#athena called she wants her tapestry back

[kindred-spirit-93]

OH. OHH. OH BE STILL MY ACHING HEART. OH MY BELOVEDS.

non exhaustive things of all the things i adore:

THE LIGHTING IS SO PRETTY GIRL HELP

the fireplace scene is literally the artistic representation of a mug of hot chocolate topped with mini marshmallows. its so soft!!

speaking of which u cant convince me the daggers hanging arent ctimenes >:)

BABY TELEMACHUS AAAAAHHHHHHHH

asdfghjkl eury blushing is sending me

mene having to kinda sit down to ground herself so she doesnt fall/ pass out is hilarious. oh god i love them all so much

CTIMENE MY STRONK GIRL! SLAY QUEEN XD

very random but ur handwriting is so nice & even omg i love it :D

love how the siblings wear red robes whereas their spouses wear cooler blues

ITHACA LOOKS BEAUTIFUL AAHH!!! so majestic

i go feral for wedding rings. so simple, so elegant. so heartwrenching

polites my sweet boi :')

also pls marry me

*taps the mic* Greatsword Lore *leaves*

Based on something Jorge dropped in a stream once

[ch4singchase]

THE BALLAD OF MOTHS, ch. 3 | SNIPPET

When I opened my eyes, I found myself in the backseat of my mom's car—an old black Impala that carried the lingering aroma of spilled coffee. The rhythmic hum of the engine and the steady motion of the vehicle hinted our journey.

Before fully waking up, I stole a glance at the front seat, where my mother navigated the route with a map by her side. The details of our destination eluded my groggy mind, another day unfolding in the tapestry of our lives.

"Is everything okay, ma?" I asked, rubbing my eyes to dispel the remnants of sleep.

Caught off guard by my voice, my mom turned to look at me through the rearview mirror, weariness etched across her face.

"Yes, mausi," she attempted a smile, though it failed to reach her eyes. "Sorry if I woke you up; you can go back to sleep."

"No, no, I'm good," I stretched my arms, shaking off the fatigue. "I woke up on my own."

"Good to hear that," my mother nodded, redirecting her gaze to the road while stifling a yawn. "We still have a fair distance to the hotel—probably another hour or so."

Surveying the quiet highway, devoid of much traffic except for the occasional weary traveler, I suggested, "If you want, I can take over for a while, and you can rest."

My mother cast a puzzled look at me through the rearview mirror. "This isn't a parking lot."

"I know," I pressed my lips together, "But you're tired, and the road is nearly empty. I can follow the map until you feel more rested. I've been observing you drive, you know…"

Mrs. Gaumont sighed audibly, as if seeking approval from the powers above for her impending decision. Whatever doubts she harbored, she decided to proceed.

"Okay," she relented, pulling the car over to the side of the highway. "But if anything goes wrong…"

"You come back to the driver's seat, got it!" I grinned, hopping out of the car, prepared to switch places.

Mrs. Gaumont wore a frown as she settled into the backseat, where I had been. Observing me carefully, she watched as I adjusted the rearview mirror to keep an eye on her and the road behind, and positioned the map in a way that allowed me to glance at it without distraction. All the little rituals she followed before hitting the road—she noticed that I wasn't kidding when I mentioned I had been watching her.

Her smile this time was genuine, reaching her eyes. It might have hinted at the wish that someday, I could navigate life on my own. I'll never be sure, but I like to think that's what her smile meant.

"You can rest now, ma!" I called out, meeting her eyes in the rearview mirror as I merged back onto the highway. "I've got this."

And deep down, she knew I would. My mom always knew that I was capable of taking care of myself without her constant guidance. Perhaps, that's why she let go so willingly.

So peacefully.

“You’re really good at this,” Luke finally commented after a while, snapping me out of the reverie.

Glancing at the backseats through the rearview mirror, I noticed Thalia trying to stay awake by gazing out the window, while Annabeth observed my actions with keen interest—from the way I alternated my gaze between the road and the map Luke held for me or shifted gears in the car.

Swallowing hard, I met Annabeth's eyes for the umpteenth time. Unlike before, I wasn't frightened; instead, I was taken aback by her genuine interest in my presence.

But who could blame her? According to Thalia's explanations, they had been traveling together for a considerable time.

“Let me see if I understand,” I furrowed my brows, recalling everything the trio had shared with me. “You’re also connected to these Greek gods…”

“Yes,” Thalia muttered from behind, narrowing her eyes at me, mirroring the curiosity of her smaller companion.

“You're the daughter of the thunder god, one of the Big Three, and because of that, you're pursued by a plethora of monsters,” I reiterated their explanation word for word.

The three of them nodded, awaiting my next words.

“You’re the daughter of Athena…” I turned my gaze to Annabeth. I chose not to delve into the more peculiar aspects of her origins—born from an idea of her mother as a gift; the more I tried to comprehend, the stranger it sounded.

“And you,” I looked at Luke, who raised a brow at me, “You're the son of Hermes, which makes all of you like me, as I'm also the daughter of a god. Everyone inside this car is a half-blood.”

My last statement carried a hint of uncertainty.

“Or demigods,” Luke shrugged, brushing a black curl out of his eyes. “More commonly, we're called demigods.”

“Got it…” I squinted my eyes, doing my best to concentrate on the road rather than the knot forming in my head from all this information.

Once again during that journey, I caught the gaze of the boy with black curls alternating between my face and the leather wristband I wore. I couldn't discern if he was equally intrigued by my magical weapon or if he still found amusement or confusion in the fact that it took me more than a minute to transform the sword back into the wristband.

Honestly, I hoped it was the former. Yet, given the number of times he repeated the same eye movements and subtly moved his lips, it seemed to be the latter.

“Where are you from?” Thalia inquired, her voice betraying a hint of weakness that she tried to conceal.

“Hmm,” I frowned, glancing at the map again, “I'm not sure, maybe Missouri?”

“You're American?” the girl with two electric blue eyes asked, her surprise leaving me bewildered.

“As far as I know… Yes? I’m American.” Seeking an explanation for the sudden question, I looked into the eyes of the others, but each of them appeared surprised by my responses.

Here we were, children of Greek gods, fleeing from monsters that sought to harm beings like us, yet what surprised them was that I identified as American?

Noticing my confusion, Luke snorted, shaking his head.

"You have a different accent, that's all," he answered simply.

But that only deepened the crease in my forehead.

“Well, most states have different accents,” I tried to explain. Since when did I have such a strong accent?

“Yes, but we had been to most of the states,” Thalia reasoned, raising her brows. “Yours doesn’t sound like any accent from here.”

I remained silent, trying to remember if my mother had already commented on anything. When I asked her about my father for the first time, she had told me that she had met him in Missouri, so I ended up deducing that both she and I were also born in Missouri.

But if she met my father here, then I was born here. Which meant that maybe my mother wasn't American. Maybe that explained why I had never met or seen my grandparents. They might not even be here in the United States.

It also explained the many times that my mother had to show her passport to a guard or police officer in addition to her ID. There were also some curious looks that I had recently noticed every time I opened my mouth.

Did my mother have an accent? Probably, because I grew up with her presence always present, hardly talking to other people, I never found it strange. For me, it was normal.

In fact, everything in my life before, at the time, seemed normal to me.

This was just another detail at the tip of the iceberg.

"I didn't ask badly, I was just curious." Thalia commented due my silence, "Sorry"

“No, it’s alright” I shook my head, “I just hadn’t-”

Noticed. But I was interrupted before I could say that.

Thalia squeaked in pain, her face retracting into a grimace and her hand instinctively went to her leg.

“Hey, Thalia,” Luke shouted, looking back from his seat, “Stay strong, we’re almost there. Take the next turn.”

I followed his order, watching Thalia quickly, she was way paler than before. I had no idea what I could say or do to help them, so I just continued to drive.

Viola’s pale skin tainted with her own blood jumped into my mind.

[wives-natlho]

Smoking

It’s quite busy tonight. There’s some kind of musician here that’s supposed to be quite something. Jaye can’t focus on the music, though. She’s needed for security.

