Krel had been working on wormhole tech for three days now, holed up inside his lab on the castle. Only coming out when one of the group dragged him out. Even then it was difficult for them to even get Krel out the door.
Krel was trying to make his wormholes open up anywhere, anytime. For quick escapes for when Claire was too tired for a portal. Or just for when they needed to pick something up from the supermarket. Either way. It was something they needed. And Krel would be damned if he couldn’t figure this out. Though if the others would stop interfering-
“Oh come on! I’m so close!” Krel complained as Claire stared at him down from where he was sitting on the couch. After she rudely shadow-portaled him out of the lab.
“You need to rest, Krel. ‘so close’-” she added in those rabbit ears “can wait till after you’ve had something to eat and sleep.”
Krel sighed “ay yi yi… what is it that you humans say... “ Krel snapped his fingers as it came to him “sleep is for the weak! And last time I checked, I am not weak! So no rest!”
“That logic made no sense Krel.” said Douxie as he passed by with a coffee in hand and Archie perched on his shoulders, then sitting down in a nearby chair. Watching their conversation with amusement written all over his face.
“Jim is making some food. So just sit and stay.” Said Claire before she walked off to presumably help Jim.
Krel sighed and looked over at Douxie who was still sitting there like a cheeky gloober. “Don’t even think about getting up and going back to the lab.”
Fine then. If Douxie wouldn’t let him leave, he’ll work on the wormhole tech inside his head!
Krel tried to run equations through his head, but there was nowhere to type it down, thanks to Claire and her portals… what if… he mixed the shadowmancy with it now…
Krel ran through the half-planned out plan through his head again. Several months ago he asked Claire how the shadowmancy worked, she said that it was based on emotion. So, if Krel built a neuro-transmittor that picked up on emotions along with thoughts. Added some shadowmagic maybe into an already opened wormhole. Then they may be able to open a wormhole whenever need be.
Krel nodded, it may actually work! He just had to get Claire in on the idea…
Speaking of, she walked into the room with Jim close behind, who seemed to be carrying a tray. Ay yi yi.
Krel rolled his eyes, “I do not need this. What I need is to get back to the lab, because something just came to me.”
“Which is?” asked Toby who walked into the room with Steve close behind.
“What if we added shadowmancy into the portal beforehand? Made neurotransmitters that picked up on thought and emotion, linking them to the portal!” said Krel excitedly, pacing back and forth and gesturing wildly.
“Ok… I didn’t understand a word you just said buddy” said Steve patting his shoulder.
Krel shook his head and sat down on the couch again. He just had to work out the minor details…
“Ok kid, you can figure the rest out later. Right now you eat, and then get some sleep.” said Douxie.
Krel sighed, “fine!”
---
The group of six walked down the hallway to Krel’s lab. It was two days after Krel made his hypothesis. And he was excited for all the possibilities, this could make things a lot easier for the entire team.
The group entered the lab, Krel went over to the table with the transmitters on them and handed them out to the crew. They looked like small little discs. Black with a deep electric blue center.
“We will have to wear these at all times. We can turn them off and on. I will not go into the details, because I want to test this out.” Krel said dismissively, though he was overflowing with excitement on the inside.
He stepped over to the controls, and began to activate the wormhole. “Ready Claire?” he asked.
“Totally!” she said, summoning shadows to her aid.
---
The Mandalorian wasn’t entirely sure who was in his ship. But they weren’t going to last long. Though one thing he isn’t sure about is how could they have gotten past The Mandalorian finding them? There aren't many places to hide, he made sure of that.
No matter, he’ll just kill them and get back to gaining this asset. Whoever they were.
The Mandalorian silently sets the ship on autopilot, and climbs down the ladder. From a quick glance there are six intruders. That spiked his senses, how the hell did six of them get in here undetected?
All of them were on the ground in a big mass of limbs. Which made no sense. The loud thump from that was only one. Not several it would need to take for a mess like that if they were inside the ship already.
The Mandalorian took out his gun from it’s holster. He needed to figure out how they got in his ship and managed to hide so well.
The group separated and stood up, all stupidly facing away. There seemed to be 5 humans and one other. The one in the purple asked “Where are we?” for some reason. Didn’t they already know that they were in his ship?
The Mandalorian decided it was time. He raised his gun and said “You have 10 seconds to explain why you are on my ship before I kill all of you.”
The lot of them yelped and jumped back... tt’s a bunch of kids. They're a bunch of teenagers! How the hell…
The Mandolorian figured that he probably wouldn’t kill them. But definitely kick them out. “1…”
The second tallest, black hair with blue streaks held out his hands in a somewhat peaceful gesture, “Look, we don’t know how we got here. But we were testing out some upgrades on our portal tech. And it backfired, and now we are here.” he had an accent of sorts and for some reason he had a cat perched on his shoulders... with spectacles of sorts.
“How do I know you are not lying?” asked the Mandalorian. It would explain why they were in a pile and how he never saw them in the first place. But, he didn’t want to trust that entirely.
“We're not!” said the one in the dark blue, he had two scars on his face, it must have been painful to get those.
“3…” The Mandalorian continued. Technically speaking, it should be 5, but that didn’t really need to be brought up.
“Look-” started the one in purple, “We don’t mean you any harm. We’d rather just go home! I just think that we are nowhere close to being there.” she looked over at the other who was definitely not human.
“Ay yi yi, I have no idea where we are! We could be on the other side of the universe! Dammit!” He also had an accent but it was different from blue streak’s.
The short one intervened “You know, we may be in a different universe even…?” His voice is high pitched, slightly nervous.
“What?” asked the kid with the scars on his face.
“Uh yeah... gut feeling Jim.. ya know?” said the tall blonde one, nervously looking between the Mandalorian and the kid with the scars on his face, presumably Jim.
“I don’t trust your guts Steve.” said the purple one, her arms crossed and eyebrow raised.
The one with the blue streaks and the other alien were both clearly thinking. Slightly nervous because The Mandalorian still had his gun pointed at the group, but still definitely thinking it through. “7...”
Blue Streaks suddenly stiffened like it came to him, “Note to self. Never mix Akaridion Tech and Shadowmancy, because we are now in a different universe!” he spread out his arms in a wide gesture looking at the others behind him.
“No-” started Jim, but was cut of my the short one
I really enjoyed writing this! Because of my silly little AU idea. I have written a oneshot that I may or may not add more onto. It will depend on my mood. This could also count as a prompt for others if somebody wanted to continue this idea on.
Basically, the point of time our favourite guardians popped into was during the inbetween point on ep 1 where Mando is going to the planet to get Grogu and from Nebaroo.
Tagging: @honeyxmonkey because I know you will like this. If I didn't tag anybody else that would have wanted to be tagged, sorry!
Summary: Nico summons Bianca to talk to her, and ends up spilling a lot more than he intended to.
Characters: Nico and Bianca di Angelo, Hades
Slightly angsty
(I apologize in advance if I get any Italian wrong, or put the words in the wrong place. I only used two words, but Google Translate was used for both of them.)
There also might be some italics missing, since I copy pasted from Google Docs, so apologies and if you think an italic is needed, reply to the post or smthn and I’ll add it.
Without further ado, here it is!
12-year-old Nico sat on his bed, head in his hands. The Labyrinth was gone, and the battle was over, gone and over like all the praise he received.
For once, Nico had been a part of the camp; he’d sat around the campfire, eaten and laughed, having fun.
But all it took was a week for the excitement to die down, and the other campers became wary of him.
He was only 12, for Gods’ sake! Why were they so scared? Sure, he was a son of Hades, but Percy was a son of Poseidon (and older than himself, Nico might add), yet they all gushed over him.
This annoyed Nico to no end, so eventually, he found his way to his father’s palace, back to his old room. The one Hades had offered him after he ran away from Camp Half-Blood.
The room was hardly touched. Nico had only spent a few days here before running off, trying to find a way to bring his sister back.
Of course he’d been convinced to let her rest at peace. But that didn’t mean he wasn’t going to talk to her.
“Bianca,” he greeted softly, reaching out to touch her before drawing his hand back, reminding himself he couldn’t.
“Nico,” Bianca smiled, brushing ghostly lips over his forehead. “Mio fratello.”
Nico closed his eyes and leaned into the touch, trying to imagine that Bianca was really here with him, in a physical body instead of a ghostly one.
Sighing, he sat back down on the bed. Bianca was here, able to talk to him at least. He couldn’t resurrect her, so speaking to her was the next best option.
His mind subconsciously piece things together and he had a horrible thought. Panic shot through him as he jumped up and tried to grab Bianca by her shoulders, hands falling right through her image.
Gritting his teeth, Nico crammed his hands into his pockets and instead fixed Bianca with the most serious gaze he could muster.
“Are you going to reincarnate?” Though they were hidden from sight, deep in his jean pockets, Nico’s hands were clenched tightly into fists, knuckles white. In his head, he said a prayer to the Gods who screwed up his life so badly, hoping with all his might that his sister would say no.
“Oh Nico,” Bianca began, looking at him regretfully, eyes filled with sadness.
That was all the answer he needed. Trying to control his panic and the tears threatening to form, Nico clenched his hands even tighter. Nails cut into skin, and the son of Hades could feel blood seeping out from underneath his fingers. Even worse than that was the fact that even Nico himself could feel the absolute fear radiating off him.
If Bianca reincarnated, then he would fully, truly, lose her. She was his only family, and Nico felt tears pricking his eyes at the thought of being completely alone.
“Don’t.” It was all he said, biting his lip to try and keep the tears from escaping.
Bianca stared at him in surprise, and Nico realized what he just said probably sounded like to his sister.
Reminding himself that no matter what he wanted, it was his sister’s (regretfully ended, now ghost) life, and he couldn’t guilt her into staying in Elysium forever, just so he could be happy.
“Don’t answer my question,” Nico whispered, voice cracking.
It was what he meant, when he said ‘Don’t’ but certainly not what he wanted. “Don’t tell me, Bianca. Not now, and not before you go.”
Breathing sharply, his nails were now digging even deeper into the wounds they had inflicted. The pain was the tipping point for the tears that had been gathering in his eyes, and he began to cry, biting his tongue in a fruitless attempt to hold them back.
Gasping as he unclenched his fists, Nico drew his hands out of his pockets. There were four cuts on his right palm, each around the size of a fingernail. Identical wounds were on his left hand, and Nico bit his lip, watching as blood slowly seeped out, crimson red against his pale skin.
“Nico!” Bianca frowned, biting her lip in concern as she reached out for his injuries before realizing she couldn’t help.
That gesture hurt even more than his palms, and Nico clenched his teeth to keep his silent tears at that volume.
Trying to still his desperately shaking hands, Nico pulled open the nightstand drawer. Inside were squares of ambrosia and bottles of nectar that Hades had put for him, and Nico silently thanked his father.
Pouring the golden liquid over his hands, Nico could feel cuts slowly closing, and the physical pain was soon gone with the injuries.
Emotional hurt was harder to fix, and usually couldn’t be resolved with Gods’ food. That didn’t mean Nico wouldn’t try though, so he lifted the bottle to his mouth and took careful sips of the golden liquid.
Pulling some ambrosia out as well, he slowly ate it, restricting himself so he didn’t accidentally burn up from consuming too much of the Gods’ food.
By the time Nico was done, the yellow square was gone, as was about half the bottle of nectar. Wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, he looked back at his sister, who had patiently waited while her brother silently sobbed while taking swigs of nectar and bites of ambrosia.
She was sitting on the bed next to him, handout of pure spite and anger, he cursed that Bianca was able to touch the bed but not him.
Using the (now) healed palm of his hand to brush away stray tears, Nico cleared his throat.
