feels owl feathers that aren’t present brush against her arms and back.
“If you are sure. As I recall, it is a frequent choice of yours.”
“The extended editions, please,” Annabeth says. If she can, she will do everything in her power to stretch this pleasantness out until it snaps.
It’s his mom’s first full holiday weekend in Atlantis, and Percy had been so excited. He wanted to show her all his favorite parts of the palace, all lit up and decorated for the occasion, while they both had breaks from each of their duties. He’d thought it would be weirder, especially from some of the muttered comments that Triton had made when he was really little and Triton didn’t think he could hear, but his mother likes her just as much as his dad does. Unfortunately for his plans, Percy also has an awful fever this weekend. He can barely sit up in bed, let alone go traipsing around the royal palace. Today, his older sister Rhode is monitoring him, to get their parents and the healers if he so much as coughs wrong. He spends most of the day in and out of sleep
“How are you feeling, Percy?” Rhode asks as soon as he wakes up, sometime around midday, if he had to guess.
“Awful,” he mutters.”I wanted to show my mom the festival lights, but instead I’m stuck in here!”
“I’m sorry, Percy, but it is for the best,” his sister says, taking his temperature with one hand.
“Rhode,” he whines. “I’m so bored! I can’t even do anything right now!”
“Well, you are a little less feverish. Your temperature is low enough that I suppose, if you’re good, we can get you a few minutes out and around with Sally.”But, before you get too excited, I’m coming with, and you’ve got a maximum of fifteen minutes.”
“C’mon Rhode,” Percy says, stretching her name out.
“You need to rest, Perseus. It is the only way you will overcome this mortal illness of yours.”
Percy tries his best pleading face, but his sister is unmoved.
“I am not our brother Triton, I will not be swayed so easily. I will be going with to monitor you, it will be no more than fifteen minutes, and if you seem to be getting worse, I will be bringing you back to your rooms, Percy. If you test me on this, I will simply keep you confined here until you are feeling better, or Mother and Father return.”
“Ughh, fine. Can you teleport me to Mom?”
“If you’re not feeling well enough to swim, then perhaps we shouldn’t be making you do such strenuous activity,” Rhode muses.
“I’m fine, I’m fine,” Percy insists.
“Well, then, she shouldn’t be far.” Rhode says. “I know she hates to be far from you right now.”
Percy follows his older sister out of his rooms, relying on the currents to carry him more than he perhaps usually would. True to his sister’s word, his mom is right there, napping on a chaise brought over from her bedroom.
“Mom!” he cries, swimming over to hug her tightly.
“Percy! Are you sure you should be up?” Sally asks, but she watches Rhode, not him.
“I believe he can manage a brief excursion, Lady Jackson,” Rhode says.
“Please, Lady Rhode, call me Sally.”
“Only if you call me Rhode, Sally. You are my parents’ lover. It would not be right to have you call me by a title.”
“Thank you la—thank you, Rhode.”
“Mooom,” Percy says, already bored. “C’mon, I wanna go before we miss the best stuff!”
His mom laughs. It’s a delightful sound. “Just one moment Percy. Eat this, before we go. To bolster your strength.”
His mom passes him a square of ambrosia. He bites into it, eagerly. Ambrosia and nectar are the best. They taste like his favorite foods but also like the best memories. It always tastes good, but today it tastes like the marshmallows and cookies from movie nights with his mom or the really good oysters from day trips with Triton and Amphitrite.
Normally, Thalia doesn’t mind running the occasional errand for her father. She’s still getting a grasp of her domains, and until she has her own control of that, she won’t be performing her own duties. Most of the time, this means she’s bored out of her mind. Especially given that she hasn’t heard from Kym since before the lightning bolt debacle, and Artemis hasn’t had any more open Hunts, she’s been getting a little bored.
Honestly, she had been almost at the point of collecting the souls of hikers lost in the mountains and taking them down to Hades, just for something new to do. This, however, is not a normal errand for Zeus. Aeolus is easily her least favorite of her father’s assistants, obsessed with both himself and his inane weather show. And of course, he is just a dick.
Why her father couldn’t be bothered to ask Hermes for this, or even rely on Iris is beyond her. This does not need to be a direct meeting. Sure, email is probably a little recent for him, but Thalia strongly doubts he couldn’t learn it if properly motivated.
As she waits, Thalia contemplates how much trouble she would be in if she just smites Aeolus now. Her stepmother might side with her, especially if Zeus is mad about it, but having to manage all of Aeolus’s responsibilities would just be a pain. If there’s anything she can’t blame him for, it’s how frazzled he must be. She knows she’s put in plenty of her own requests when occupied by other matters—or, just not feeling like getting up and solving the weather demand she has herself. She’s ordered in more than one front range cyclone to tear through the plains while hanging out with Kym off in the Gulf.