Word Count: 2,126

It’s quite busy tonight. There’s some kind of musician here that’s supposed to be quite something. Jaye can’t focus on the music, though. She’s needed for security. The crowd is bustling and rowdy, and due to Coco’s quick service, there’s no shortage of alcohol flowing through the tavern. Her senses have been all over the place tonight, and she can barely keep track of everything she’s done. The Viera pauses for a moment, in a very slightly quieter spot in the bar, at the top of the stairs behind the door. She takes a deep breath and her sense of self returns. She finds herself returning downstairs from dealing with something up in the bar, only to find a brawl already starting below.

A brawny Highlander woman is fighting a Roegadyn man, who, as far as Jaye can tell, just wants to sit down and enjoy his drink. Jaye takes a look around and sees the Roegadyn’s cadre, all in fancy garments and appalled by the Hyur’s behavior. Jaye decides that’s all she needs to jump into action. 

Jaye flexes, and her muscles are subtly enhanced by Ikkobach’s power. She reaches out and grabs the rowdy woman by the arm and prevents her from swinging another punch. “No fighting!” Jaye says sternly. 

“Fuck you, bunny girl.” The woman hisses and nearly spits. She’s slurring a bit, and clearly intoxicated. 

“Not tonight,“ Jaye counters. She slides behind the Highlander and pulls the grabbed arm up into her back and up towards her neck. The woman stands up straight, and howls in pain. “And it’s rabbit girl to you. Only my girlfriend can call me ‘bunny’.”

Ikkobach’s power courses through Jaye as she drags the woman back from the fight and up towards the door. To an onlooker, this amount of power from her thin frame would be rather inexplicable. The Highlander’s slurred words become a tapestry of obscenity as she is hauled away. The crowd clamors and cheers, happy to see someone be thrown out. There seems to be a game going on tonight to see who can cause the most trouble without getting ejected, at least it seems that way from Jaye’s perspective. 

Coco, standing near the front of the bar, sees Jaye pushing a woman taller than her towards the exit. The Roegadyn woman jumps forward and pushes the door open, if only to make it look more dramatic from the outside. If being drunk has already made the woman’s words slur, being thrown to the ground on the stones outside didn’t help. 

“Off the property!” Jaye stands in the doorway at the top of the steps, attempting to look imposing. This is harder than usual, given that Ikkobach can’t show up in any visible way without causing a panic. Jaye has to rely on what she has learned from Athena. The drunk woman tries a few times to stand up before getting it right, all the while screaming at the rabbit girl. After the cold air helps her sober just a bit and realize what she has done, she gives a couple last verbal jabs before turning and leaving the property. Jaye stands and watches her leave to make sure she doesn’t try anything else dumb. 

“Nice crowd tonight.” A stern voice cuts through the still cold air and startles Jaye a bit. The Viera turns to see a midlander woman sitting in the swing near the fire. 

“Sorry you had to see that.” Jaye’s cheeks run red. Jaye hasn’t seen this girl around before and she just made the tavern’s first impression to be drunkenness, fighting, and profanity. She takes a deep breath and calms herself in the cold. That kind of confrontation always makes Jaye shake a little, even though she’s done it a few times now. 

I need a fucking smoke.

Jaye looks around to see if anyone else is out here. She sees a white Chocobo tied up near the gate, the girl in the swing, and nobody else. She fishes around in her pocket for a second and grabs a prepared hand-rolled cigarette. 

“Got a light?” She asks the blonde girl. 

The uptight-looking Hyur unfolds her cold arms and gestures vaguely at the fire between the two women. 

“Right.” Jaye says sheepishly. The first impression of herself doesn’t seem to be going so well either. She walks over to the pit and holds the cigarette a bit too close to the fire. A good portion of it is burnt away before she can even take a hit. 

Ugh. Of course.

The Viera’s shaking hands bring the cigarette to her lips and she takes a deep drag. The hot smoke fights against the cold Coerthan air in her lungs. After the long puff, she releases an acrid cloud before realizing there’s someone else present. Jaye thinks of something to say. 

There’s a performance on tonight, right? Right… It’s why all the drunkards are out. 

“Here for the show?” Jaye asks while circling around the fire, both to find a seat and to get a better look at the girl. 

“Not exactly.” A cold response, fit for a cold day. The girl is stern and quick to the point. She’s also well-put-together. “An acquaintance told me this was the place to be for a new adventurer looking for allies.”

“Oh?” Jaye responds with a smile. She gets close enough to see the stranger before resting on the dirt between the fire pit and the bench behind her. She reclines against the wood and stone seat and takes another drag. While silent, she takes a moment to examine this new girl. She is young, but trying to make up for that with attitude. Jaye is familiar with that ruse. She is also keeping to herself. Instead of going in, she sits outside in the cold, alone. Jaye thinks this girl is quite cute, actually, despite the woman’s offstandish facade. She can’t wait for Athena to meet this one. To her understanding, this girl is like a mirror image of Athena from 10 years ago, if Coco’s stories are accurate. Jaye decides not to ever bring that thought up to Athena, though. “Lots of new faces around here lately. Surprising with all this shit weather.” “Yeah.” The stranger scoots forward towards the fire for warmth. She furrows her brow. “Quite the adventure getting here.” 

Jaye smiles at the statement. Her first trip to the Savoury was one she’ll always remember. The Viera hopes it wasn’t as bad for the new girl. She thinks for a moment about questioning the Midlander, and her curiosity almost gets the better of her. But she restrains herself and decides to sit in silence instead, enjoying the last little bit of her Shroud Tobacco. The smoke trails of her cigarette and the fire mingle together with the scent of cooking meats from the tavern. It’s quite the cacophony of smells, but neither of the girls mind. After the silence that highlights a few more puffs, a muted cheer erupts through the walls, followed by the rhythmic thump of music.

“Should you return to your duties?” The blonde looks over at the currently slacking bouncer.

“Not for a while.” Jaye relaxes a bit. “The music keeps ‘em calm. It’s between the songs you gotta worry about.”

The Hyur nods and returns to warming her hands. 

The two sit, listening to the muted music for a minute or two, each processing the day. Jaye looks at her right hand, holding the mostly spent cigarette and dreads the day that Athena finds out she’s been smoking. She figures Coco would understand and pressure her to stop. Athena, though, would have a conniption. 

—-----------

It had been a particularly bad day. She was trying to negotiate with her voidsent partner and failing miserably. Not to mention, she had been exhausted from training, and hated herself for being unable to complete a couple simple guildleves. She walked into the tavern, hoping to vent to Coco, only to find Einar behind the bar. Coco had left for some shopping. Jaye and Einar really hadn’t shared much conversation overall, and the Viera girl was hesitant to start, given what she had heard about the Miqo’te from Coco and Athena. Instead, she sat at the end of the bar in silence and picked at a bowl of nuts on the counter. 

Einar was smoking. The scent reminded her of growing up. Her father smoked big stinky cigars in the house with the windows closed, keeping the house warm from the freezing Garlean air. The smoke would fill whatever room he was in, and lodge itself in his clothes. While Jaye didn’t particularly like that smell, it was comforting. While alcohol made him angry, the cigars calmed him down. He would be docile, for a while at least. 

Einar finished off one of the smokes, before pulling out a small tin, picking another cigarette, and lighting it with a nearby candle. Jaye took a mental note of where he put down the smoke tin. Jaye’s leg bounced up and down from the stress. Her nerves pestered her to stare at the cigarette and smell the smoke. She needed it, but couldn’t figure out why. 

Her attention snapped to the door as it flung open. In the doorway stood Basil, a Viera confidant of Einar, who always demanded immediate attention. This method of entering a room was commonplace for Basil, as was Einar’s response to his presence. The Miqo’te seemed to be expecting this. He pressed his cigarette out on an ashtray and rushed out the door with Basil.

“Watch the bar for me?” Einar asked, not expecting an answer as he left with Basil as quickly as he had shown up. 

Jaye was alone in the bar, technically in charge. She looked around and listened for anyone else in the building, and couldn’t find anyone. Her eyes narrowed at the realization that she was unsupervised with a fresh pack of already-rolled cigarettes. In a moment, her hand was reaching for the metal case. It opened and a smoke found its way into Jaye’s fingers. She mirrored Einar’s motions and lit it using a candle on the bar. 