“Bianca, since um, you’re not, uh, not,” his voice cracked and he stumbled over his words, but Nico forged on. “Since you’re not going to be here much longer, I figured I might as well make the most out of this time.”
Before Bianca could say something to comfort him, Nico blurted it out. “I’m gay.”
A ghost of a smile appeared on his sister’s face, and she reached out as if to touch his face, cup it with her hands like she used to.
“It’s okay, mio fratello.” She moved closer to him, and Nico could swear he felt her breath by his ear. “I am too,” Bianca breathed.
Nico managed to somehow choke on nothing, beginning to gasp and wheeze as he clawed at his throat. Vigorously coughing, he stared at his sister in shock as he pounded his chest, trying to get air in.
Bianca nearly burst out in raucous laughter, but with a lot of struggling, she managed to keep it to a few quiet giggles.
When he was finally able to speak, Nico simply choked out, “You are?” before blushing so hard he looked like he was still choking.
“Yes, Nico, I am.” Binaca smiled, though looked slightly concerned at his reddening face and so pointed to the bottle of nectar on the drawer.
Nico took a sip of the drink, letting the cool liquid run down his tortured throat, which hurt like hell from his (concerningly long) coughing fit.
Bianca snarkily pointed to the closet while her brother drank, smirking. “Do you want to try this the proper way?” she asked, batting her eyelashes innocently.
Nico rolled his eyes but complied, chuckling as he slipped into the closet. He stayed there for a good minute before bursting out, wearing a colourful pride shirt with many accessories.
“I’m gay, Gods dammit!” he screeched, looking like a rainbow in the cemetery, with his messy black hair and pale skin.
Bianca burst out laughing at the thought, proudly watching her brother as ghostly tears (Ghosts can cry. Who knew?) threatened to trickle down her cheeks.
“I’m not going to ask where you got those things,” she smiled, pretending to brush an unruly curl from his forehead. The two of them ignored the fact that the hair stayed right where it was when her hand passed straight through it.
“Nico, go show Hades. Tell him.” Nico’s eyes widened and his mouth hung open like a fish’s. Bianca smiled again, her brother’s facial features hilarious. “Nico, I’m serious though. Come on, before your courage wanes.”
“Why should I tell him?” Nico asked, scoffing as he turned away. The two had been chatting for a few minutes about all the troubles of being gay when Bianca ruined the mood by demanding he tell their father.
“Nico.” His sister’s voice forced him to look at her, straight into translucent eyes. “I’m not your only family. When I’m gone, you still have Hades.” She chose not to add the part about how Camp Half-Blood could be his family too, if he let them get closer. One step at a time.
“Hades,” Nico snarled, putting as much venom as he could in the name, “killed our mother. Hades put us in this situation.”
He knew that neither of those were true, but said them anyway; truthfully, he was just scared, finding excuses so he wouldn’t have to tell his father.
“Nico,” Bianca sighed quietly. Eyebrows raising for a second as she began to fade, Bianca quickly understood what was happening.“You’ve summoned me for far too long already, I have to go.” Nico let out a strangled sound, restraining himself from reaching out to try and keep her here with him, because he knew it would be useless.
“It was lovely talking to you again, and I’m sure that Father will say the same when you tell him.” Nico’s lips thinned and he frowned, and Bianca knew that look well. “Please, for me, mio fratello?” She asked, voice barely audible as she faded away, back in Elysium.
Nico could never resist it when his sister spoke in Italian. It would only be used when she was expressing extreme admiration or happiness, which was why he absolutely melted when Bianca called him ‘mio fratello.’
That was also why he was tugging on a jacket to cover his pride shirt, buttons, pins, and bracelets as he went to find Hades.
Besides, what kind of brother would he be if he didn’t grant his sister’s last, true, dying wish? Nico felt like Bianca had been waiting for him to summon her one last time before choosing to be reborn. To let them have one more conversation before she was truly gone.
Pushing that thought away, Nico wandered the halls of Hades’ vast palace, looking in every room for the God himself.
“Father?” Nico finally picked the right room, opening the door to find Hades in a chair, reading a book.
“Yes?” He didn’t even bother to look up from whatever he was reading, and that slightly deflated Nico’s already waning confidence.
“I have something to tell you.” Anxiously shifting from foot to foot in the doorway, Nico awaited his father’s response.
Eyebrows raising by a fraction, Hades raised a hand, beckoning his son into the room. Nervously shuffling in, Nico stood a good meter away from the God of the Underworld, afraid.
Not that the distance would do much since, well, Hades was the God of the Underworld.
“Do continue,” his father drawled, idly flipping a page as he spoke.
“It’s kind of a serious confession,” Nico mumbled, almost visibly shaking from having to restrain himself from turning tail and running, as well as the feeling of absolute terror bubbling in his stomach.
Still not bothering to look up, Hades rolled two fingers, gesturing for him to continue.
“I’m...g-ga-” Nico stuttered, already feeling his face heat up. It took him a good minute to compose himself and finish his short sentence, during which Hades hardly blinked an eye at the awkwardness. “I’m gay,” he finally managed to choked out, voice barely above a whisper.
Immediately, Nico began to panic. His dad was the literal God of the Underworld, so even if he died, then he could still be sent to the Fields of Punishment. Afterall, who cared about the small Italian boy enough to argue with a God?
Bianca cares, he reminded himself. But she’s dead, you idiot! She’s a ghost, and going to be reborn soon. If you go to the Field of Punishment, what will she be able to do?
Panic overwhelmed him, and Nico was on the verge of hyperventilating. Until his father spoke and somehow calmed every nerve in his body.
“Okay.” That was it. One syllable to assure Nico that everything was alright. His breathing slowed, but he wasn’t so easily convinced that Hades was okay with him being gay.
“Father, I don’t think you heard me properly. Perhaps you were distracted with reading? I said I was gay.” Unzipping his jacket, Nico let it fall to the floor and made wild gestures at his clothes and accessories.
“Nico, I heard you fine. What’s your confession?” Hades’ eyes flicked up but he hardly seemed surprised at the rainbow wear, going back to read his book right after looking.
“I…” Nico stared in disbelief. Was Hades just dismissing his coming out as if it were a regular occurrence? Dismissing the fact that he was gay as though it hadn’t been something that Nico had fought tooth and nail to keep secret?
“Nico?” The God prompted, flipping another page.
“That’s it. That was the confession,” Nico whispered. “I’m gay. That’s the confession.” For the first time in their (admittedly short) conversation, Hades properly looked up from his book, frowning at Nico.
“That’s your confession?”
The boy silently nodded, looking at his feet. “Well, I...I thought you’d be mad or something.”
“Mad at the fact you’re gay.” Hades (somehow) looked Nico in the eyes (even though he was staring at the floor as though it were the most interesting thing in the world) for confirmation, and he nodded again.
Sighing, Hades closed his book and stood, gently placing a hand on his son’s shoulder. “It’s okay. I’m not and won’t be mad.”
“Really?” NIco gasped, looking up at him with shining eyes.
“Of course,” Hades scoffed. “There’s no way you can be more gay than Apollo, and he’s been my nephew for thousands of years.” He paused for a second before summoning a chair. “That reminds me. You are long overdue for a Greek Mythology review if you think that I, a Greek God, would have a problem with a gay son.”
there were ashes drifting in the sky, and the world was cloudy gray and blood red. the defiant shouts of soon-to-be-dead legionnaires filled the air, almost ironic in their futility.
jacob turned toward her from his position on the crest of the hill, a grim smile on his face. “report, terrel?”
terrel squinted through the smoke at the standards of the enemy—gold and purple standards, roman standards fighting a roman legion—and saw them overrun the position of the second cohort. not ten demigods remained standing.
the third cohort resumed testudo formation, hopelessly cutting their way through another wave of earthborn. the fourth broke ranks and ran towards new rome, and monsters streamed through the gap in the lines.
terrel turned back to jacob, and the look on her face told him all he needed to know. “that’s alright,” he said, lifting his chin. “problem by problem, am I right?”
“yes, sir,” she managed. “problem by problem.”
jacob pointed the heavily smoking standard towards a troop (flock?) of airborn pandai. as he turned, terrel caught a glimpse of his eyes through the smoke. red-rimmed, she noticed, and filled with weary determination. “twelfth legion—” he began.
he never got to finish the sentence.
terrel froze in shock as he seemed to topple in slow motion, fumbling the standard with numb hands. dead hands.
where? her mind screamed. why?
dimly, she registered that three myrmekes stood directly below their position, poised to fire upwards, their terrible mandibles reflecting what little light there was. the boy to her left (on probatio, second cohort. she had never learned his name) fell, his breastplate a corroded mess.
slowly, the monstrous ants turned on her. but slowly, on her other side, the eagle standard canted to the right as jacob’s grip finally went slack, and his head slumped against his chest with an awful finality.
there is one lesson every legionnaire learns on their first, second, third day of training. definitely within the first week. and that lesson is: protect the legion’s standard before all else. do not let it fall. do not let it touch the ground.
even at the cost of your own life.
terrel caught the eagle just before its golden wings made contact with the earth, ignoring the flying acid from the ants and the burning smoke in the air. the standard trembled as it made contact with her hands, trembled with the raw power of jupiter’s lightning.
she smelled ozone and felt her hair stand on end as it released a burst of electricity, frying the myrmekes to dust. terrel looked at it with new eyes, with an awe that approached reverence. this was godly might she held. this was the heart of her legion. the heart of rome.
protect the standard, even at the cost of your life.
her hands shook as she held the eagle aloft for the first time.
Meg propped her red high-tops up on the wooden table, engorging herself in a greasy chicken wing. I myself reclined on the sofa next to her, chewing on the best tasting fish I’d come across in a long time. The aurae brought whatever food the demigod, legacy or ex-god would like best. In my case, it was a typical ancient greek dinner - grilled fish with a small side dish of olives and olive oil. It reminded me of the old days, the heavenly smell wafting from my mother’s kitchen (minus the olives of course, as they had not yet been invented) while young Artemis and I played with nymphs, climbed trees and held archery competitions. Granted, my mother usually added a garnish of ground ambrosia, but that was slightly too impossible for me in my current state. Still, the thought brought tears to my eyes. I missed my sister and mother, more than words could describe. I managed to blink back the moisture welling up, but I was still glad we dined alone.
Our table looked pathetically desolate compared to the tables around us, which held fifteen demigods each. No one really wanted to talk to those who had pulled their respected leader into a quest which had gotten him killed. So, with our backs to the crowd, we ate in thoughtful silence (at least on my part) until Meg stirred me from my nostalgic reverie.
“You think Ella will finish the book thing in time?” Meg asked, pulling a chicken bone from her mouth and flicking it across the table.
“The Sibylline Books.” I corrected.
“Same difference.”
“That’s my line.”
“Will they be ready or not?”
I sighed with exasperation at the impatience of my master.
“I do not know.”
Meg rolled her eyes.
“You never know anything.”
“Hey! I know as much as my father has left intact in my memories, and that is not my fault.”
Meg ignored my defence, and leaned over to my plate to prod my fish in the eye.
“That’s gross,” she said, screwing up her face.
“Yes,” I agreed. “It is in fact disgusting to poke someone else’s food when they know you haven’t washed your hands.”
“Not that, dummy.” She pointed at my forkful of fish, which was halfway to my mouth. “That.”
I rolled my eyes and took another bite. “What’s wrong with it?”
“It’s hardly cooked.”
“It’s grilled.”
Meg stuffed her face with another few bites. Her mouth was so full I was surprised she could still breathe. “Aren’t you supposed to put batter on it or something?” She asked, spraying my face with spit and bits of chicken. I grudgingly wiped it off.