Finally, Aeolus finishes up with his current segment—what Hermes wants a rain of frogs for in Topeka of all places, she does not want to know—and the doors open, granting her access to the immortal. Aeolus’s studio is filled with attendants. Good. If she must make such a dramatic pronouncement, at the very least there will be audience enough to hear.
“Miss Grace, how lovely of you to grace yourself with my presence,” Aeolus says, and she barely resists the instinctive shudder.
“Call me Thalia, or Lady Thalia, if you must,” she replies.
“Yes, yes, we mustn’t upset the stepmother, no?” Aeolus mutters dismissively. “What brings you to my shining island today, Lady Thalia?”
“I bring a task from my father.” Thalia says
“And that task is?” Aeolus says with a wave of his hand that says get it over with already.
Thalia grits her teeth. She truly mustn’t smite any figures who may be helpful for the war effort. Before she speaks, she makes an effort to cast her voice further and better than is physically possible for a mortal, or even your standard nymph. “The former king is rising. Olympus calls upon you for aid. WIll you answer? Will you stand by those you gave you your title and power? Or will there be war?”
Throughout the studio, there has been a quiet murmur of gossip and coordinating nymphs. That murmur drops into sheer silence now, nearly a physical thing. She can watch as the nymphs and harpies serving Aeolus freeze—one particularly unlucky harpy forgets to flap her wings, and the first sound to break the silence is that harpy’s stunned form hitting the floor of the studio.
Aeolus, ever the showman, eyes her. He knows that he’s trapped, and he knows that she knows it. It is perhaps a cruel trick, to manifest within his domain and embarrass him so thoroughly, to place him in a position where he has but one choice, and that is to obey, but she can afford to make the reparations to his ego after Olympus defeats Kronos. She cannot allow any other outcome.
“I will serve, of course. As my king commands,” Aeolus says, but his smile does not reach his eyes. Inwardly, he is furious. She can understand his anger, but Thalia can’t bring herself to care.
Life in the Hermes cabin had been hectic ever since those baby gods returned from their quest. Well, Conner wasn’t sure how much they qualified as “baby” gods, since two of them were Travis’s age, and the other was about Luke’s age, but they were still younger than, say, the Olympians. But however old they were, the reveal that someone had cursed Luke’s shoes had set a fire that had yet to go out, even months later. Luke, his older brother, the one who patched up his scrapes and told him and Travis bedtime stories.
But, Connor knew Luke wasn’t exactly popular in the cabin, especially not with the other campers who’d been there since before he’d come to camp, or with the unclaimed. To them, Luke had held the favor of the gods in his hands and chose to spat on it. Personally, Connor felt Hecate’s children were his prime suspects. Alabaster Torrington was old enough and mean enough that Connor knew he could've done it.
Whoever had cursed the shoes must have been the lightning thief too. Hermes’s children were the prime suspect for that, however, and so the cabin had mostly divided itself into two camps. The assholes who thought Luke could’ve done it that were just jealous that Hermes had raised him, and the people like Connor and Travis, who knew to keep an eye on Hecate’s children. Most of Hermes’ actual children sided with them, but some who were bitter, or just friends with Alabaster in the first place for whatever reason didn’t. Similarly, most of the unclaimed and children of the minor gods supported Alabaster.
Even Chris, who everyone knew was a son of Hermes, even if their dad hadn’t had time to make the claim yet. Chris, who was very angry about a lot of things, and never got along with Luke. Chris, who everyone knew was a son of Hermes, had been on Olympus with the rest of the year-round campers, and was friends with Alabaster before everything went down.
Connor felt cold. This was wrong. All the suspicion, all the anger, it had him doubting one of his brothers! He—he needed to talk to Travis. Travis would know what to do. Or Luke, he could trust him.
The god standing in the doorway to her rooms is not who she expected. It’s time for her lessons with her father, Mr. Frederick, but her father is not here. He is mortal, not godly. She knew that the move to Olympus would entail changes, but she is not ready for this to be one of them.
“Mother?” she calls. “Where is Mr. Frederick? Who is this?”
Athena appears out of thin air. “Annabeth, this is your Uncle Hephaestus. Mr. Frederick won’t be teaching you anymore, neither will any of your other teachers. They are not permitted to visit Olympus. After Tantalus, we have all become much more discerning in who is allowed to visit the realm of the gods.”
“But—”
“Your tutors would have changed soon anyways, daughter. You were approaching the limit of what mortals could teach you. This was inevitable.”
“I know,” Annabeth sighs.
“I’ll be back in a few hours. Be good, daughter,” Athena says, and disappears to do whatever her job for the day is.
“Hello, niece,” Hephaestus says.