The hot smoke hurt, and she wanted to cough it all out, but didn’t. She’d had a mouth full of smoke before, when she was a child, and managed to keep herself from coughing. If she coughed, her dad would call her weak, and punish her. She kept it in until she breathed out slowly and felt the colder air flood her lungs right after. The sensation was both pungent and pleasant. And the effects were felt quickly. Her nerves calmed and her ears relaxed a bit. Her need to bounce and jitter lessened significantly. She took another drag. 

A few moments later, the door opened again. It was calmer this time. Jaye panicked and threw the rest of her cigarette into the fireplace behind her. 

“Ugh. Einar, are you smoking behind the bar again?” Coco walked into the room, carrying a couple bags filled with goods from the Jeweled Crozier, and sniffing loudly.

“He left a minute ago.” Jaye calmed herself and came up with a lie. “He… He left one lit in the tray here, and I was putting it out.” 

“Of course he did.” Coco sat the bags down and waved her hand in the air, pushing lingering smoke away. She made eye contact with Jaye, noticing her demeanor was just a little off. “You okay?”

“Yeah.” Jaye thought she lied again, and then reconsidered. After that, she was actually doing okay. She felt better than she had all day long. “Just had a hard day is all.”

—---------------

Jaye’s mind returns to the moment, as she stares at the burnt end of the cigarette. She knows she’s gotta stop eventually, but the leaf takes the edge off. And there’s been a heck of a lot of “edge” lately. She takes another drag, still not knowing what to do about all of it. Jaye finishes the last viable puff and flicks the butt end into the fire before remembering both the presence of the other girl, and remembering her manners. 

“I’m Jaye, by the way. Nice to meet ya!” She smiles politely and gives a meek wave. 

“Carmen. A pleasure.” The two sit in the relative peace of the snowy air until the dull thump of the song inside goes quiet.

“I better get back in there.” Jaye stands and moves to the door. As she leaves her new friend alone in the harsh weather, she thinks back to her first night in the tavern, relaxing in the spa. She pauses, and turns her head to speak. 

“If you get too cold, come on inside.

It’s nice and warm.”

[violetrose-art]

Hercules Headcannons, Theories, and Ideas

A revised list of my headcannons, theories, and ideas for Disney’s Hercules

-Nyx, the Goddess of Night, is very good friends with Hades and she owns a nightclub down in the Underworld called ‘The Void’

-Hades and Eris, the Goddess of Discord and Chaos, used to date, but Hades broke up with her due to Eris being too wild and clingy

-While they were together, Persephone beat, insulted, and abused Hades and forced him to do whatever she wanted him to do until Nyx, Erebus, and Thanatos stood up for Hades and forced Persephone to leave the Underworld and not come back

-Hades had no children with Persephone, mostly because she refused to have children with him

-Persephone had an affair with Prince Adonis, just to get Hades’ attention

-Macaria and Melinoe are Aurai, air nymphs, and Zagreus is a demigod

-Helios, the God of the Sun, is the father of Persephone, not Zeus

-Persephone had three demigod children with Adonis. Their names are Plutus, Obelix, and Deianira

-Zagreus is the son of Persephone and an unknown man

-Metis, the Goddess of Good Counsel, is the also the mother Ares, the God of War

-Thanatos, the God of Death, and Hades are very good friends and they even have a personal handshake

-Zeus and Hera had five more children after Hercules. Their names are Amoratta, Parthenia, Averos, Naidon, and Margalo

-Apollo and Athena have a son named Oleus and a daughter named Wisteria

-Harmonia, the Goddess of Harmony and Peace, is the daughter of Aphrodite and Hephaestus

-Hecate, the Goddess of Witchcraft and Necromancy, has a crush on Thanatos and she tries to flirt with him every chance she gets… but he turns her down every time

-Circe is the daughter of Hecate and an unknown mortal man

-After living a long life together, Megara and Hercules both ascended to Mt. Olympus and became gods

-When he was younger, Hades used to be very close with his mother Rhea, the Titaness of Motherhood… until the Titanomachy, that was when they drifted apart

-Adonis used to be Megara’s first boyfriend, until he ran off with Persephone, who was disguised as a human girl

-After the weaving contest between Athena and Arachne, Hades was the one who cursed Arachne, not Athena. He was a hidden spectator and when he saw the girl’s superior tapestry, he was greatly offended by it. So he cursed the human weaver to weave forever as a hideous spider monster

-Hades used to own a magical artifact called the Ember of Blue, but it was stolen from him by his father, Cronus, the Titan God of Time, and it was hidden away during the War with the Titans

-As a boy whenever Hades felt angry, sad, or scared, Rhea would take him to a secret temple they only know about and they would dance together until Hades was happy again

-When Hades was little, he had a huge argument with Cronus and he was so angry and upset that he ran away and hid in a cave… only to be chased out by the most horrifying creature he had ever seen: a huge black blob-like creature with giant rusty claws, a gaping mouth filled with rows of razor sharp teeth, and one giant, bulging red eye. He called it the Nightterror

-Persephone is a spoiled, selfish, and jealous goddess and she always puts on a kind and innocent façade to get others (mortal or divine) to do what she wants

-Medusa was born a gorgon, and she is the youngest out of her and her sisters, Euryale and Stheno

-While she was growing up, Persephone was spoiled rotten by her father, Helios

-Apate, the Goddess of Deception and Lying, and Peitho, the Goddess of Persuasion, are good friends with Persephone and they like to gossip and spread false rumors about the other Gods and Goddesses

-Minthe is able to turn herself into a mint plant at will

-Cerberus started out as a regular mortal puppy until Hecate decided to place a curse upon the poor thing and turn him into a three headed beast, and a younger Hades felt pity for the cursed dog so he took him in and trained him to be his guard dog

-Macaria, Zagreus, and Melinoe may not be gods, but they work for Hades in the Underworld

-Instead of a goddess, Ker is a sly spirit of violent death that works in the Underworld

-Eons ago, Hecate created an herb that is extremely toxic to mortal beings, but the herb itself has an opiate-like effect on the Gods

Amphitrite can transform her legs into a fish tail whenever she pleases·         Hades was the one who removed Arke’s wings and imprisoned her in Tartarus, not Zeus

-From time to time, Hermes, the Messenger of the Gods, likes to flirt with Iris, the Goddess of the Rainbow

-Elpis, the Spirit of Hope, is good friends with Zeus and Hera’s youngest daughter, Margalo

-Whenever Hades falls asleep after a huge meal, he tends to sleepwalk and he gets a really bad stomachache

-Leuke and Minthe each had a massive crush on Hades and they competed to win his affection… but they both failed miserably

-Orphne works for Hades in the Underworld, but she usually keep to herself and she doesn’t really interact with him very much

-Lamia used to be a well-respected human queen, but Hera transformed the queen into a serpent-like creature when she attempted and failed to seduce Zeus. Hades even tried to recruit Lamia for his uprising, but she turned him down flat

-During the Titanomachy, Hades stole Cronus’ magical sundial and Cronus tried to get his youngest son to join him and the other Titans, but Hades refused. He and his older brothers beat their father and locked him away in the deepest part of Tartarus and Hades hid the Sundial in the Underworld where Cronus would never find it

-Erebus, the God of Darkness and Shadows, and Hades know each other quite well. After the Titanomachy, they started to grow closer as friends and eventually, Erebus had become a father figure to Hades

-Chloris, the Goddess of Flowers, is a total hippie and she likes to throw parties with Bacchus, the God of Wine and Revelry

-Narcissus is the God of Vanity and Pride

-Fortuna, the Goddess of Luck and Fortune, is something of a gambler. She enjoys giving mortals luck, either good or bad, and seeing what happens… and the Fates don't like her for that very reason

-Macaria, Zagreus, and Melinoe usually go around and tell people that they are the children of Hades and Persephone… but they’re NOT. Hades always dispels these rumors very quickly and the three of them are always brutally punished for it

-After Hercules and Megara were married, they had five children together. Their names are Arsenius, Phoebe, Elena, Matthias, and Deicoon

-Tempest, an Amazon Warrior, had a son named Achilles. He never knew his father, but he doesn't really care since he's a mama's boy. Achilles is more drawn to theater, dramas, dance, and music over fighting in wars despite being named after a great warrior like his namesake

-Adonis and Helen of Troy were married after graduating from Prometheus Academy and had two daughters named Aurea and Dalia