“Is there anything you Americans don’t deep fry?”
In response, Meg lifted her feet off the low table, swivelled around and dropped them heavily onto my legs. She was now lying the length of the sofa while half-draped over me, pinning me to the soft cushioning. “Ow.”
She snorted at my discomfort, then continued to inhale her meat.
My mind wandered around the possibilities of ever seeing my family again. My uncle Poseidon, who had always been my favourite uncle (although my only other uncles are either titans or Hades, so I guess that doesn’t come across as much of a compliment, but it is). My good friends, Hermes and Dionysus, who were always up for a good prank on Ares or ready with a bottle of wine after an awful day (but remember, alcohol is bad, kids. We only drink it because we are each over 3000 years old. Do not attempt until you are the same age, no matter what Dionysus tells you). My sister, the sharp huntress whom I would defend to the death. My mother. Sacred Sibyl, I missed my mother. I missed her warm hugs, her sweet honeysuckle scent, her soft, caring voice. I couldn’t stand the thought of never feeling her comforting presence again. I had to get home.
…
I woke, drenched in cold sweat and gasping for breath. ‘Blasted nightmares,’ I thought, desperately trying to rip the sheets off myself with shaking hands. My legs were still partially entangled when I attempted to stand, resulting in me thumping loudly to the floor. I grasped around in the dark for the small bedside table to help me stand. When I found the edge, I began to pull myself up, but the table tipped, sending me back to the hard floor and spilling its contents onto my head. The digital clock that clattered beside me read 01:38. I growled at it and stood, despite my quaking limbs. My nightmares had wildly unsettled me in ways I wouldn’t tolerate. ‘You’ll never hang onto those memories’, they taunted. ‘Give it a week and you won’t even remember their names’.
“Shut up, shut up!” I hissed to myself. I began wondering, stumbling towards to bookshelf at the end of the long room. ‘What kind of brother forgets a sibling?’ “Stop.” ‘What kind of son?’ “Stop it!”
I began to yank old, dusty, leather bound books from the shelf, looking for anything with my name on the front. I needed to remember me. Anything. Anything at all. Finally, a large black book with the emboldened golden letters ‘APOLLŌ’ printed on the spine caught my attention. It was a few inches thick and the cover was almost as wide as my chest. Eyes widening, I harshly ripped the book out from its place, the sudden weight bearing down on my weak arms almost causing me to drop it. I did not wish to make any more noise than I already had. I wrapped it in my gangly human arms and lugged it out the door.
I cannot say I knew where I was headed. I simply needed to get somewhere, to feel the crisp night wind sting my skin into feeling anything but numbness. I found myself marching up a hill. The extra muscle exertion distracted me from my troubles, so I kept climbing. A good way up the hill, I started to feel the pull of the familiar. Temple Hill. I scanned the assorted statues and . There was no particular order, other than ‘most important at the top’. Further on, a massive red crypt loomed, decorated with flames and human skulls. The name Mars Ultor came to me, but I overlooked it. My mind was so busy with rushing thoughts and doubts that I feared any more information might make my brain explode.
My fingers fidgeted with the tears and rough leather texture of the book in my grasp. I felt as if a band composed of nothing but timpani were performing a drumroll in my mind, getting more and more intense with each passing second. Unable to stand still for much longer, I bolted to my right, keeping my head down and following whatever path was under my feet.
Maybe the last scraps of my godly essence guided me to the place it felt most at home. My mind was caught in such a flurry of panic that I barely noticed I was climbing marble steps until the steely cold shocked my unprotected soles. I was in an circular, open room held up by bronze pillars that were rimmed with gold. A golden dome sat over my head, and an array of my favourite items littered the right side of the room - a golden bow, a quiver stocked with arrows, an elegant grand piano. In the middle of the temple, an altar sat, waiting for sacrifices. I padded to the back of the room, my bare feet echoing on the smooth marble. Sliding my back down a pillar, I sat and heaved the book open. I was too flustered to have possibly read a word, but the pictures soothed me. There were a few century-old ink sketches of the 'Apollo Belvedere’ in Rome, next to a modern Polaroid marked ‘Latona and Her Children, Apollo and Diana, carved 1874’ I smiled at the tranquil scene. Mother rarely appeared as such now, certainly not after the invention of many modern braid styles (she got me to teach her how to use Instagram so she can ‘see the videos all those pretty young ladies post’ and learn new hairstyles. She’s admittedly very talented. We tied on our self-held Let’s See Who Can Braid Their Hair The Fastest completion). A tear dripped onto the picture. I turned the page.
This one showed the ‘Diana as Huntress’ statue in Berlin. Artie always huffed about her statues, said they were ‘Too dramatic’. She questioned why she, a seasoned hunter, would ever stand around and wait around for the wind to blow the right direction just so she could look cool to the monsters charging at her and her girls. She can say what she likes, but I know that she prefers it when sculptors include her dogs. Just a thought for any artists out there, looking to gain Diana’s favour *wink*. I grinned at the thought of her thirteen year old form pouting up at me. The memory was fuzzy, but still clearer than usual. I turned the page again.
Again and again I flicked through photos of my relatives, skimming over the paragraphs just enough that it reminded me of their names and their relationships with me. Hermes/Mercury was my impish best friend, who I’d vowed to love for eternity. Hera/Juno was my stepmother who caused my mother and siblings nothing but pain, but somehow we respected each other enough to eat cabbage together and compliment each other’s hair. Dionysus/Bacchus was the ultimate party-man, often inviting me to play for his revelries.
I turned the page once more. This time, I was met with an image that spanned the length of the two pages. At the top of the page, black threatening letters spelled out ‘JUPITER, FATHER OF APOLLO’ and in smaller writing ‘St Petersburg, Hermitage Museum’. Even from glancing into those blank, marble eyes, my anger spiked. ‘There he is’, I thought, ‘sitting all smug on his little stupid throne-’ I admit, my thoughts turned to bitter toddler-like insults. But looking at the god responsible for my misery made me want to throw the book across the temple and storm away. So I did just that. The book smacked into the alter (which tipped) and thumped open onto the floor cover side up, the crusty pages wrinkling under the force. I left the hook where the golden bow had hung empty as I went.
…
Twang!
The arrow just inside the red circle of the target, and I mentally awarded myself seven points. Not that it mattered. Judging by the moon’s position in the inky sky, it was now 3am - I had been at Camp Jupiter’s open-air archery range for almost two hours. No one else had been here when I arrived, and I was glad it had stayed that way. I needed time alone. To stew. I had first come out with the intention to ‘practice’ (still an alien concept to ex-flawless archers such as myself), but now, this long into the session, I was only blowing off steam. Channeling my frustration into every loose of an arrow, imagining the target as everyone who had wronged me over the course of this forsaken punishment. My knuckles tightened. My eyes narrowed. My shoulders tensed.
Twang! An arrow buried itself deep in the flesh of Commodus’ shoulder.
Twang! A wooden shaft protruded from Caligula’s throat.
Twang! Blood seeped through the mauve suit surrounding Nero’s manipulating, insensitive heart.
Twang! Zeus howled in pain at the arrow embedded in his sternum.
Twang! Python writhed in agony, agony he deserved-
“Apollo!”
I yelped and my shot went wildly off course, flying high with no power or distance, and landing in the grass in front of the target with a thud. Whipping around, I was about to tell whoever it was to GO AWAY when I was met with an equally startled young man, dressed in pyjama bottoms and the signature purple Camp Jupiter t-shirt, with the gold letters SPQR emblazoned boldly on the front. He quickly raised his hands in a placid manner, showing that he meant no harm. Nevertheless, I remained on guard. There had been a few who had not exactly welcomed the bearers of Jason’s coffin warmly, and this had been a close friend of the son of Jupiter. I feared I could not take this particular demigod in a fight. Even though he looked to be not much older than myself, he towered above me - perhaps a few inches beyond six foot tall, which made my lanky 5”6 feel minuscule. He had handsome asian features and soft brown eyes that I wagered could shift from kindness to anger in moments. He wore jet black hair in a military cut, making him seem like the world’s youngest army general.
“Frank Zhang.” I nodded to him once before turning back to my anger outlet. I was in no mood to talk. Not after loosing any way to contact my family. Not after loosing my memories to oblivion. Not after loosing Jason. Not when I knew he could react violently, as some already had. And if his heritage and blessing from Mars went against my mortal pathetic self, I doubted I would last more than ten seconds. Thankfully, he did not look like he came to pick a fight. He came forward and stood beside me silently, watching as I drew back the bowstring. I felt his eyes bore into me, assessing my posture, my strength, my balance. It was off-putting. That, dear readers, is why my arrow went rogue. It wasn’t my fault. It thunked into the wooden leg that held up the target. I felt my cheeks redden. I glared at the stupid arrow, willing it to pick itself up and hover over to the bullseye. Unsurprisingly, this did not happen. It stubbornly stayed where it was, planted in the wood.
I really hated having an audience for my failures, especially if the audience was a child who had once hoped and prayed for me, the Great Golden Archer, to be his father. I doubted Frank felt such a longing anymore. I glanced at him from the corner of my eye. He was smiling sympathetically at me, having witnessed my disgraceful excuse for a shot for the first time. I decided that Gaia coming back and swallowing me whole at that exact moment would not have been protested against.
“Here,” Frank said calmly, reaching towards me and adjusting my grip on the bowstring. “You’re gripping the string too far up your fingers. You don’t want to make a fist around it.” He peered down at my feet. “And you’re too tense. Relax your stance a little.” I obliged, already seeing my stupid mistakes. My cheeks seemed to heat up even more, and I found myself resisting the urge to bury my acne-ridden face in my hoodie. Frank seemed to notice, and backed off, instead ambling over to a small supply shed where he scooped up a bow and a fistful of arrows. I kept myself occupied from the daunting future that would have Frank humiliating me by nocking another arrow. This time, I tried to take on board what advice I’d been given.
I angled my left foot closer to the direction of the target, so I took on a more open stance, then checked my fingering was correct. Taking a deep breath, I used my back muscles to push my shoulder blades together as to take the strain off my arm and shoulder muscles - an unforgotten golden rule of archery. I drew back the bowstring until I reached my anchor point (the index finger touching the corner of my mouth), and fired. Twang! Not a bullseye, but well within the first yellow circle. I grinned in delight. Success was a rare feeling nowadays.
“Good job.” He congratulated quietly, grinning and turning to his own target. We both drew our bows.
After about ten more shots, and four bullseyes on my part (how many frank got is not relevant, moving on), Frank suggested we go back inside.
“It’s early,” he said, rubbing his eyes and letting out a yawn. He started walking down towards the fifth cohort’s barracks, so I followed. “We should get back. Jason’s funeral is later, and you’ve barely been to sleep.”
“How did you know?”
Frank scratched the back of his neck and smiled awkwardly.
“Well, you made a bit of a racket when you were leaving the barracks. What with the whole…falling and throwing books and stuff…”
Yup. The ground was more than welcome to swallow me now. I stuffed my hands in my pockets as I felt my acne-riddled face turn tomato coloured for the umpteenth time that morning, and glared at the grass.
“Apologies.” I muttered. “I panicked.”
“Yeah, you seemed upset so I told the others to leave you alone. I thought maybe you wanted some peace and quiet. But you were gone for ages, so I came to find you.”
I shot him a questioning look. ‘Why?’ He read my mind.
“It’s my job as Praetor to make sure everyone’s safe,” he explained, his chest puffing out slightly at the little self-reminder of his recently increased status. “And, it sucks. To loose people, I mean.”
I looked up at the Roman. His eyes were shimmering with tears, but he looked me in the eye anyway. He wasn’t afraid to show emotion, which was a rare trait, especially in the legion, but one I had always admired.
