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If you have read the lovely @tealvneu 's marvelous fic Stranded:
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works
SUMMARY (For those who have not read, but absolutely SHOULD):
Ody-sseus.
Odysseus.
Jason stared, just as the name clicked in his head.
…This guy was Ulysses?
After sacrificing himself to save Apollo, Meg, and Piper from Caligula, Jason is transported to Ancient Greece, in an alternate universe where demigods are extremely rare due to the sheer difficulty of a successful demigod pregnancy.
The exact location and time period he's been transported to? Smack in the middle of The Odyssey on Odysseus' ship, right before the crew lands on Helios' island. And when Zeus arrives to cast judgement, he comes face-to-face with a demigod, young and mortal and inexplicably, undeniably his.
Jason thinks that Zeus couldn't care less about him.
Unfortunately for him, he's about to be proven very, very wrong.
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Then I think, you'll like this little snippet I wrote. It's set about 3 days after Jason gets brought to Olympus, and I do plan on writing a fic about what happened during those 3 days leading up to this snippet.
I TOTALLY RECOMMEND YOU READ THIS!!!! GO READ IT!!!!!!!
(Permission was given by the author. If you'd like to also write fanfics based on Stranded, I'd recommend getting permission from Tealvnue first!!) Enjoy!!!
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Despite all the lightning bolts raining down from the skies and the curses many mortals had been condemned with, it was common knowledge that Zeus was a fair and just king. As the God of Justice and upholder of the laws of Xenia, he had no other choice, not that he wanted to be seen as a tyrant by his subjects.
But right now, it was taking every ounce of his willpower not to smite Boreas and Khione where they stood.
“It had taken but three days for whispers to spread across Olympus and beyond, about Zeus’s precious fledgling’s existence despite the King’s best attempts to keep that knowledge private from the rest of the pantheon.
His precious child, who was now gaping at Boreas after the God had made the passionate claim that he came to ask for his hand in marrying his daughter. His son’s cheeks were colored red, and he was giving Boreas a shaky smile as he stumbled over his words.
Zeus gritted his teeth. His son stood before him adorned in the simplicity of divine grace — a toga of white silk, woven fine as morning mist, falling just above the knee. One shoulder lay bare beneath the drape of a long cloak fastened upon the left with a clasp of gold. About his waist rested a girdle of shining metal, subtle yet commanding, drawing the eye to the lean strength of his form — the sculpted breadth of chest and the firm lines of his shoulders, shaped as if by the hands of Hephaestus himself.
Upon his feet were sandals of tanned leather, bound high along his calves, which gleamed with the hue of sun-warmed bronze. A wreath of gold crowned his fair hair, and slender rings adorned his fingers — tokens fit not for a mortal prince, but for the cherished son of Olympus.
All in all, the child shone with a radiance worthy of the dawn. In him mingled the hidden beauty of his nameless mother and the imperious grace of Zeus, his sire. His skin was fair as polished ivory, his hair soft as woven gold, falling in bright curls touched by sunlight. The line of his jaw and the shape of his mouth bore the harmony of mortal and divine - beauty wrought with purpose.
Even golden Aphrodite, she who delights in her own unmatched beauty, would have lowered her gaze and confessed that no god upon Olympus possessed such flawless form, nor features carved with greater care by Fate’s own hand. He was his father’s pride - his pure, untarnished fledgling, radiant as the lightning that heralds the storm.
Boreas had already begun, his voice rising like the northern gales he commanded, weaving argument upon argument for the union he desired. “Lord Zeus,” he began, “the joining of our lineages would bring strength unrivaled. Khione, my cherished daughter, is as radiant as the frost-kissed dawn. Together with your son, the halls of Olympus would shine brighter than ever, and the winds and storms would sing in harmony, a chorus worthy of the gods themselves.”
Khione, her voice trembling yet insistent, added, “Great Zeus, consider the beauty that would be born from our union! Our lineages entwined — the fairest of blood mingled with yours! My father and I beg not out of vanity, but for the glory of Olympus, that your son might be joined to me, and all the heavens rejoice.”
Zeus’s hand clenched into a fist, and the air in the hall trembled at the barely restrained power within him. The marble beneath their feet seemed to hum with divine authority. His voice, when it came, was colder than the fiercest north wind, cutting through their words like lightning through stormclouds.
“Boreas,” he thundered, “I have no desire to hear another syllable of this foolishness. Your daughter’s plea, and your boasts, fall upon deaf ears. Know that none — neither mortal nor god — shall lay claim to my child’s hand without my consent. See yourself, and your daughter, from my halls at once!”
“My Lord Zeus,” Boreas protested, undaunted, “the North itself bows before you! Our union is not a matter of mere desire, but of honor and divine accord. To deny such a match is to withhold Olympus from its destined glory. Surely even you, mighty King, see the wisdom in this course.”
Khione’s hands shook as she stepped closer, her voice catching with both fear and fervor. “I do not ask for mercy alone, Father of gods. I ask for what is right, what is fair! Your son — so radiant, so noble — could choose a path that strengthens Olympus. Would you deny him the chance to rule alongside one who would honor him in body, mind, and spirit?”
Zeus’s eyes blazed with unyielding fury, a storm of paternal protection searing through the hall. He raised his hand, and the aura of his divinity surged, thickening the air with weight, pressing upon them like the very heavens themselves. Jason flinched slightly at the invisible pressure, his bright blue eyes wide with anxiety.
“No!” Zeus’s voice rolled like thunder across the chamber. “I said leave! None shall presume to claim my child, neither for power nor for beauty, nor for any gain their hearts might imagine. Do not test my patience, Boreas, lest you wish to feel the wrath of Olympus untempered!”
Boreas’s face drained of color as the divine force pressed upon him. He bowed low, his breath quick, his pride humbled beneath Zeus’s unrelenting gaze. Khione tugged at his arm, whispering in protest, but he could only obey. With a final, fearful glance at Zeus’s son, the two minor deities departed, leaving the hall in solemn silence.
“Little fledgling,” Zeus knelt slightly, his voice soothing, as he traced the back of his index finger along his son’s smooth cheek. “You needn’t trouble your heart. Neither god nor mortal is meet to claim your hand in union, and I shall see that none presume themselves sufficient of worth.”
“Uh—Lord, I mean, Father… it’s okay. You didn’t have to freak out Boreas like that,” Jason said, rubbing the back of his neck, cheeks still pink from embarrassment.
Zeus’s eyebrows knitted as he frowned. Could his child not perceive the danger? This was but the first of many suitors who would soon come, drawn as moths to a flame.
Once Boreas, the gossiper that he was, had carried word of his son’s brilliance - the piercing azure of his eyes, framed by thick, noble brows; lashes long and dark as river reeds, brushed against by curls of sunlit wheat that crowned his brow; the sculpted planes of high cheekbones, cheeks flushed light pink with the tender rose of youth, lips full, soft and plump as ripened pomegranate, and a nose honed with the precision of the sculptor’s hand - once these tidings spread through Olympus, gods, goddesses, and nimble-footed nymphs alike would flock, offering prayers and pleading for the favor of his hand.
None would receive, of course, but gods were proud creatures. Even if Zeus himself said no, they would try to find a way to defile his innocent child. Something he could not let happen.
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