-Cassandra ended up falling in love with Icarus, they got married, and had two sons named Jenos and Dion

-After graduating from Prometheus Academy, Icarus became a well-known inventor and Cassandra became a wise and famous oracle

-Helen of Troy and Adonis rule a kingdom of their own

-Hebe, the Goddess of Youth, has a pet eagle named Omega

-During the time of Hades’ banishment in the River Styx, Thanatos, Erebus, and Nyx were tasked to rule the Underworld together in Hades’ absence, but they missed him terribly

-Geras, the God of Old Age, used to flirt with Hebe until Hera stepped in and told him to back off and leave her daughter alone

-In the Underworld, Geras likes to tick Hades off by doing things like leaving his dentures on the throne and pretending to be hard of hearing, which drives Hades up a wall

-Hephaestus is very close with his daughter, Harmonia, but he’s also a little overprotective of her

-The Sirens used to be ordinary naiads and playmates of Persephone, but Demeter cursed them to be monsters when they failed to rescue Persephone when she was abducted to the Underworld

-Nyx has an unusual relationship with Hemera, the Goddess of the Day. They have their differences and they can sometimes butt heads on certain subjects, but they usually get along rather well

-Aurora, the Goddess of the Dawn, is a total glamour girl. She enjoys fashion and loves to accessorize, especially with bracelets

-Aether, the God of Light, is a bit of a rock star. He loves to sing and rock out and he has a very sweet relationship with Hemera

-Aura, the Goddess of the Breeze, is something of a hippie and enjoys meditating

[legend-collection]

Shapeshifter

Shapeshifting is the ability to physically transform oneself through an inherently superhuman ability, divine intervention, demonic manipulation, sorcery, spells or having inherited the ability.

Popular shapeshifting creatures in folklore are werewolves and vampires (mostly of European, Canadian, and Native American/early American origin), the huli jing of East Asia (including the Japanese kitsune and Korean kumiho), and the gods, goddesses, and demons of numerous mythologies, such as the Norse Loki or the Greek Proteus. Shapeshifting to the form of a gray wolf is specifically known as lycanthropy, and such creatures who undergo such change are called lycanthropes. Therianthropy is the more general term for human-animal shifts, but it is rarely used in that capacity. It was also common for deities to transform mortals into animals and plants.

Other terms for shapeshifters include metamorph, the Navajo skin-walker, mimic, and therianthrope. The prefix "were-", coming from the Old English word for "man" (masculine rather than generic), is also used to designate shapeshifters; despite its root, it is used to indicate female shapeshifters as well.

While the popular idea of a shapeshifter is of a human being who turns into something else, there are numerous stories about animals that can transform themselves as well.

Pic by mernolan on tumblr

Examples of shapeshifting in classical literature include many examples in Ovid's Metamorphoses, Circe's transforming of Odysseus' men to pigs in Homer's The Odyssey, and Apuleius's Lucius becoming a donkey in The Golden Ass. Proteus was noted among the gods for his shapeshifting; both Menelaus and Aristaeus seized him to win information from him, and succeeded only because they held on during his various changes. Nereus told Heracles where to find the Apples of the Hesperides for the same reason.

The Titan Metis, the first wife of Zeus and the mother of the goddess Athena, was believed to be able to change her appearance into anything she wanted. In one story, she was so proud, that her husband, Zeus, tricked her into changing into a fly. He then swallowed her because he feared that he and Metis would have a son who would be more powerful than Zeus himself. Metis, however, was already pregnant. She stayed alive inside his head and built armor for her daughter. The banging of her metalworking made Zeus have a headache, so Hephaestus clove his head with an axe. Athena sprang from her father's head, fully grown, and in battle armor.

In Greek mythology, the transformation is often a punishment from the gods to humans who crossed them.

   Zeus transformed King Lycaon and his children into wolves (hence lycanthropy) as a punishment for either killing Zeus' children or serving him the flesh of Lycaon's own murdered son Nyctimus, depending on the exact version of the myth.

   Ares assigned Alectryon to keep watch for Helios the sun god during his affair with Aphrodite, but Alectryon fell asleep, leading to their discovery and humiliation that morning. Ares turned Alectryon into a rooster, which always crows to signal the morning and the arrival of the sun.

   Demeter transformed Ascalabus into a lizard for mocking her sorrow and thirst during her search for her daughter Persephone. She also turned King Lyncus into a lynx for trying to murder her prophet Triptolemus.

   Athena transformed Arachne into a spider for challenging her as a weaver and/or weaving a tapestry that insulted the gods.

   Artemis transformed Actaeon into a stag for spying on her bathing, and he was later devoured by his own hunting dogs.

   Galanthis was transformed into a weasel or cat after interfering in Hera's plans to hinder the birth of Heracles.

   Atalanta and Hippomenes were turned into lions after making love in a temple dedicated to Zeus or Cybele.

   Io was a priestess of Hera in Argos who changed her into a heifer to escape detection.

   Hera punished young Tiresias by transforming him into a woman and, seven years later, back into a man.

   Callisto was turned into a bear by either Artemis or Hera for being impregnated by Zeus.

While the Greek gods could use transformation punitively – such as Medusa, turned to a monster for having sexual intercourse with Poseidon in Athena's temple – even more frequently, the tales using it are of amorous adventure. Zeus repeatedly transformed himself to approach mortals as a means of gaining access:

   Danaë as a shower of gold

   Europa as a bull

   Leda as a swan

   Ganymede, as an eagle

   Alcmene as her husband Amphitryon

   Hera as a cuckoo

   Aegina as an eagle or a flame

   Persephone as a serpent

   Io, as a cloud

   Callisto as either Artemis or Apollo

   Nemesis (Goddess of retribution) transformed into a goose to escape Zeus' advances, but he turned into a swan. She later bore the egg in which Helen of Troy was found.

   Vertumnus transformed himself into an old woman to gain entry to Pomona's orchard; there, he persuaded her to marry him.

   As a final reward from the gods for their hospitality, Baucis and Philemon were transformed, at their deaths, into a pair of trees.

   In some variants of the tale of Narcissus, he is turned into a narcissus flower.

Sometimes metamorphoses transformed objects into humans. In the myths of both Jason and Cadmus, one task set to the hero was to sow dragon's teeth; on being sown, they would metamorphose into belligerent warriors, and both heroes had to throw a rock to trick them into fighting each other to survive. Deucalion and Pyrrha repopulated the world after a flood by throwing stones behind them; they were transformed into people.

Cadmus is also often known to have transformed into a dragon or serpent towards the end of his life. Pygmalion fell in love with Galatea, a statue he had made. Aphrodite had pity on him and transformed the stone to a living woman.

British and Irish Fairies, witches, and wizards were all noted for their shapeshifting ability. Not all fairies could shapeshift, some having only the appearance of shapeshifting, through their power, called "glamour," to create illusions, and some were limited to changing their size, as with the spriggans, and others to a few forms. But others, such as the Hedley Kow, could change to many forms, and both human and supernatural wizards were capable of both such changes, and inflicting them on others.

Witches could turn into hares and in that form steal milk and butter.

Many British fairy tales, such as Jack the Giant Killer and The Black Bull of Norroway, feature shapeshifting.

Celtic mythology Pwyll was transformed by Arawn into Arawn's own shape, and Arawn transformed himself into Pwyll's, so that they could trade places for a year and a day.

Llwyd ap Cil Coed transformed his wife and attendants into mice to attack a crop in revenge; when his wife is captured, he turned himself into three clergymen in succession to try to pay a ransom.

Math fab Mathonwy and Gwydion transform flowers into a woman named Blodeuwedd, and when she betrays her husband Lleu Llaw Gyffes, who is transformed into an eagle, they transform her again, into an owl.

Gwion, having accidentally taken some of the wisdom potion that Ceridwen was brewing for her son, fled from her through a succession of changes that she answered with changes of her own, ending with his being eaten, a grain of corn, by her as a hen. She became pregnant, and he was reborn in a new form, as Taliesin.