“I only knew him for a few hours. Why do I feel so awful?”
“Because Jason was a great demigod. The greatest. He made an impact on everyone he talked to.” -Frank gestured around the camp- “He really made an impact here. Especially with the loser fifth cohort.”
“He-he told me to fulfil his promise. To build temples for every god in the pantheon.”
“Yeah. He could be like that. Noble, even at the worst of times. But that’s not the reason you’ve been drilling holes into the archery equipment for an a few hours straight.”
I answered with all the intelligence of someone who hadn’t slept since 1am.
“Huh?”
“I didn’t think to check here first,” he said. “I went up to your temple.”
I got flashbacks to my toddler-esque temper tantrum.
“Ooh. Yeah…”
“Yeah.” He responded in a tone that said ‘been there, done that, got the t-shirt’. “Families are messy.”
“I miss them.”
“That’s normal. Bitterness is normal. You aren’t being overdramatic.”
I smiled at the confirmation.
“Thanks. It means a lot.”
We were back at the barracks. Frank smiled at me one last time and patted me on the back, before lumbering in. I followed.
I slept soundly the rest of the night.
…
I walked, lead-legged, up Temple Hill. The whole camp was eerily quiet. Jason’s body had been given proper honours, and the legion had been given the day off from duties. I couldn’t stand the prying eyes of 200 kids for much longer, so, even while I had only gotten four hours of sleep and was weighed down with grief, I travelled to the only place in the camp that was truly ‘mine’.
Tired and weary, I plopped down on the seat of the sleek, white grand piano. I ran my fingers across the smooth fallboard for a solid minute of distracted silence, before lifting it to reveal the ivory keys. They were chipped and yellowed and seemingly out of place compared to the stark white of the piano itself, were inevitably out of tune. I played a short scale, opened up the lid and tightened the loose turning pins I had hit, then continued with my scales. I repeated until I was positive that every key was in perfect harmony, which took all of ten minutes.
Satisfied with the tuning, I took a deep breath and splayed my fingers out on the keyboard, and played a tune that inspired grace and felt to me like a ballerina daintily dancing on water. After a second, the fingering flowed into my memory, allowing my hands to glide elegantly across the piano while I stared over the rim and through the gaps between the temple’s pillars, and into the distance. The sky was clear and perfect blue, and the warm breeze swept gently through my hair. I remembered sitting with my mother on Delos, our shoulders touching as together, we played two parts of the same harmony. Like two streams running down a mountain, weaving around each other and sometimes intersecting to make one stronger melody. My heartbeat calmed from the stress of what was now everyday life to me. Peril, danger and death.
A jarring dissonance of notes jolted me back to unwelcome reality. I rolled my eyes glared at the pudgy young demigod beside me.
“You know, there are ways to make your presence known without scaring flocks of birds away.”
“Yeah I know,” Meg replied shrugging. “But it’s not as fun as watching you jump ten feet in the air.”
“I wasn’t scared! I knew you were beside me!”
“Uh huh,” she grunted, turning her attention to the keys and banging a few more notes without mercy.
“I just tuned those, you monster.”
Meg smirked. Then she ordered me to shift over on the bench, and practically bounced down in the middle, leaving me with one leg hanging off the side.
“Teach me that one. The one you were playing.”
I was too taken aback to argue it’s difficulty, especially for a beginner. I thought we had long since given up on the piano lessons (Meg was not very good), and even if we hadn’t, this tune was graceful and elegant - not words commonly used to describe Meg McCaffrey. But I admit, I missed playing with someone. And so we began.
“Why don’t you watch me first, try to absorb as much of the tune as possible before I teach you the left hand.”
Meg tried to hide her smile.
“Yeah. Whatever.”
Bit of a shorter chapter this time. Sorry for the long wait, I started writing out several completely different chapters and never finished them because they just weren’t good enough. Also, the point about ‘No romance’ in these chapters still stand. Frank and Apollo were written as a kid and an adult becoming good friends, NOT BOYFRIENDS.
My oneshot entry for @jason-the-saving-grace27′s oneshot contest on instagram.
**Notes: I did not write the song near the end, it’s ‘Unity’ by Alan Walker. (The line means a new stanza thing, and the capitals mean a new line in the song.)
This is only posted here because I can’t put it on instagram for some reason.
“No, you need to- Oh for Gods’ sake just let me do it,” Will sighed. Teaching Nico archery was an absolute nightmare.
They’d been training for a few weeks, and Nico had made significant progress. Harder techniques, aim, power, all of those were no problem for the son of Hades. He just kept forgetting the basic things, like his stance and posture.
Which meant, like now, Will had to remind him again. Or, when he lost patience, do it for him.
Gently taking Nico’s arms, Will positioned him correctly and kneed his slouched back.
“Straight back, Nico!”
“How can you expect any part of me to be straight when I’m around you?” Nico smirked flirtatiously, but did as he was told.
“Thanks, Nico. I love you too.” Will rolled his eyes, but was inwardly laughing. If you got to know him and he trusted you enough, Nico was actually pretty funny.
Though he wished Nico would be more social, Will enjoyed having this version of the son of Hades all to himself as well.
“If you love me, then why do I have to do this every day?” Nico complained, his arms throbbing from holding the bow for so long. His fingers hurt too, from pulling back and holding the bowstring for so long. For several consecutive days, Will had made him come out and have private archery lessons with him, which Nico only did because he loved his boyfriend.
In addition to his sore arms and hurt fingers, the son of Hades was getting tan. His olive turned snow-white skin was now inching its way towards being tan.
Will thought this darker complexion looked good on him, but Nico heavily disagreed. Which is why he now spent as much time as he could basking in the moonlight to try and become pale again.
Will didn’t have the heart to tell him that that wasn’t how it worked and allowed it as long as Nico slept enough. But of course, Nico wouldn’t do that unless prompted.
Which led Will to go looking for him that night.
Stumbling out of his cabin, Will rubbed his eyes to adjust to the light of the moon. He was only wearing pyjama bottoms, having jolted awake after realizing he hadn’t checked on Nico yet.
Most of the time, he’d by lying on the shore of the beach, basking in the moonlight.
Will had just reached the mess hall when he saw, or rather, heard, Nico. He was speaking softly, in a tone that was usually reserved for Will himself.
“Thank you. I love you, even if you aren’t here with me. Goodnight.” Nico sat still for another minute before standing up and brushing the sand off his trousers.
He jogged off the beach and got the sand out of his boots before shadow travelling away to his cabin.
Nico seemed happy, but the same couldn’t be said for Will. He was still comprehending the fact that Nico had said he loved someone. That wasn’t himself.
“Even if you aren’t here with me,” Will murmured, subconsciously tapping the wall of the mess hall. “The beach...Percy. Percy Jackson.” It made sense, at least in Will’s head, and now that it was the idea was in there, it wasn’t coming out anytime soon.
Will barely slept at all that night, while Nico slept the best he had in ages.
After all, he had just had a conversation with his sister. Or pretended to, anyway. He’d thought about what she would say to him if she found out he got the best boyfriend he could have ever hoped for.
Nico went to sleep happy and relaxed, thinking of his sister and Will, while the blonde himself went to sleep distressed and angry.
“Hey, where’s Will?” The next morning, Will was missing, nowhere to be found. Nico poked his head into the Apollo cabin, frowning when his boyfriend was nowhere to be found.
“I dunno. Haven’t seen him since yesterday, I thought he’d be with you,” Austin shrugged.
Nico nodded and headed back out, confused. This was weird, Will usually would’ve been around to find Nico for their archery session by now. He hadn’t seen the shaggy blonde hair at breakfast or lunch either.
Maybe Will just needed some time away, Nico told himself. Everything would be back to normal tomorrow then, if that was the case.
When things weren’t back to normal the next day, or the day after, Nico got nervous. There had to be a reason Will was avoiding him, but he wasn’t sure if he wanted to hear it.
What if it was really bad, like he wanted to break up with Nico?
And so, despite not being the most patient, the son of Hades sat himself down and waited for a week.
After that, Nico snapped. Practically going insane with worry, he skipped breakfast to go look for Will.
The beach was a large open area, and close to the mess hall, so there was no way that Will was there.
He could’ve been around camp somewhere, but Will could also still be seen by Nico if he’d decided to leave breakfast early, or skip it all together like now.
That left the forest, which Nico knew was one of his boyfriend’s favourite places in the whole camp. Minus the monsters that lurked in there, of course.
So, he set off into the forest, praying that Will wasn’t too deep in.
Will sat in a semicircle of yellow flower bushes, plucking chords on his guitar. He’d been working on a song ever since he’d caught Nico supposedly cheating and talking to Percy.
“In the dark of night, The stars light up the sky, We see them flying free, That's just like you and me.” Will tapped his pencil on the paper, trying to think of the next lyrics.
He’d had the melody previously wcomposed, and usually, the lyrics for easy. But now that his mind was filled with darker thoughts, they weren’t coming as easily.
“Everyone is lonely sometimes..” he mumbled, writing it down. Scowling, Will bit his lip. That was a little dark, so he tried to think of a happier line.
Unfortunately, the first thing that came to mind was Percy, and his beautiful sea-green eyes. What Nico said came back to him, and he scowled. But it did give him a good line.
“Everyone is lonely sometimes, But I would walk a thousand miles to see your eyes.” Will scrawled it down in his notebook and started over from the beginning, to make sure it sounded right.
“In the dark of night, The stars light up the sky, We see them flying free, That's just like you and me. | Everyone is lonely sometimes, But I would walk a thousand miles to see your eyes.”
“Would you?” Will jumped up at the voice and saw Nico standing in front of him, hands in pockets. “Because right now, it seems like you would walk a thousand miles to avoid my eyes.”
“Well, you would walk a thousand miles to see Percy’s eyes!” Will inwardly grimaced, he hadn’t meant to get angry at Nico. A week of pent-up rage didn’t help keep him from snapping though.
“Percy?” Nico blinked in confusion, looking at Will like he’d gone mad.
“Yes, Percy! I saw you talking to him last week, by the lake!” Carefully putting his guitar on the ground, Will crossed his arms and glared at the shorter boy.
“The lake?” There was a moment of silence, during which Nico’s face morphed from confusion to laughter. “Will, you idiot! That’s what you were avoiding me for?”
Without waiting for an answer, Nico closed the short distance between the two grabbing Will’s shirt and pulling him down to kiss him.
Will had to admit he missed this, especially when Nico let go and wrapped his arms around him, the shaggy black hair tickling his chin.
“I was talking to my sister, sunshine. I was imagining what she would say if I could still summon her.” Nico smiled into his chest, one so wide that Will could feel it.
“But why the beach?” He asked, trying to seem skeptical even when he was hugging Nico back.
“I was 10. The lake was the last time I remember seeing her happy, when you guys played capture the flag and Percy and Thalia blew up at each other. That’s the only reason I remember it so well, and that’s why I went there.”
It made sense, since Nico didn’t play capture the flag and wouldn’t know where they actually played.
Will was beyond glad, but “Ah,”” was all he said.
“It was a misunderstanding, you idiot.” Will only smiled, and Nico looked up, laughing at his goofy grin. “Well, how about that song you were singing?”
The two of them sat down, and now that everything was solved between them, it was like a dam had been broken and the lyrics that had been held back flowed through.
“In the dark of night, The stars light up the sky, We see them flying free, That's just like you and me. | Everyone is lonely sometimes, But I would walk a thousand miles to see your eyes. You are not alone, we are family, Hold me, let’s escape this reality…”
This is a post-ToA chapter! Takes place after Apollo regains his immortality.