“You almost got us killed,” Annabeth snaps back.
“I know,” Hephaestus says. “It was not my intention for anyone other than Ares and Aphrodite to be caught. I—” Her uncle takes a breath. “I did not wish to harm anyone, only to humiliate and embarrass those two for their continued affair.”
“Okay,” Annabeth says, skeptical. She doesn’t quite trust him yet, but she knows her mother would never allow a teacher who wants to do her harm. “What did you have planned?”
Suddenly awkward, Hephaestus lays out a sheet of blueprints, ones detailing a large forge.
“Your mother said you enjoyed architecture, and, well. I figured you didn’t need to learn on your first day. Not yet.”
Today is finally the day he’s been looking forward to for what feels like months. Ever since that fever all of his parents have been extra cautious about anything involving physical activity. But he’s felt fine for days now, and they’ve run out of excuses to keep him from training with Triton.
So here he is, hopping excitedly from foot to foot, waiting in the training grounds for Triton to finally get down here, the slowpoke.
And it takes his brother several minutes, but Triton does eventually swim down from breakfast. As soon as he reaches the training area, his brother trades his characteristic twin tails for legs, and draws a sword from the rack on the wall.
“Ugh, a sword, really?” Percy complains. “I wanna learn to wield a trident!”
“And you will, little brother, but for now, you are to learn the sword.”
“But tridents are cooler!” he protests.
“You are still too short for them, Perseus,” Triton chides. “And you have a sword which will serve you well—formed from the will of one of the Sea as it is.”
That halts him in his tracks. Weapons forged purely by the will of an immortal are rare, the closest he’s gotten to even seeing one are symbols of power. Percy pulls out Riptide to gawk at it. Nobody had ever even told him it was so special.
“Can you tell me its story?” he asks, immediately distracted.
“I … I cannot do that, little eel,” Triton replies. “I know the story, but it is not a happy one, and it is not my secret to tell.”
He really wants to know more, to wheedle and dig to get to the real details of the story. But before he can, Triton raises his sword, and he knows it’s time to draw Riptide.
Triton starts him off slow, going through the basic motions. Eventually, when Percy demonstrates that he isn’t a total kelp-head, Triton steps it up, moving to more advanced drills, and faster motion.
By the end of the day, he’s sore pretty much everywhere, even despite the rejuvenation he receives from being underwater. He’s tired too, and Percy knows that if he were above the waves, he’d be breathless. Even as it is, he’s heaving for water.
Thalia is not certain what she’s doing here. She is Rhea’s granddaughter, yes, but she’s also Zeus’ bastard child. She hasn’t known much of a mother, either, for all that Hera has been trying with Jason. Nonetheless, Hera and Zeus had agreed (for once) to send her to her grandmother’s. And so she found herself standing outside a pottery studio out in upstate New York.
Before she can muster up the nerve to knock, or more likely, to teleport herself back to Olympus, the door opens.
“Thalia, dear, it’s good to see you!” Rhea says. “Come in, come in.”
Stunned, she follows her grandmother inside the pottery studio. It’s humbler than she expected, a clearly well used and loved artisanal space, covered in flecks of clay and half finished projects. Rhea leads her through the space and up into her apartment above it.
“So, what brings you to my home? My grandchildren don’t often visit. Not nearly as often as they should.”
Thalia opens her mouth to reply—perhaps something about it being hard to visit while being hunted by monsters—but she’s interrupted by an alarmingly large lion walking right up to her, and sniffing, like an inquisitive housecat. She’s not a mortal who has anything to fear from these creatures, she hasn’t been in a long time, but that doesn’t make it any less unnerving to be investigated by a creature that big.
Memories from when she was mortal dig themselves up, and Thalia extends her form in response, stretching to mildly uncomfortable size in the small apartment, and the lion takes a sudden jolt backwards, likely startled by the rapid change in her size.
“Oh, don’t blame her darling, she’s probably not used to anything as big as you getting so close to her, not relative to her current scale,” Rhea says, and it takes her a minute to realize her grandmother is talking to the lion and not to her.
“None of that now,” Rhea scolds. “I keep this apartment the size that it is for a reason. Your father’s games with size would be uncomfortable here.”
Mildly embarrassed, Thalia reduces her size back to her mortal form.
“That’s better,” Rhea says, appeased. “Now, how do you feel about sweets? It’s been a while since I’ve had an excuse to bake.”
Thalia shrugs. “I think my father and stepmother simply wanted me out from underfoot for the day, so I suppose I don’t mind.”
“Lovely. And we’ll make some for you to take home to your younger brother too. Oh I worry about him sometimes. Your father never was the most experienced with child-rearing, but that is my own fault, I suppose.”
“Uh, yes ma’am,” Thalia says.
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