Tales abound about the selkie, a seal that can remove its skin to make contact with humans for only a short amount of time before it must return to the sea. Clan MacColdrum of Uist's foundation myths include a union between the founder of the clan and a shapeshifting selkie. Another such creature is the Scottish selkie, which needs its sealskin to regain its form. In The Great Silkie of Sule Skerry the (male) selkie seduces a human woman. Such stories surrounding these creatures are usually romantic tragedies. Scottish mythology features shapeshifters, which allows the various creatures to trick, deceive, hunt, and kill humans. Water spirits such as the each-uisge, which inhabit lochs and waterways in Scotland, were said to appear as a horse or a young man. Other tales include kelpies who emerge from lochs and rivers in the disguise of a horse or woman in order to ensnare and kill weary travelers. Tam Lin, a man captured by the Queen of the Fairies is changed into all manner of beasts before being rescued. He finally turned into a burning coal and was thrown into a well, whereupon he reappeared in his human form. The motif of capturing a person by holding him through all forms of transformation is a common thread in folktales.

Perhaps the best-known Irish myth is that of Aoife who turned her stepchildren, the Children of Lir, into swans to be rid of them. Likewise, in the Tochmarc Étaíne, Fuamnach jealously turns Étaín into a butterfly. The most dramatic example of shapeshifting in Irish myth is that of Tuan mac Cairill, the only survivor of Partholón's settlement of Ireland. In his centuries long life he became successively a stag, a wild boar, a hawk and finally a salmon prior to being eaten and (as in the Wooing of Étaín) reborn as a human.

The Púca is a Celtic faery, and also a deft shapeshifter. He can transform into many different, terrifying forms.

Norse There is a significant amount of literature about shapeshifters that appear in a variety of Norse tales.

In the Lokasenna, Odin and Loki taunt each other with having taken the form of females and nursing offspring to which they had given birth. A 13th-century Edda relates Loki taking the form of a mare to bear Odin's steed Sleipnir which was the fastest horse ever to exist, and also the form of a she-wolf to bear Fenrir.

Svipdagr angered Odin, who turned him into a dragon. Despite his monstrous appearance, his lover, the goddess Freyja, refused to leave his side. When the warrior Hadding found and slew Svipdagr, Freyja cursed him to be tormented by a tempest and shunned like the plague wherever he went. In the Hyndluljóð, Freyja transformed her protégé Óttar into a boar to conceal him. She also possessed a cloak of falcon feathers that allowed her to transform into a falcon, which Loki borrowed on occasion.

The Volsunga saga contains many shapeshifting characters. Siggeir's mother changed into a wolf to help torture his defeated brothers-in-law with slow and ignominious deaths. When one, Sigmund, survived, he and his nephew and son Sinfjötli killed men wearing wolfskins; when they donned the skins themselves, they were cursed to become werewolves.

The dwarf Andvari is described as being able to magically turn into a pike. Alberich, his counterpart in Richard Wagner's Der Ring des Nibelungen, using the Tarnhelm, takes on many forms, including a giant serpent and a toad, in a failed attempt to impress or intimidate Loki and Odin/Wotan.

Fafnir was originally a dwarf, a giant or even a human, depending on the exact myth, but in all variants he transformed into a dragon—a symbol of greed—while guarding his ill-gotten hoard. His brother, Ótr, enjoyed spending time as an otter, which led to his accidental slaying by Loki.

In Scandinavia, there existed, for example, the famous race of she-werewolves known with a name of Maras, women who took on the appearance of huge half-human and half-wolf monsters that stalked the night in search of human or animal prey. If a woman gives birth at midnight and stretches the membrane which envelopes the child when it is brought forth, between four sticks and creeps through it, naked, she will bear children without pain; but all the boys will be shamans, and all the girls Maras.

The Nisse is sometimes said to be a shapeshifter. This trait also is attributed to Hulder. Gunnhild, Mother of Kings (Gunnhild konungamóðir) (c. 910  –  c. 980), a quasi-historical figure who appears in the Icelandic Sagas, according to which she was the wife of Eric Bloodaxe, was credited with magic powers – including the power of shapeshifting and turning at will into a bird. She is the central character of the novel Mother of Kings by Poul Anderson, which considerably elaborates on her shapeshifting abilities.

Armenian In Armenian mythology, shapeshifters include the Nhang, a serpentine river monster than can transform itself into a woman or seal, and will drown humans and then drink their blood; or the beneficial Shahapet, a guardian spirit that can appear either as a man or a snake.

Indian Ancient Indian mythology tells of Nāga, snakes that can sometimes assume human form. Scriptures describe shapeshifting Rakshasa (demons) assuming animal forms to deceive humans. The Ramayana also includes the Vanara, a group of apelike humanoids who possessed supernatural powers and could change their shapes.

Yoginis were associated with the power of shapeshifting into female animals.

In the Indian fable The Dog Bride from Folklore of the Santal Parganas by Cecil Henry Bompas, a buffalo herder falls in love with a dog that has the power to turn into a woman when she bathes.

In Kerala, there was a legend about the Odiyan clan, who in Kerala folklore are men believed to possess shapeshifting abilities and can assume animal forms. Odiyans are said to have inhabited the Malabar region of Kerala before the widespread use of electricity.

Philippines Philippine mythology includes the Aswang, a vampiric monster capable of transforming into a bat, a large black dog, a black cat, a black boar or some other form in order to stalk humans at night. The folklore also mentions other beings such as the Kapre, the Tikbalang and the Engkanto, which change their appearances to woo beautiful maidens. Also, talismans (called "anting-anting" or "birtud" in the local dialect), can give their owners the ability to shapeshift. In one tale, Chonguita the Monkey Wife, a woman is turned into a monkey, only becoming human again if she can marry a handsome man.

Tatar Tatar folklore includes Yuxa, a hundred-year-old snake that can transform itself into a beautiful young woman, and seeks to marry men in order to have children.

Chinese Chinese mythology contains many tales of animal shapeshifters, capable of taking on human form. The most common such shapeshifter is the huli jing, a fox spirit which usually appears as a beautiful young woman; most are dangerous, but some feature as the heroines of love stories. Madame White Snake is one such legend; a snake falls in love with a man, and the story recounts the trials that she and her husband faced.

Japanese

In Japanese folklore ōbake are a type of yōkai with the ability to shapeshift. The fox, or kitsune is among the most commonly known, but other such creatures include the bakeneko, the mujina and the tanuki.

Korean Korean mythology also contains a fox with the ability to shapeshift. Unlike its Chinese and Japanese counterparts, the kumiho is always malevolent. Usually its form is of a beautiful young woman; one tale recounts a man, a would-be seducer, revealed as a kumiho. The kumiho has nine tails and as she desires to be a full human, she uses her beauty to seduce men and eat their hearts (or in some cases livers where the belief is that 100 livers would turn her into a real human).

Somali In Somali mythology Qori ismaris ("One who rubs himself with a stick") was a man who could transform himself into a "Hyena-man" by rubbing himself with a magic stick at nightfall and by repeating this process could return to his human state before dawn.

Southern Africa Kaggen is Mantis, a demi-urge and folk hero of the Xam people of southern Africa. He is a trickster god who can shape shift, usually taking the form of a praying mantis but also a bull eland, a louse, a snake, and a caterpillar.

Trinidad and Tobago The Ligahoo or loup-garou is the shapeshifter of Trinidad and Tobago's folklore. This unique ability is believed to be handed down in some old creole families, and is usually associated with witch-doctors and practitioners of African magic.

Mapuche (Argentina and Chile) The name of the Nahuel Huapi Lake in Argentina derives from the toponym of its major island in Mapudungun (Mapuche language): "Island of the Jaguar (or Puma)", from nahuel, "puma (or jaguar)", and huapí, "island". There is, however, more to the word "Nahuel" – it can also signify "a man who by sorcery has been transformed into a puma" (or jaguar).

Slavic Mythology In Slavic Mythology, one of the main gods Veles was a shapeshifting god of animals, magic and the underworld. He was often represented as a bear, wolf, snake or owl. He also became a dragon while fighting Perun, the Slavic storm god.

Folktales In the Finnish tale The Magic Bird, three young sorceresses attempt to murder a man who keeps reviving. His revenge is to turn them into three black mares and have them harnessed to heavy loads until he is satisfied.

In The Laidly Worm of Spindleston Heugh, a Northumbrian legend from about the thirteenth century, Princess Margaret of Bamburgh is transformed into a dragon by her stepmother; her motive sprung, like Snow White's stepmother's, from the comparison of their beauty.