I sighed. Strolling aimlessly through the halls of my palace on Olympus, I wondered if it had always been this unappealing. The gold trimmings seemed fake. The extravagant furniture felt uncomfortable. Even my bed was too big. Every shiny object played murder on my eyes, and every smooth surface was too warm to be refreshing. It just wasn’t homey. Not like the Waystation or Aeithales or either demigod camps. It felt more like a sized-up garage to keep a fancy car in.
I found myself yearning to be outdoors - no uncommon craving. Like my twin, most of my domains are set in the great outside world. I threw open the golden double doors of the balcony, closed my eyes and breathed in the fresh Olympian air. There was still something missing. Furrowing my eyebrows in frustration, I opened my eyes and glanced around for anything that might sate my dissatisfaction, when my sight landed on a certain figure making her way through the buzzing streets of Olympus and towards the entrance of my palace. I felt a natural smile creep onto my face. I would have to look for the missing thing later. Right now, I needed to be with my mother.
…
We had been in this comforting embrace for almost ten minutes now. I combed my fingers through Leto’s caramel hair while she sobbed into my shoulder, her frame shaking considerably. I felt the wet tears soaking through my jacket and dampening the shirt beneath. I pressed my lips against her forehead, hoping to make her content enough to talk to me. Eventually, she pulled away and reached up, running her fingers through my hair, almost to reassure herself that I was actually there. She looked deep into my eyes, while tears danced in her own. I took her hands in my own, and gently led her to a white sofa, which was far to big for the space of the room. It looked like whoever had put it there was just trying to cram as much unneeded furniture into one place as they could. Oh wait…that may have been me.
Leto sat down beside me. She sniffled a little, avoiding my eyes. She fiddled with the brooch on my toga. I held her hand. She squeezed it.
“Apollo…” she trailed off, seeming lost in her mind.
“I’m alright now Mother,” I said in an effort to soothe her. “I’m immortal again. I cannot die. I learnt a lot too. And I want to apologise for not being the most attentive of sons. I should visit you more, and I will! Really, father was right to-”
“-NO!”
I fell silent, shocked that my mother would ever scream in such a tone. She looked at me, and I noticed how tired she was. No doubt staying up to watch every second of my quests, worried sick that something might happen if she took her eyes off me. It would not be out of character for her to do such things.
“Your father was not right to punish you in such a cruel manner. To have you forced into servitude, with next to no natural means to protect yourself or others!”
“Honestly, Mother I-”
She held up a hand for quiet. I obeyed.
“I know you should not have done the things you did. I know you’ve learned. That does not warrant your father’s merciless behaviour. You kept getting hurt and I could do nothing, he said if he caught me in the act of helping, he would make it worse for you. He said there would be more deaths, more guilt. So I obliged. I made sure he didn’t catch me. I convinced Artemis to send her hunters. I persuaded Hermes to crash the sun, and Athena to lure you to the child-” she paused. “-Whom I have been caring for. He is named Cindeo - the one who escapes danger.”
I nodded. “I see you have been taking care of everyone.”
“That is indeed my sole purpose, yes. It distracted me, which Artemis says is a good thing. But still…I was watching. That day on the boat.”
I swallowed a lump in my throat. I knew exactly what she would be referring to before she even said it. “You stabbed yourself.”
I drew in a sharp intake of breath, remembering the pain.
“I knew Medea would heal me.”
“You did it willingly.”
“It was only a distraction.”
“What was? Your life?”
“Caligula needed me alive more than my friends did.”
“They all needed you in the end, Apollo! I needed…I needed you.”
We sat, not talking. Just staring at each other, mentally comparing our broken pieces. I was willing to gather my pieces - make something new. I knew my mother wanted that as much as I did. We hugged again, this one lasting even longer. Neither party minded. Her caramel hair still smelt of honeysuckle, a trait inherited by my sister. She was still soft and warm and safe. After all these centuries, she had not changed. I was glad.
After an eternity, we separated. I examined my mother, my medical urges setting in.
“You look like you haven’t slept since I woke up in that dumpster. You need rest.”
She shook her head. “Apollo, you just got back. If you think I’m going to-”
“And I’ll be here when you wake up. Why don’t you use my bedroom? That way you won’t really be leaving. I’ll still be around, I promise. Even if you sleep as long as Gaea did.” She tried to protest, but I easily guided her to my sleeping quarters. By the time we arrived, Leto was practically using me as her only way of staying upright. I gently laid her down on my king-sized mattress, and she immediately melted into the warmth of the duvet.
I made my way to the kitchen, intent to taste ambrosia for the first time in months. A shape shimmered into existence on the blinding white counter. A freshly baked pie. Curious, I picked up the little note beside it, which read in perfect ancient greek calligraphy;
You deserve it! I love you!
-Leto
I chuckled and called down the hall, “Go to sleep!”
To which I received a muffled “I am, I am!”
I grabbed the pie and sniffed, enjoying my newly heightened senses. I could tell exactly what was in it. Ambrosia, sugar and chunky slices of…baked apple. The smell smacked me as violently as my realisation. My palace was golden, hard and shiny. It was devoid of life. Life like that of a particularly bossy half-blood. I decided to call in a discreet demigod quest.
…
“Soooo…about this quest.”
“Yes?”
“It was to help you plant stuff?”
I patted down the soil around a sweet-smelling Hyacinth. We sat in a huge garden positioned behind my palace. I had never fully understood why it was here. What was its purpose? Why would you look at some boring old trees when my palace was right at the end of the long, wide strip of grass, glowing golden and easily mistaken for a beautiful sunset in the evening? Once, I had even petitioned for the land to be flattened and used for a theatre (Dionysus and the muses backed me up, but Demeter, Poseidon and Artemis were strongly against it). But now, I smiled to myself as I began to see its importance.
“I don’t know what you find so complicated about this, Meg. I thought you liked gardening.”
My former master scrunched up her nose, pushing her cat-eye glasses further up her face. Her hands were caked with mud and the knees of her new leggings were already ruined. She had not wanted to change her dress, but when Percy mentioned to Mrs Jackson that she was still wearing the same borrowed garment from several months before, Sally had sent a package and insisted she change clothes every once in a while. Meg had donned the teal tunic and green leggings ever since. Such was the fashion sense of The Meg.
“Well, yeah. But I don’t think you’re allowed to call it a quest.”
“You were summoned to assist a god, were you not?”
“Duh.”
“So you are on a quest.”
“To plant flowers.”
“Mm-hmm.”
Meg shrugged. “Okay. But how do you plan to explain it to Zeu-” I cleared my throat loudly, glaring obviously at my reckless young friend. How many times did I have to tell her that names hold power? I definitely did not have a bullet-proof backup plan incase my father did find out, so I did not want to draw his attention and let him in on my little secret. That would not go well for anyone, trust me.
“How do you plan to explain it to your father?” Meg corrected. Satisfied with that adjustment, I turned my attention back to my Hyacinth.
“I’m not going to.”
“That’s a stupid plan.”
“I would have thought you’d know me better than to assume I have a real one.”
“That’s fair, you’re pretty dumb.”
“Hey!” I threw a clod of dirt at her, which hit her right in the centre of her forehead. We shared a look of mild amazement. I actually hit my target. It had been a while. I grinned with triumph, but it was soon smacked off my face as I got hit full whack with a dirt ball to the cheek. Then our eyes met in silent challenge. We both accepted.
It only took fifteen minutes for the massive garden to become an all-out war zone. There was no safe place. Dirt flew every direction, and we both took advantage of our own abilities - Meg using plants to trip me up or willing the dirt to fly with excruciating accuracy, and me, using beams of sunlight to reflect off Meg’s glasses and blind her, and when I found her charging at me, I flew over her head, just to be annoying.
When Meg shoved half a dozen handfuls of mud down my shirt, I decided to play dirty (well...dirtier). I conjured a hose, and watched with enormous enjoyment as Meg’s cocky grin melted into morphed into one of realisation and fear. I blasted her.
We chased each other around the grass, continuously soaking each other (Meg had used a plant pot as a bucket and filled it in a nearby pond) until the sky started to dim. It was early January, so it wasn’t too late, maybe six o’clock. Cold and exhausted, we made our way back towards my palace. My mother was waiting in the kitchen when we arrived, a new apple pie steaming on the dining table. She tutted at our wet cloths and sopping hair. With a wave of her dainty hand, Meg and I immediately dried.
“You let the other one go cold, dear,” Leto smiled, gesturing at the pie. Two golden-rimmed plates, complete with solid gold knives and forks which shimmered into existence beside it.
“Thank you Mother!” I said excitedly, kissing her on the cheek and sitting down at the table. Meg looked more wary. She eyed my mother suspiciously, while Leto smiled softly at her. Stepping closer to the table, perhaps under pressure, Meg inquired, “Is there ambrosia in it? I can’t eat much of that stuff.”
Leto laughed. “Yes, dear. But only traces. Only eat a slice or two, and you’ll be absolutely okay.”
I turned around in my chair and grinned over the backrest at them.
“Meg, it’s fine. She wouldn’t hurt a fly, would you, Mother?”
Leto looked horrified. “Of course not! Why would I damage such a harmless creature that’s so vital to the nutrition of other creatures?”
I gave Meg a look. “See?”
Meg seemed satisfied with that answer, but was still cautious in her approach to the table. But after no more than fifteen seconds, she was shovelling in mouthful after mouthful with incredible velocity, rapidly cleansing her plate of any crumbs. My Mother watched her with intrigue, and I could almost see the cogs turning in her head. While Meg helped herself to seconds, Leto quietly pulled me aside.
“When was the last time the child ate?” She whispered urgently, casting solicitous glances over at my young companion.
“It can’t have been long ago. Meg eats a lot,” I reassured. Her shoulders relaxed, her gaze softened. Leto looked thoughtfully back over at Meg.
“Does she have somewhere to stay?”
“I believe she intends to become a year-rounder at Camp Half-Blood. She’ll be with her siblings and cousins there. Her family.”
“Mmm…”
“Mother?” Leto peered deep into my metallic gold irises. Then back looked at Meg. Then back at me. “What are you thinking?”
“If she is to remain at Camp Half-Blood, you will not be able to meet with her. I implore you, son. Look into the future. What possibilities do you see for her there?”
I concentrated, absorbing in every part of Meg’s being and taking into account every decision I’d ever seen her make. (Being a god, this was easy. Oh, how I enjoyed the wonders of a working memory!) I started off simple to ease myself back into prophecy, by predicting where her fork would land next. [She will miss the pie and stab the plate] Clank! My power proved to be working. I stretched myself a bit further, into next week. I saw her hold up a red flag in triumph. [She will win Capture The Flag for the Demeter, Hades, Dionysus and Apollo cabins] Yes, that seemed plausible.
Then I looked years ahead, in fast-forward. I laid every likely option and decision for Meg out on a metaphorical table in front of me and examined them all. Useless nonsense rushed past me as I sifted through the possibilities. [On May 23rd, she will eat meatloaf for dinner] [Exactly two weeks from now, she will push a son of Dionysus into the lake] [In three years, she will set Peaches loose on a rabid Manticore] None of these helped me. I searched for the correct timeline, the one where she stayed at Camp. I found it.
[She will miss Apollo] Fair, I would miss her too. [She will feel lonely] I will too, friend. [She will distance herself from anything to do with Apollo, including his children] Wait, no- [She no longer considers Apollo to be a friend] STOP!
My eyes flew open. My mother held onto my arm, steadying me. Meg had turned around in her chair, seeming concerned.
“You okay?”
I stumbled for an answer. Would she really dismiss me? Would I dismiss her? “Uh, yes. Yes, everything is fine.” Meg’s eyebrows scrunched behind her cat-eye glasses. The rhinestones caught the light, and shone brightly.
“You look sick,” she announced, with her usual Meggy bluntness.
“Thanks,” I grumbled. “Meg, it’s getting late. Perhaps I should send you back to Camp.”
Meg pouted. “Why can’t I stay?”
“You know why. Father can’t find out you’re here.”
Meg groaned. “Ugh. Okay. Just don’t forget about me or I’ll march right back to kick you in the kneecaps.”
I smiled. “I would not dream of it. See you soon.” I waved my hand and Meg evaporated in a shower of gold, and I felt her reappear safely at Half-Blood Hill.
My mother turned to me.
“Well?”
…
We sat on the cold stone steps of the amphitheatre, where I’d dazzled the demigods into minor depression with my Lydian and one-four-five Progressions so many moons ago.
It was late afternoon and the sun shone softly through the trees, scattering beams of light around the secluded area. I appeared similar to what I had a few days ago, only this time I had donned a more ‘modern’ look from my usual toga. I wore an ACDC t-shirt under an unzipped orange and white jacket. My jeans were worn pale at the knees and hems, which contrasted the bright red of my nike trainers. Only my hair was much the same - long, blond and flowing down to my shoulders.
Little sparks of light bounced cheerfully off of Meg’s rhinestones. She kicked a pebble down the steps, and watched in fascination as it skipped, making tic tic tic sounds all the way to the bottom. She was still wearing the same teal tunic and green leggings, her gardener’s belt hanging loosely around her waist. After a few minutes of comfortable silence, she spoke.
“You said you wanted to ask me something?”
I nodded. “Yes, but I want to inform you that how you answer will not affect my view of you in the slightest. I will always admire you, whether you turn down my offer or not.”
“Offer?”
I laced my fingers, trying to think of the best way to word it.
“Following your recent quest,” (Meg snorted. I continued.) “I realised that I will not be able to see you as often as I would like. I will not be able to intervene on future quests, or protect you much beyond what my father allows. It will most likely be a long time before all the gods begin to treat the mortals as beings. I will also have to endure the endless mocking from my fellow gods, simply for changing my morals, and someone with mortal experience would be good to keep me straight. So, my offer to you, should you choose to accept it, is the offer of immortality. I would like you to live on Olympus, with me.” Meg’s eyes widened. Her jaw dropped. Seeing this, I rushed to hastily add to my unexpected statement. “Now, please know that this is not a one-time offer. You can say ‘No’ now, and come back later! Or not. Whatever you choose, I’ll always be looking out for you, okay?” Meg furrowed her eyebrows and blew out her cheeks in concentration. I watched her, not quite knowing if I should say more.
“Will I have to leave Camp forever? Will I be able to visit?”
“That’s the thing. You would only be allowed to visit if you have a specific purpose for coming, and you would have to make sure it’s iron-clad just in case Zeus confronts you about it. But I am working on finally getting those laws abolished. Hopefully, one day, you will be able to come simply because you want to. The catch is; I am not sure how long it will be until that happens.”
“So all my siblings might be dead.” I smiled sympathetically, feeling the chance of her accepting my offer sinking dramatically.
“Most likely.”
Meg gained her closed-off expression, her guards shooting up to prevent any and all emotional damage. I held my breath, waiting patiently for her to respond. It took a few minutes. Finally, Meg uttered at an almost indecipherable volume, “Can I think about it?”
I breathed a sigh of relief. That was not a no. There was still time to convince her.
“Of course, dear Meg.”
Abruptly, Meg stood and sprinted back towards Cabin Four without another word. I had expected this, but it still threw me through a loop. I ran my fingers through my luscious blond hair, and inhaled deeply through my nose. While I was lost in my thoughts, a voice suddenly piped up and made me jump a foot in the air in surprise.
“Hey Dad!”
Gasping sharply and clutching my hand to my thumping heart, I turned to meet the speaker. My son, Austin Lake, stood before me holding a battered, grey-silver saxophone and smiling nervously. I gestured for him to come and sit with me. He complied.
“You here to see Meg?”
I wrapped my strong arm around him, and pulled him close to my side. “I was going to visit you kids too, but you ruined the surprise.” I punctuated my statement with noogie on Austin’s cornrows. He giggled and shuffled closer to me, absolutely failing at being inconspicuous. I didn’t mind. My kids and I are born to be obvious. Why hide something good?
I gestured to his beaten saxophone. “What happened there? The Ares kids?”
“Nah. I never found the one I lost in the labyrinth, so I had to take this old one from the back of Cabin Seven. I don’t think it’s been used since before that orientation film was made.” He shrugged nonchalantly. “It sounds fine, but I wish it had I bit more…I don’t know…pizzazz? Flash?”
“A bit of shine is never amiss,” I agreed.
“It doesn’t matter anyways. I tested it out on Miranda Gardener and Sherman Yang, and they did kiss when I played ‘Careless Whisper’, but it just doesn’t help the whole YouTube thing, y’know?”
“Of course. Sometimes people simply refuse to take you seriously unless you look the part. A frustrating yet universal part of showmanship - one that none of my children should have to deal with.” I waved my hand, and the old saxophone glowed, and began to fix it’s dents. The tired looking grey colour ebbed away and darkened, a black sheen taking it’s place. The keys and rods however, brightened until they shone gold. Soon Austin was holding a very classy jazz saxophone that matched his black woollen peacoat. I am extremely conscious of the instrument matching the style of the musician, hence why all my instruments include some form of precious metal or stone.
Austin’s brown eyes glittered with pure excitement.
“Thanks Dad! You’re the best!” He launched himself into me hugged me like he would never let go. I drew him closer to me, savouring every moment. I heard him mumble something unintelligible into my chest.
“What was that you said?” I asked. My boy tilted his head up slightly, so I could only see his eyes and above past the folds of my ACDC tee. He repeated himself a bit louder.
“Do you read all our messages? Like, the ones Chiron gets us to write to our godly parents?”
I chuckled, raised one hand for dramatic effect and recited:
“Hey dad! I’m Austin
Chiron said you like haikus
Poetry is cool”
“Nooooo….” Austin groaned. “I can’t write poetry for my life…”
“I think it’s great! You were only, what,” I counted on my fingers. “Seven at the time?”
“And already better than your dad!” An unknown voice rang out loudly from behind us, making us snap back from each other and whip around to face the impish figure. Hermes held up his hands in mock surrender, his signature stupid grin plastered on his face as he sauntered towards us. His dirty blond hair bobbed in its curls with every step he took. He nodded to Austin.
“‘Sup kid? Did anyone ever tell you about the time Apollo was obsessed with Limericks? Maybe you could compose one of those about your old man’s ‘awesomeness’,” (emphasising the ‘awesomeness’ with air quotes. Humph!) “and send it to me later, yeah? For mocking purposes only, of course.” Austin shifted uncomfortably, clearly not thrilled to have been interrupted from rare cool father/cool son bonding time. I knew how tricky Hermes could be, and I definitely did not want to put my son through the embarrassment of somehow signing off his mother’s inheritance to cattle farmers in Indonesia, so I took initiative.
“Austin, why don’t you go show off your new saxophone to your siblings? I promise I will come back to visit again soon.”
Hermes snorted. “Yeah, maybe don’t swear on the Styx though, bro. Dad wants to see you about some flower planting quest.” His grin spread like he had just cracked an atrocious pun, and was awaiting the groans of his audience. “He’s soooo mad.” I gave a reassuring smile down to my apprehensive son.
“Do not worry about me, child. Hermes is a known fibber. I’m sure he’s not that furious. It will be fine.”
...
It was not fine.
As soon as I entered my father’s personal throne room, I could tell. The enchanted ceiling was dark with storm clouds. The atmosphere was thick and heavy with static and tension. I felt a trickle of sweat run down my back.
My father sat on a proud marble throne, its veins of grey curling like smoke throughout the white stone. The king himself wore a smart navy suit, complete with a matching tie and a mid-length salt and pepper beard that overshadowed his mouth. His long hair was styled not unlike my own, except a lot darker and less flamboyant. He took the form of a man in his late 40’s, but could only be shown by the unfashionable wrinkles around his eyes. He was well built, and, despite my love for my eight-pack, far more muscular than I thought was attractive or necessary. He glared down his nose at me as I walked down the aisle of blue carpet towards his feet.
He must have been forty foot tall, which was big even for a god. I stood at a more natural twenty. I did not dare make myself bigger. I did not want my father to be under the impression that I wanted to intimidate him. I did not.
I bowed at my father’s feet and lowered my head, waiting for the word to stand up. It did not come. Instead my father spoke in his low growl:
“Apollo.”
I swallowed my anxieties and forced myself to look up into his eyes. They were not their usual electric blue, as so many of his offspring had inherited, but they had been clouded over with a thick, angry grey mist. His dark brows were furrowed in concentration. A permanent scowl was fixed on his features. I willed my voice not to squeak or crack.
“Yes, father?” Zeus’s scowl deepened.
“Do you think I am witless, boy?” He rumbled.
“I - no, father,” I stammered. Zeus leaned forward in his throne, glaring holes through my head.
“Do you think I am beneath you?”
“Wha - no!” My hands subconsciously gripped my jacket and fiddled furiously with the zip. I could feel my godly sweat making the cool metal slippery. The air around Zeus condensed into a dark haze. Lighting cackled like an entourage of jeering bullies, laughing at my panicked face and hopeless predicament.
“YET YOU STILL DISOBEY ME?” I took several deep breaths. I was a god. I had faced python, while mortal, and defeated him. I was still undoubtedly terrified, but I thought of Meg, of my children, of Perseus Jackson. They needed me to take this first step into defending the demigods. My face hardened. My voice was calm, quiet and deliberate, but hid a tsunami of fear.
“Name the law.” My father’s raised bolt faltered, reflecting his confusion.
“What?”
“Name the law,” I repeated. “Name the law I have broken by ordering a demigod, whom I know well and am sure is capable of being assigned a task, to go on a quest.”
Zeus gritted his teeth, and growled in his gritty voice; “I watched you play, boy. Do you think you are humorous? Do you think you can scorn my gift in such ways? I gave you immortality. I made you a god! Yet you run around like a hooligan, associating with these lesser beings, for what? Your twisted idea of justice? I am the god of justice, you insolent child. I have decided our laws, and I can make more laws if I so wish. Do not test me.”
“As I remember brother,” a feminine voice cut the thick tension of the room, “You need council approval to decree a new law. Am I correct?” Zeus scowled, but his anger visibly dissipated. He sat back in his chair as the dark clouds surrounding the throne lightened into grey wisps, like one might see on a dull autumn’s day. I did not dare turn my back to my father to see the speaker, though I knew the voice well - a voice older than Zeus’. I kept my kneeling position, hearing the footsteps of the graceful Olympian stride down the single strip of carpet, stopping just behind me. I felt a soft hand on my shoulder. It pulled me up until I stood beside the tall, warm figure of Demeter, the goddess of agriculture.
She wore a simple, emerald-coloured dress that flowed down to her ankles, revealing a pair of bronze-coloured sandals. A thin, gossamer shawl of sage-like hue was wrapped around her shoulders and hung around her tanned arms. Her wavy blonde hair shared an alikeness to that of Sleeping Beauty’s. A ring of glittering corn stalks circled her brow. Her form was a few inches taller than my own. She kept her hand firm on my shoulder and glared defiantly up at Zeus with those striking green eyes.