In Child ballad 35, "Allison Gross", the title witch turns a man into a wyrm for refusing to be her lover. This is a motif found in many legends and folktales.

In the German tale The Frog's Bridegroom, recorded by folklorist and ethnographer Gustav Jungbauer, the third of three sons of a farmer, Hansl, is forced to marry a frog, which eventually turns out to be a beautiful woman transformed by a spell.

In some variants of the fairy tales, both The Frog Prince or more commonly The Frog Princess and Beast, of Beauty and the Beast, are transformed as a form of punishment for some transgression. Both are restored to their true forms after earning a human's love despite their appearance.

In the most famous Lithuanian folk tale Eglė the Queen of Serpents, Eglė irreversibly transforms her children and herself into trees as a punishment for betrayal while her husband is able to reversibly morph into a serpent at will.

In East of the Sun and West of the Moon, the hero is transformed into a bear by his wicked stepmother, who wishes to force him to marry her daughter. In The Marmot Queen by Italo Calvino, a Spanish queen is turned into a rodent by Morgan le Fay.

In The Mare of the Necromancer, a Turin Italian tale by Guido Gozzano, the Princess of Corelandia is turned into a horse by the baron necromancer for refusing to marry him. Only the love and intelligence of Candido save the princess from the spell.

The Deer in The Wood, a Neapolitan tale written by Giambattista Basile, describes the transformation of Princess Desiderata into a doe by a jealous fairy.

From a Croatian book of tales, Sixty Folk-Tales from Exclusively Slavonic Sources by A. H. Wratislaw, the fable entitled "The she-wolf" tells of a huge she-wolf with a habit of turning into a woman from time to time by taking off her skin. One day a man witnesses the transformation, steals her pelt and marries her.

The Merchant's Sons is a Finnish story of two brothers, one of whom tries to win the hand of the tsar's wicked daughter. The girl does not like her suitor and endeavors to have him killed, but he turns her into a beautiful mare which he and his brother ride. In the end he turns her back into a girl and marries her.

In Dapplegrim if the youth found the transformed princess twice, and hid from her twice, they would marry.

In literary fairy tale The Beggar Princess, in order to save her beloved prince, Princess Yvonne fulfills the tasks of cruel king Ironheart and is changed into an old woman.

[mermaidmelodyedits]

Melody's Beginning Ch.1

Author Notes: This fanfic is a SEQUEL to my Return to the Sea AU Fanfic where Melody is 19 instead of 12. This story is a retelling of The Little Mermaid 3 with Melody as the protagonist. Previous story has 24 chapters and a prologue.

YOU DO NOT NEED TO READ THE FIRST TO UNDERSTAND THIS SEQUEL!

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Chapter 1: Nightmares

Tomorrow was a very special and important day, perhaps the most important in the entire ocean, and everything, everything, had to be utterly perfect. The king would not tolerate imperfections in any regard when it came to his beloved and revered wife Queen Athena.

It had been a long day of preparations for the events to come tomorrow, and now it was getting late. King Triton was exhausted, but nothing could stop him from being there to tuck his seven blessed daughters into bed every night. 

“Oh the waves roll low… and the waves roll high…”

A siren’s call entranced him, he could never possess the will power to resist following it. As he pulled back the flowery seaweed tapestry entrance, he saw the most special sight in the world. Each of his little princesses scattered around the royal nursery, cuddling plush toys, brushing their hair, settling into their abalone shell beds to dream until morning.

“And so it goes, and so it goes, under a bright blue endless sky…”

On the other end of the room was a mostly open wall giving the most fantastical view of the golden city sprawled out for miles below. Athena perched herself on the open window sill, a perfect painting of a Queen with her whole king down behind her. Her melodic voice carrying on the tides and lulling her precious treasures to sleep.

“Waves try to measure, the days that we treasure…”

Athena glided to tiny baby Ariel, kissing her forehead. Her kind husband joined her tucking in their youngest, making sure she was perfectly swaddled in her flower woven blankets.

“Wave hello…and wave good bye.”

The king took his lover’s hand, and together they floated to the entrance.

“Under a bright endless sky…”

Each of their children had slipped asleep, and arm in arm the Queen and King left. 

“Good night girls.”

 The royal couples wedding anniversary was the grandest holiday of the year, and no expense or luxury was spared. King Triton had personally planned every detail, for no one knew what his wife would love the way he did. It was to take place at the mermaid lagoon, a beautiful island cove Athena had spent much of her youth and was her favorite place. She had grown up a bay mermaid, not a city one, and at times the Queen couldn’t help but be homesick. Her husband knew it, no matter how much she hide and denied it.

But it wasn’t just the location that was special, he had ensured a spectacular show of magic and music. For his wife had been a passionate scholar of the enchantments and the arts her whole life, before becoming Queen she had even been planning to go study magic under the sirens. A race of octopus like merfolk, known for having an ancient and powerful control of magic. 

Of course everyone knew magic and art went hand in hand, to the point that many argued there was no difference between the two. Yet it wouldn’t be the king’s royal orchestral court that would play today, Athena could listen to them any time they want. How would that be special? No, he had secretly enlisted the finest local musician of the isles and bays famous for their completely unique jazzy and snappy music. Far too informal for the courts of Atlantica, but it was the music Athena grew up with, the kind she loved. It’s originality attributed to its origin in the bay mermaids combining the human sailor style of song with their own aquatic traditions, embued with a bit of special bay merfolk branded enchantments.

“Ok my love, you can open your eyes now.”

The Queen’s emerald eyes sparkled at the sight, the melodies swelled, rainbows and and rain of sparkles being woven by the most talented illusionaries in the ocean. All the flowers surrounding the lagoon burst into full bloom, with a little help from the expert botanists of the city leading up to the event. Their beautiful daughters in their laughing and playing in the calmer tides of the cove.

King Triton took his wife’s hand, and with the other he presented her with his anniversary gift. She took the gold and cerulean shell in her hand, and with her delicate hands she unhatched the locket. 

Instantly a golden radiance appeared and inside of the clam locket she saw her and her husband, dancing in each other’s arms, their song playing as they twirled. With a small gasp she put her slender fingers to her rosy lips.

King Triton cradled her face in his strong hand, and sang softly to her. “Under an endless sky.”

She giggled, “Our song.”

He put his hand under her chin, tilting her hand towards him ever so slightly. As he leaned in for a kiss, they were interrupted by a chorus of giggles.

The couple snickered, and Triton playfully shushed Athena. Then in an instant he was in the water, scooping up their girls and tossing them into the air as they laughed and dove back into the water. 

Then as quickly as it had began, it had to end. The light illusions vanished instantly, and the clouds being held at bay started to roll in. The merfolk looked around in instant dread and fear, and with gasps and screams they saw a ship heading towards them.

Yet this wasn’t any ship, it wasn’t merchants, or sea faring men who go about the oceans thinking merfolk are nothing but fairy tales in their sailor songs. No, this was a ship know to all merfolk, and especially known by those who lived among the isles. A pirate ship famous for raiding the coast for their favorite loot, the otherworldly magical kind that came from the depths below.

There was a panic, and everyone dove in different directions trying get as far below the surface as they could. Athena looked to her daughters, terror and confusion written all over their innocent faces. King Tritin got to them first, but only fast enough to grab their youngest. Athena rushed to her children, but not before the stampede slammed into the rest with complete disregard. Sending them either crashing into rocks or below the surface. The Queen dove below the water, long enough to count five of her kids get away with others into the darkness of the waves. Her husband had Ariel, which meant someone was missing. 

As the merfolk fled the pirates plundered, grabbing all the treasures the merfolk left behind in the panic. Sharp hooks thrown over board, harpoons threatening themselves from the sides of the ship, men hooping and hollering as they drew their blades. 

Athena rushed back to the surface, frantically searching for her missing child. Her husband still cradled Ariel, hesitating to rush below the surface without his entire family in tow.

Attina had been thrown into the rocks in the chaos, one landing directly on her tail fin. Pinning her to the outcropping and drawing blood, her face instantly twisting into pain.

The mother’s heart twisted, instantly recognizing the cries of her first born baby. She rushed to her child, adrenaline fueling her entire body as she lifted to massive rubble off her daughter. She could lift it just barely, but it was just enough for Triton to snatch her eldest away.

Athena screamed at her husband, “Go!” And he knew better than to question her. 

“Close your eyes girls, don’t look.”

Athena had listened to her father, but Ariel hadn’t.

Their mother couldn’t get away in time, the ship didn’t stop, the bow slamming into her back at full speed. The water turning red…

There was a lightning strike and suddenly it wasn’t her mother. Her hair turned black, her wide green eyes turning sky blue, eyebrows like her father’s. All of suddenly it wasn’t her mother she was watching die, it was her daughter, it was her sweet baby Melody. 

Ariel screamed herself awake, her skin cold and clammy, her body trembling. Eric wrapped his arms around her instantly, and with an understanding silence he cradled his wife to his chest.

[phykios]

the marble king, part 12 [end] [read on ao3] [rated M for adult situations]

Constantinople, 1453

Even here beneath the waves, down in the darkness of the crushing ocean, all she could smell was smoke. War drums still thundered in her ears. On her lips, she tasted blood and salt--though whether it was the seawater or her tears, she could not say. 

But it was not enough that she had failed to defend the city of Constantinople. It was not enough that she had lost her unit to a man, or had abandoned her post, or had allowed the Ottomans through the Kerkoporta on her watch.

Any one of these things would have branded her a failure--but that the wretched, insufferable, intolerable son of Poseidon had borne witness to it all only turned the knife even deeper, salting the wound and taking pleasure in her misfortune.

To be reduced to a weeping woman like this, taking refuge in his embrace, it was disgraceful. It was nearly as painful as the loss of the city. 

The city… gods above, the city.

The heart of the known world. The defense of Europe. The last gasp of the Roman empire. 

Gone.

And all that was left of it was him.

And so she clung even tighter. 

It felt vaguely sacrilegious to be here, holding his hand, beneath the shadow of the temple erected to his father’s defeat. Her siblings would shun her. Her mother would disown her. The earth should have split open and swallowed her whole for such blasphemy.

And yet, it felt so right.

They had traveled so many miles together, weathered so many storms and stood against so many monsters. He had followed the Hunters of Artemis all the way to Mauretania, chasing a hazy vision of Annabeth struggling beneath Atlas’ burden. He had returned from certain death, thrown himself before her when she was in danger, had refused the gods’ offer of immortality. Then, even after she had spat in his face, expelling him from her sight, when the world crumbled around them and he could have so easily turned and ran, straight into the arms of the sea, his protection and the source of his power--he had sought her out. 

“If you agree, Annabeth,” he said, strikingly earnest in the way that only he could be, “let us, here and now, tie off these threads of our history, as one would to a tapestry. Let us end this rivalry of ours.” 

Percy had always risked life and limb for her safety. And, she thought, her old shoulder wound itching, she had done the same. They were a team, a partnership. In the absence of their brothers in arms, of their divine parents, of all trappings of the world they once knew, they should stay together. His logic was sound.

“A plan worthy of Athena,” she said. “I agree to your terms.”

That her mother did not immediately emerge from the temple, in all her heavenly glory, to smite her for such an insult was even more proof that her spirit no longer dwelt in this place. Lady Athena had never attempted to hide her distaste for her uncle’s son.

“To think,” he wondered, softly, hazily, “that such a legendary rivalry could have been resolved so easily.”

“It is strange,” she admitted, looking out on the diminished city, the light streaking across wooden roofs and weathered stone, “that along with my mother and our ancestral home, I have lost this as well.” 

As long as she had known him, Percy had been a remarkably consistent presence in his life--in some ways, even more solid than the other foundational truths of her life. Her mother would not always be pleased, her friends may not always return from war, but Percy would always be there to irritate, antagonize, and infuriate her to previously unreached heights. To let that go as well, to be so unmoored… it was frightening. 

“Well,” said Percy, squeezing her hand, a silly little smile crossing his lips, "my first act, in the shedding of our rivalry, is to pledge myself to our future empress, Ana Zabeta Palaiologina." 

Palaiologina. The word cut through her in a way she could not quite understand. 

Maidens the world over dreamed of marrying into a family with such prestige, spent every waking moment scheming how best to attach themselves to royalty. Annabeth herself had done the very same thing, not days previously. To ingratiate herself to Thomas and Demetrios would be child’s play for someone with her abilities. 

And yet… she did not want Percy to call her Palaiologina. 

He raised her hand to his lips, and kissed the skin there, gracious, deferential. Or mocking, if the glint in his eye was any indication.

Phykios, she grumbled to herself.

Pulling her hand back, she wiped it on her dress, hoping to rid her fingers of the hot, tingly sensation which had taken hold.

 ***

 The words echoed in her head, long after they had been spoken aloud, clanging like the bells which sat atop the churches on every corner, inescapable. 

Percy had long since gone to sleep, safe in the strength of their companionship. How easily had he divulged his secrets to her! Were their rivalry still intact, she would now have the precise knowledge she required to ruin him entirely. Alas that the same knowledge which would have brought her victory years ago now brought her to ruin and despair.

No mortal woman.

Again, for what must have been the fifth time since he had fallen asleep, she examined every corner of their conversation, turning each word over for double, triple, twisted meanings, meanings which he may not have even been clever enough to imply. That he had rejected Rachael’s advances, even though she had been a fine marriage prospect, that she had never seen him in the company of another woman, that he had admitted to relations with a man so easily, that he had never pursued her, despite years of questing and friendship and several less-than-obvious hints--it all pointed to one logical, if devastating, conclusion.

Yet there was another side to such a terrible coin. She should not have spent so many years agonizing over her words and actions which had turned his heart from her, for she had never had his heart in the first place, had never had a chance to it. No woman had. Annabeth need not have gone to such lengths, seducing Katya when she had expressed an interest in Percy’s hand, monopolizing his attention, flaunting her femininity before his eyes, for he never would have noticed her at all. 

While Annabeth was beside herself, worrying herself sick over his health and safety, Percy had been languishing in the arms of another man--of a man of the Legion.

She felt so cold, despite the fire, despite her cloak, despite the heat of the summer night which lay upon her, heavy and still. 

None of it had mattered, she was coming to realize. Not the time he had refused immortality, nor the time he had returned from the island of Ogygia, nor the time he had crossed the known world to rescue her from Lukas and the titans. A maiden’s fanciful romance, she had enjoyed imagining that at least some of it may have been for her sake. 

The stars blurred before her eyes, her breath hitching.

No. She would not let herself fall to pieces, in her silent, lonesome revelation. There was no sense in weeping over spilled oil; to mourn for a future which had never been possible was a waste of time and energy.

And yet. Gods above, and yet.

She had so successfully repressed the stunning depths of her feelings for him for years, her stubborn, willful pride refusing to let go of a silly grudge and a terrible misunderstanding. How fitting, then, that it should resurface as soon as she discovered such an avenue had never been available to her.

Sniffing heartily, she scrubbed at her eyes, wiping the tears which had gathered in them.

Do not weep, she told herself. There were more wars to fight, more battles to be won, and matters of the heart did not take precedence, no matter how much they hurt. 

 ***

Her siblings, as children, always teased her for her fixation on her hair. Blonde was not an unusual color at the agoge, but children of the war goddess were not supposed to be so concerned with such things as physical appearance. That was strictly the purview of the sons and daughters of Aphrodite; Athena’s children were supposed to focus their wits on things far more deserving of their attention than beauty. Beauty was fleeting, ephemeral, intangible--beauty did not win battles. Athena and Aphrodite were always at odds, in this way.

Yet when Annabeth, a child of fourteen years old, one day very shyly sidled up to Silena, having swallowed her pride to ask the older girl for assistance, Silena agreed immediately, without ever having to hear any arguments. “You have always had such lovely hair,” she had cooed, sitting beneath the shadow of one of the olive trees, her hands deftly twisting her thick, curly, unruly hair into sleek, orderly locks. “Many a sibling of mine has lamented that you have been given so many gifts, your tresses not the least among them.”

Annabeth had smiled, pleased. The older she became, the more comments appraising her apparent beauty she received, and she was not always so pleased to receive them, though coming from Silena’s mouth, they seemed much more sincere. “You speak truly?”