“Margaret is my daughter. I invited her to Olympus to congratulate her on finishing her quest, as is customary. She and Apollo simply conversed over some flowers.” She looked down at me. “And I for one, am pleased that Apollo is finally making good use of that great space.” I smiled up at her, then glanced nervously at Zeus. His mighty hand stroked his beard in thought. At last, grumbled and said;
“Very well,” his deep voice echoed throughout the hall. “But be warned. Next time that mortal comes to this land with no believable reasoning, I will not be so merciful.”
“Of course, my lord.” Demeter and I both bowed in respect (well, more so ‘custom’ or ‘fear’ than respect, but whatever) and made our way out into the cheery sunlight, leaving the clammy throne room behind us.
We wandered down the streets in silence, watching all the minor deities, cloud nymphs and satyrs frolic and chat excitedly. I got a few gazes from a group of dryads, but thought nothing of it. Perhaps they had heard of what I did for the Palm Springs residents. Did dryads have some sort of mental link or Whatsapp text group? I imagined it would go like: “Hey gurrrll!!! ;D You see all this heatwave shiz??? Gone!!!! Apollo is #greatest” or something similar. After a few minutes, Demeter pulled me to a park bench that overlooked a large, shimmering lake. Ripples glided across the water. Every now and then, a tentacle rose above the surface and plunged back under, sending a spray of droplets to dampen anything in a metre radius. Some hippocampi splashed playfully around the shallows, some allowing a pod of Naiads to stroke their noses and fuss over how cute they were. We watched.
“You did well by my daughter, Apollo,” Demeter mused. She kept her eyes on the lake. No doubt, she was not comfortable congratulating her least favourite nephew, but I admired her determination to go through with it anyways. I may not have done the same. “I am surprised.”
I gave a short laugh. I was used to being mildly insulted. It did not phase nor offend me.
“Meg is truly an extraordinary demigod. You must be very proud.”
“I am.” A small smirk appeared on her otherwise neutral expression. “She is one of my best.”
“She could live here. You’d get to see her. I would too. I think a wild demigod energy such as hers is well needed around here.” The goddess of grain raised an eyebrow, and peered down at me from the corner of her eye. “I have offered her immortality,” I clarified. “She has not yet answered. I think if she accepts, you should be the one to grant her the immortality. Of course, I can do it myself, but I thought it may be more impactful for a mother.” She furrowed her brows, and her corn crown seemed to catch the light of the late afternoon sun, making her eyes hard to focus on.
“Zeus would not approve.”
“Zeus wouldn’t have a say,” I countered. Demeter only nodded her head ever so slightly, her face scrunched in concentration.
“Very well. I will accept if she accepts.”
…
Apollo was stupid. Stupid, stupid, stupid. Meg simply could not understand him. She lay belly down on one of the thick branches of the tree that supported the newly built Cabin Four like a panther reclining in the jungle, contemplating her idiot friend and his dumb offer. She sniffed, shifting her head on the uncomfortable bark. She liked Camp Half-Blood. The food was good, there was some people her age that she could beat in a fight - and older campers she could beat too - sword practice was fun. So was capture the flag. But Meg was alone, and maybe that was good. People crowded her on the first few days after the end of the quest, wanting details about the most dangerous parts. She had even been given a necklace with a single green bead on it that held a picture of a writhing serpent - Python, the monster she and Apollo had slain. Every now and again, an Apollo camper would ask questions about their dad, and she always made sure to give them less than flattering (but truthful) answers.
But that had worn off after a while. People left her alone, apart from Billie Ng and Miranda Gardener, who she was trying to teach how to summon a karpos (they were pretty bad at it). She hated that she missed her partner in crime. But if she left, she would miss her home, where she belonged.
‘Ughghhh” Meg groaned, sliding ungracefully off her branch and landing on the floor with a whump. She rolled onto her back and scowled at the unfairness of having to deal with feelings. Time passed. Eventually, she decided to make a call.
…
I didn’t scream. Nope, definitely not me, the cool and chill god of a-heck-load-of-things. No, I’m quite sure I stayed calm and collected at the sight of Meg McCaffrey appearing in a shimmering vapour form - in my shower.
Fine. I may have screamed. But you cannot blame me! It is one thing to take a shower with a ‘date’, and quite another to be peeked on by a twelve-year-old. I frantically made my best efforts to cover my perfect physique for the sake of the child, who immediately threw her hands over her eyes and made a ‘gross’ face. She wore a baggy Camp Half-Blood T-shirt over her usual dress, and a single bead hung by a thread on her neck.
“Meg, what the actual-” I hissed, cutting myself off. I took a deep breath and held my tongue to refrain myself from swearing in front of a kid (my mother would never let me hear the end of it if I didn’t). “Why are you Iris Messaging me? Now, of all times?”
“I didn’t know you were in the shower, dummy.” Meg blew a raspberry, her vapour form producing a few bubbles in the process. “I didn’t think you had to wash since y’know,” she gestured at my tanned body. I covered myself a little more, even if she did still have her eyes shielded.
“I don’t. It’s just relaxing,” I grumbled, grabbing a towel, wrapping it around my waist and stepping out into the steamy bathroom. I kept the shower running so the Iris Message could continue, which involved getting the towel wet. I prayed the extra weight would not lead to any unexpected revealings.
“I’m not supposed to be taking to you, Meg.”
Meg uncovered her eyes and snorted. “Says who?”
“Says my father.” I felt my face darken. “He heard about your little quest. He told me you could not come here again with out ‘believable reason’.” I punctuated the last part with air quotes.
“I told you that you should’ve had a plan.”
I rolled my eyes and scoffed. “I did have a plan! My plan was for him not to find out.”
“How’d that work out for you?”
“Shut up.” I could not resist the smirk that played on my lips. I wanted to be around my friend more often. She was one of the few who still talked to me as an equal (kind of). The other Olympians…let’s just say they didn’t exactly show me the same level of respect has they had once done, with the limited exceptions of Poseidon (who had been mortal once before) and Artemis (who had never respected me - its a sibling thing). “Listen, I cannot guarantee that my father isn’t keeping a close eye, so let’s make this quick. What did you want to tell me?”
Meg’s face lost its humour. I was afraid she’d back out and end the message. Instead, she spoke. “I thought about your offer.”
I felt my chest swell with hope. Maybe she’d say yes. Maybe she’d come up and be my friend for eternity. Maybe I would have one more person to talk to. “And?”
“No.”
My smile faltered. I felt all sense of excitement in me shatter in that moment as I struggled to put together a sentence. “Wh…what?”
She looked down at her rough, calloused hands. “I don’t want to be a god. I don’t want to live directly under Zeus’s thumb. I killed Nero. I killed him because he was awful and forced me to do stuff I didn’t want to do. He made me feel stupid and useless. I got rid of that.” She stared me directly in the eye. “I never want to feel like that again.”
The argument I’d prepared died in my throat. Could I really blame her? After all, she was right. My father didn’t even allow me to talk to my friend. Meg didn’t want to be oppressed like I was. She was free. That was a feeling I could never truly have. I’d given up on it long ago.
“Yeah,” I croaked. “Okay.”
“Okay,” she mumbled back. “Bye.” Her figure disappeared, and I was left alone, standing in the all-too-quiet bathroom.
“Farewell.”
***
It had been several months since Meg had declined my offer. I still thought about her and my children every day. I searched for and aided a few of my less remembered offspring, guiding them to their respective camps. Thirteen-year-old Seamus, ten-year-old Anthony and two-year-old James made their way to Camp Jupiter. Nine-year-old Aiden, twelve-year-old Dwayne and six-year-old Marigold travelled to Camp Half-Blood. I had just ensured the safe arrival of Marigold, the curly blonde-haired excitable young demigod who seemed to have inherited my ability of Photokinesis, a rare and promising talent for my children to have. In other words, I was exhausted. So I teleported to the most calming place I could think of.
I collapsed down underneath the aged mountain laurel tree. It was located high up in a rocky, unforgiving mountain range, but overlooked the beautiful view of the other mountains, the lower halves shrouded in white mist. We often met here.
Beside me sat a young girl in a grey puffer coat and black leggings, her long dark hair tied back in a high ponytail. She was busy whittling on a long piece of wood, and so, did not look up at my arrival.
“Brother,” she greeted plainly.
“‘Sup?” I replied weakly, exhaustion filling my voice. I watched Artemis whittle for a while, my eyes half closed, the bow slowly taking its shape and the sound of the knife scraping evenly across the smooth surface calming me. “You making this for one of your hunters?”
“Yes. Being their leader has responsibilities, you know.”
I blew out my cheeks in exasperation. “At least you never have to go chasing down kids all over the world to drag to two camps in North America.” Artemis paused her whittling, and looked at me quizzically. “My son, Diego,” I clarified. “His mother is Spanish. He did not want to leave Madrid. But I finally convinced him after, what,” I tried to recall. “Three days? Ugh. Sometimes I just wish there were a few more camps around, ya know?”
The huntress had gone back to her work, her face contorted in concentration. “Mmm.”
“Are you even listening?”
“Uh huh.” I elbowed my beloved sister in the ribs, an effective attention-attracting tip I had learned over the course of my punishment; courtesy of Meg McCaffrey. Artemis glared daggers at me. “What?”
I beamed my most innocent smile. “You weren’t giving me enough attention, Artie.”
“Sod off.” She grunted. She will always deny it, but I saw a slight hint of a smirk seep through her annoyed facade. I grinned to myself as I decided to be as provocative as possible. I wrapped my arm around her shoulders and snickered at her crabby expression and ancient greek curses as she tried to push me off.
There are many perks to being a sibling, dear reader, and annoying the younger sibling (or the one that appeared to be younger anyways) is most definitely in the top three. Along with the whole ‘If You Anger One Of Us You Deal With Both Of Us’ Ride-Or-Die attitude we can have (of course, this does not apply to every situation. See: the time Hermes pushed me into a very deep swamp, and all my dear sister did was laugh until she could no longer breathe).
Eventually, Artemis melted into the hug, leaning her young head against my chest. She took a deep breath and quietly said; “I am going to tell you something.”
I drew her a little closer, my embrace no longer meaning to provoke, but to comfort. I leant my cheek on her head.
“What’s up?”
“I am only telling if you do not get big-headed about it.”
“When have I ever done that?” I teased. “Honestly, I’m rather offended that you would even insinuate-” A small hand flew up past my face and grasped a lock of my beautiful, long hair - and yanked it downwards. “OW!” I rubbed my scalp and huffed down at my smug sister.
“You deserved that.”
“Uh huh,” I grumbled, unimpressed.
“What I was going to say was that I really did miss you, Ollie.”
“I missed you too. And I never got to say thanks. Y’know… for that time in Indianapolis. I couldn’t because the others were always around so… thanks.”
Artemis fiddled with a loose string on my sleeve. “Yeah, well. I had to pay you back for that time with Atlas and Luke…” she waved her hand, gesturing vaguely to the air. “So yeah. I guess I owed you one.”
Several years ago, my dear sister had taken the weight of the sky off a young maiden in an attempt to save her from being crushed. She succeeded, but at the cost of holding up the burdensome pillar of clouds for days without rest. By the time she made it back to Olympus, she was faint and required several days of rest (as ordered by her doctor; me). The topic was not often talked about. I wished everyone would have the same attitude over my embarrassing adventures. Still, I remembered mother and I being worried sick, and Zeus coming thundering through the door when he heard about her. We thought he was there to console or mourn, or maybe hatch plans on how to save her from the titan’s clutches. If you thought ‘What? That doesn’t sound like Zeus!’ then congratulations! You are learning. He told us that a demigod quest had been despatched, and if he were to find either of us interfering, he would rip out the ‘Number Ten’ lighting bolt. But not to worry, oh readers! He didn’t catch me.
Artemis shifted under my hold. We fell into a comfortable silence, and I found myself thinking about Meg again. Her tyrannical attitude, her odd fashion sense, her scent of baked apple. I could see every rhinestone in her cat-eye glasses. Every stitch in her well-worn dress. I got to thinking about how we would meet up again. A brilliant thought crossed my mind.
…
“Are we sure this is a good idea?”
“Relax, you big baby. It’ll be fine.”
*CRASH*
Meg blew a raspberry at the window she’d just obliterated.
“Well done,” I congratulated dryly. Meg kicked me in the shin, then readied another nerf bullet.
“I’m gonna miss if you keep distracting me!”
“Oh, was my mere presence distracting? I didn’t say anything!”
“Shut up,” she grumbled, sticking her tongue out in concentration as she aimed for the makeshift target we’d made and blu-tacked on the wooden wall. “I’ve got the gun and you’re being annoying.” I kept my mouth shut. The bullet was let loose with a twang. It went right through the hole where the window had once been. There were shouts from outside varying from “Get down, get down!” “Do not worry! I predict it to be no- six letters. Starts with ’T’” “Trench?” “Top-hat?” “That’s two words, Aloe.” “My bad.”
Of course, we were back at Aeithales. Palm Springs had welcomed us back with open arms. And I had my cover story set. I was here to personally check up on my Sibyl, as to not neglect my duties over prophecy, which was one of the reasons I’d been sent to Earth in the first place. I’d even gone to the extra trouble of making sure my dad was okay with it the day before. (“Because, you know, there may be some of my friends down there, cacti spirits and such, and I know you told me not to communicate with-” “APOLLO! IT’S TWO IN THE MORNING! GET OUT OF MY BEDROOM!”) So I figured I would be fine.
It was currently quite late, maybe eleven o’clock, and I had hung around all day. Just as Meg finally hit the target, I said;
“Perhaps I should get going. Do you want to spend the night here or go back to camp?” Meg sniffed.
“You don’t seem too bothered.”
“By what?” I asked. “Did I do something? Forgotten something? Today isn’t your birthday, is it?”
“No,” she stated bluntly, going back to aiming at the target.
“Care to elaborate?” I enquired cautiously. I did not want that nerf gun aimed the wrong way.
“You offered me immortality. I turned it down. You don’t seem upset.”
“My dear Meg. I simply respect your wishes, like I said I would.” I laced my hands together, trying to convey my feelings in an accurate way without bursting into a song that has all the feeling pre-written. “Your reasoning was sound, and while I do not fully understand your final decision, I trust your judgement. Besides, Percy Jackson turned it down too. So maybe it is not as valuable as I first thought.”
To my delight, Meg smiled. Albeit a small one. “Thanks. Do you think we’ll ever get to meet up? Without all the secrets and planning and stuff?”
I sighed. I really hoped so. “I do not know. One day, perhaps, my father will change his mind. I do not know when, or how. But I have hope that he will. As long as we keep working on him, yeah?”
“Yeah.”
“Right!” I clapped my hands together like I had seen dads do in movies to symbolise the end of a touchy conversation. “Now off to bed or I’ll turn you into a traffic light.”
I closed the door as quietly as I could, careful not to waken the sleeping demigod. Her snores were muffled as I strolled through night, evaporating and reappearing in my palace. I wandered the golden hallways for a while, taking in every piece of decoration and furniture in a different light. The palace wasn’t cold and useless as I had first thought. It was dazzling and elegant and me. I had been under the impression that because I wanted to heighten my morals and personally intervene more often, it would require changing everything. But it didn’t. So what if I liked shiny stuff? I can have good taste and still be an awesome god! It simply wasn’t the problem. It was only what I had lacked that had bothered me. And, looking down to Palm Springs one last time, I knew I had found it.
This was kind of a one off! The next chapter will be back with mortal Apollo during the trials. i just wanted to try something different.
So I just posted all my ToA Oneshots so far, and I just want to say that suggestions and prompts for new chapters are ALWAYS welcome!!!! Even if you find this in the year 3033!!! It still applies!!!!!
Send me an ask if you have an idea!!!
(except for romantic prompts. I really want this series to be more comedy/fun/adventures between Lester and Meg!)
“We may have to hold onto each other to avoid being separated.”
“WHAT?”
I took a deep breath, trying my best to maintain my sanity until we got out of this busy street. “I SAID WE MAY HAVE TO-”
“WHAT?”
I rolled my eyes and grabbed Meg’s shoulder, shifting her to walk in front while I stayed close behind. We picked our way through the narrow lane, avoiding the salesmen and women who sat behind makeshift shop fronts, selling knock-off Gucci handbags and fake name-brand sunglasses. The yelling of children, customers and vendors never ceased. Kids around my age (my mortal age) hung around the street corners, smoking cigarettes and eyeing up a particular stand selling dodgy leather jackets. The age-old sandstone buildings, repurposed as apartments, all seemed to be slightly on tilt, and many had blue ‘TO LET’ signs protruding from the dusty walls. They were all packed close together, not unlike the people in the street below, leaving almost no room for the orange-tiled lane.
As we passed a stall selling obviously fake gold jewellery (insert scoff), an obese man wearing a dirty white vest pushed past us in a hurry to get to the ice-cream stand. His bulky arms forcefully shoved us out of the way, causing Meg to stumble, then slam into me and knock me even more off balance than I already was. Thankfully the street was far too packed for me to fall very far and have a hard landing (I was very tired of hurting myself). I ungracefully bumped into a someone’s back.
Steadying myself, I scowled at the man who was now greedily eyeing the ice-cream cone being made up for him by a teen behind the stand. I turned to apologise to the person I bumped into. Except, she was already staring at me. Not with annoyance or disgust, as one would expect from someone after being unceremoniously whacked with a grimy teen. This woman’s face showed shock, yes, but also pain. A deep, heart-wrenching pain that reached her glassy blue eyes. I was hit with how similar she looked to Sally Jackson. Her long curly hair was tied back in a loose ponytail, strands rebelliously sticking out every which way, a few falling over her eyes. Her weathered face couldn’t have been older than forty. Her pale pink cardigan hung loose over her middle-aged body. I was quite sure I did not know this woman, yet she seemed to stare longingly into my eyes, as if she’d known me for years.
“Lester?” She croaked. “Is - is that you?” I froze, the disgusting truth smacking me in the face with the force of a mallet.
This woman - was my mother. Not Leto. Not Apollo’s mother. Lester’s. Mother.
Zeus, the lord of justice, had not made me a body to contain a fraction of my godly essence. He had stolen a mortal boy from his family. He had taken this child, who had nothing to do with us or our problems, and forced him to endure trials that could potentially destroy him.
Tears pooled in the woman’s eyes and she sucked in a breath, her hands clasped to her mouth in a gesture of prayer. We both stood, unmoving. I did not know what to do. Did I explain to her that I was not her son? Should I fake a case of amnesia? Would it be safer to run for it? I did not get a chance to decide. The woman dropped her bags of shopping and rushed to me, her arms outstretched, and clutched me close to her chest. her chest. She wept as she combed her fingers through my curly hair and pressed her face, wet with tears, against my own.
All the while, I panted like I’d just finished a marathon, my chest tight with anxiety. I tried to blink back my tears. I wanted to bury my head in this woman’s neck and finally feel safe, but I knew she would want to take me home with her. I could not do that. I was not her son. I was Apollo. My real parents still needed me to complete my trials.
Finally, she let me go. She held her hands tight on my upper arms as if she was afraid I’d suddenly vanish from her view. Her face could have been read as hysterical; her eyes red and puffy, her smile wide and her laughter was uneven gasps. “Lester, my beautiful boy! Where have you been? Its been almost a year! Everyone thought you were dead!” Her face started to break down again, revealing the horror she’d lived and the sorrow she’d endured these past months. I reminded myself that she had been suffering longer than I, for my trials had begun when I crash-landed in Manhattan in January. This woman’s son must have been stolen to be my mortal body closer to August. It was now late April. That was almost ten months of wondering where her son had gone. I doubted Zeus had left a note. “I thought you were dead, Lester. I never said but I thought…” she trailed off. I stayed silent. I still was not quite sure how to react. Lester’s mother found this suspicious. She held my face in her hands, and rubbed her thumbs over my cheeks. Her eyebrows furrowed in concern. “You look tired, Les’.”
“I am tired,” I responded quietly.
“You’re filthy.”
“That too.”
She twirled my hair in her fingers. “You need a haircut.”
I smiled and gently pushed her hand away, silently willing her to stop being so affectionate. Not that I had any quarrel with physical affection - quite the opposite actually. But that was the problem. I looked at this woman who was so obviously a Mother, and I could only think of warmth, safety and protection. She liked me. She loved me. Why couldn’t I simply swallow my guilt and fake it, all so I could have those three simple things that I had once took so much for granted? Because that’s not who I was. I had a job to do, and too many people had gotten hurt for me to give up now. I couldn’t afford to get comfortable.
“Listen, um... Mum,” I started. The word ‘mum’ felt so wrong in my mouth. It fuelled my belief that I was making the right decision. “I need to... go. For a bit.” Her smile slid off her face. Her eyes seemed to shatter. I quickened my speech. “Just for a while. I’ll be back, ok? I promise.” No. Not more promises. Please. No more.
She let go of me. My skin felt cold where she had been holding it. As cold as her heartbroken stare. I shivered. This look had become more and more frequently sent my direction ever since Jason died. I seemed to crush everyone I met. I had become accustomed to it. If nothing else, it made it easier to distance myself from Lester’s mother, who scrambled to find the right words.
“But… Am I not… Was I too…” she whispered, barely audible over the chatter of the crowd.
The crowd… An idea clicked in my head. I glanced to my left, and luckily enough, a huge crowd of tourists were surging through the narrow street, lead by a man clad in a blue t-shirt that read ‘Trusty Tour-guides: The Tour-guides You Can Trust!’ in white block lettering. All the tourists wore matching blue lanyards bearing the same cringey slogan. I looked around and caught sight of Meg, who was standing a few feet behind me, trying to listen in and not get knocked over. She was giving out her signature glares like free candy to the passers-by. I discreetly motioned her to come closer, and turned back to the woman in front of me. She seemed too distressed to realise my plan. I hated to leave her like this, but I had no choice. I listened to her disgraced rambling, but it was as if I was listening to Hermes’ old lover, who had tried and failed to become the oracle. The experience left her mind completely broken. I hoped I would not make this woman suffer the same fate.
I once again glanced to my left. The group would hit within seconds, and I had to be ready. I pulled Meg close behind me, and prepared for impact like a prisoner would brace themselves for execution. I counted down in my head.
3
“I just- I don’t understand!”
2
“Is someone following you? Please, Lester, I-”
1
“I need you! We need you Lest-”
Then the crowd swept between us like a tsunami of Hawaiian shirts and socks-with-sandals. I rushed with them. I could no longer see Lester’s mother, but I heard a choked screech of anguish.
We rounded a corner. After I made sure Meg was still holding onto me, I pushed out of the tourists and pulled my master out by the arm. We looked at each other. I knew she felt as emotionally run-down as I. No words were needed. No words were exchanged.
My brain was not silent. My mind cursed Zeus and everyone involved. It raged in ancient greek, my thoughts splitting my head like a mini-Athena was kicking and punching, throwing a fit to convince me to let her out. I bit my tongue until it bled. I glared holes into the shoppers in front of us, who shuffled aside if they caught my eye.
We made it to the main road and called a taxi. I may have imagined it, but I thought I saw the image of a woman in a pink cardigan in the drivers rear-view mirror stand, defeated, behind us as the taxi drove off.
Meg cuddled a little closer into herself. I watched the price of our ride tick slowly upwards. I didn’t even realise I was crying.