“Of course! And it is not only my siblings who say so.” Then, Silena had leaned over, slipping Annabeth a sly wink. “I have heard tell that a certain son of Poseidon has expressed quite a particular admiration for it as well.”

Indignant, she had squawked, lightly smacking her friend, while Silena tittered, very prettily. “Cease with such falsehood! I know you do nothing but jest!”

“It is no falsehood, korie,” she had said, pulling on a curly forelock. “Carlo has told me how he often speaks of you in such flattering tones. One would think he had decided to court you already!” And then she had laughed again, gaily, delighted--but never mocking.

Flushing, Annabeth’s heart had begun to pound as she considered the potential truth of such a statement, that Percy had spoken of her that way. Recently, she had developed a rather peculiar set of reactions to Percy’s presence: flushed cheeks, pounding heart, an absence of all her faculties so that she, at times, became nearly as foolish as he.

She did not like those feelings. Not at all. 

“Can you teach me,” she had said instead, unwilling to dwell on such strange emotion, for such things were so obviously beneath her, “how you wove your hair so skillfully the other day?”

“Of course,” Silena had said, a knowing glint in her eyes. “In fact, I will teach you one better. My siblings say that this particular braid is supposed to resemble the tail of a mermaid.”

Annabeth had practiced the skill for years, long before and long after the moment she had divined what those feelings of hers had truly meant. The mermaid’s tail, however, had not caught its mark--nor had any of the other simple or complex plaits she had mastered and perfected. By the time she was old enough to begin covering her hair, as older girls were meant to do, it seemed that there was nothing she could do with her hair to entice a particular man’s gaze, nor with any other part of her.

Of course, now she understood why.

How cruel were the Fates, that they had finally given her what she had so fervently desired, Percy’s hands in her hair, at such a terrible, unromantic time! 

Still, he treated her with all delicacy and respect as he quite crudely hacked away at her gathered hair, sawing off all traces of her femininity. Annabeth was not endowed with so much in her hips nor her breasts; her hair was certainly the most obviously feminine part about her, thus with its removal, she would be better able to pass for a man, and be better kept safe from marauding bandits with evil, grasping hands. 

It was sound logic, yes. But it was not her only goal. 

She closed her eyes, measuring her breathing so as to keep the rapid war-drum of her heart from alerting the other party. All she could smell was the comforting salt scent which seemed to engulf her, like the warm embrace of the sea on a sunny day.

With a tug, then, it was done. “There,” said her companion. “It is finished.”

How odd, she thought, to feel air on her neck, so cold and exposed. “Well?” she asked, turning round before she let fear get the better of her. “Am I sufficiently boyish?”

He looked on her so oddly, his face a strange concoction of overlapping emotions, coalescing into a furrowing of his handsome brow, a pursing of his lips which still sent her into madness if she should consider them for too long. Please, she nearly prayed, as though she could change his mind from the force of her want alone. Am I as beautiful as all the boys in Rome? Am I someone you could love?

It seemed he had learned quite a bit of tact in their years apart, for he relieved her of her little fantasy ever so gently. “I am not certain,” he said, careful, deliberate, “you could pass as a man--though, perhaps you could be seen as a particularly delicate one.”

Her foolish wish shattered, as glass hurled against a wall.

Well. What was done was done. With a snap and an appeal to his gentlemanly nature, she sent him away so that she could pilfer a dead man’s clothes--and mourn her childish dreams--in peace. 

 ***

 Something in the air, the cold snap of it, the feeling as though one were breathing in pure ice, little shards of glass tickling the lungs and stomach--she had not realized just how much she had missed it. Of course the summer nights of the south were pleasant and fair, but there was something so sublime in the frigidity, the freezing, the ice in her fingers and the heat in her cheeks.

And, truth be told, something to say of her traveling companion as well.

Percy had been… nothing short of a miracle. Ripped far from his home, from everything he had ever known, and from his great Roman love (she thought to herself, with an internal scowl), he had been, the whole time, staunch, stalwart, solid. A better companion she could not have asked for, nor a better friend.

She told him as such, and distantly enjoyed the way his face flushed, ever so lightly. Tanned a deep, dark brown by the sun and by his natural coloring, it was sometimes difficult to tell what he was thinking, but she knew him well enough now. Had known him well enough for years. 

He was very, very close now. For warmth, they had begun drifting closer together, their bodies’ natural attempts to stave off the bitter, northern cold. 

She saw his eyes flick down to her lips.

No, she told herself firmly, no. He did not want for her advances. She had done everything she could to demonstrate her interest, short of simply throwing herself at him, and he had never risen for a single one. Annabeth and Percy were simply not meant to be, and no amount of forced companionship could change that.

For a brief, agonizing heartbeat, she thought she saw him twitch closer. 

Then, from the corner of her eyes--light. “Percy, look!” she gasped.

Ásbrú, the rainbow bridge, pierced through the night sky as a blade through water, a burning ribbon of color, near as bright as the moon itself, even more beautiful than in her wildest imaginations. Though she knew well its existence, the bridge had never presented itself to her, not as the mountain of Olympus had. To see it now, it felt like stepping through a silk curtain, passing some invisible line. It felt like a rush of bloodlust, a guttural roar, like a warm fire and the hot curl of mead in her stomach.

“I can’t believe it,” she murmured.

It felt like coming home. 

 ***

 How little her father had changed. 

Politics was certainly not his area of interest, but he threw himself into his work as passionately as he had with the histories of Anglia and Gallia. His collections of papers, books, and pamphlets of various sizes and subjects were dizzyingly well-researched, a kind of organized chaos which resonated within her, every piece of information in its precise place, even if the place was incomprehensible to others. However, she could sense how little he cared for it.

“My dear,” he said, exhaustion in the slump of his shoulders, “I am afraid there is not much else that I can do. Mary tells me the Totts are growing more and more insistent--and they are merely the kindest about it. Word of both your reappearance and your inheritance has spread far faster than either of us had suspected it would, and we are expected to reply to a demand.”

Annabeth had returned to Svealand, it seemed, in the middle of quite the precarious situation. In the years since she had escaped her monastic doom, there had been no less than three separate kings who had ruled over the joining of northern lands: one deposed, one dead, and one perilously close to danger. Now the union had split apart, and had been at war with itself, with no signs of stopping. 

Like many, many noble girls, Annabeth was being paraded around for marriage. At first, when she learned her mad uncle Randulf had left her some properties and the like, she had been oddly touched. She had never known the man personally, nor his children, who had died by some supernatural force whilst she had been roaming the European countryside, but she supposed it had been a final act of some charity, some avuncular affection for his brother’s daughter--yet, after she had learned what the inheritance had brought with it, she wished her uncle had given it to Magnus instead. Or at the very least, kept it to himself. 

At least her father was equally upset at this turn of events, if not more so. 

“Understand me well, Anja,” he said, his voice thick with fear and worry, “were it up to me, I would never allow it. If I had known you would have been subjected to the predatory whims of the blue-blooded fools in Uppsala, I would have never prayed for your return. I did not get you back just to lose you to--”

“I understand, papa,” she interrupted, gently. It would do neither of them to lose their heads at this time. “Of course I understand.”

“The rebellion is growing, and it is powerful. I do not think it will be very long until Karl Bonde is overthrown, but I worry this land cannot undergo any further crises. To see you enmeshed in such bloody business is one of my deepest, darkest fears, and yet…” He then put his head in his hands, the picture of defeat. “I see no way out of this.”

For her part, Annabeth could think of a few ways, each more distasteful than the last, full of lies and conceit. If she knew she would be forced to be married after all, she would have done more to convince Percy to take her to the Morea.

Then, a thought occurred to her. An idea. A magnificent, inspired plan. A dirty, sordid trick.

“What if…” she said slowly, considering. The next few words out of her mouth could determine a whole host of things, be they pleasant or or unpleasant. She had to speak carefully. “What if I were already married?”

He raised his head, peering at her curiously. “Are you--?”

“No, no,” she assured him. “Certainly not.” Not for a lack of trying, anyway.

Still, he looked thoughtful. “That is a clever idea,” he mused, rubbing his chin, “though I suppose they would then question why we did not think to mention it sooner.”

No doubt her stepmother had paraded about her unmarried status to all who would hear her. “We could say I was married in the eastern church. Perhaps that could explain the irregularity.”

“Perhaps.” Her father sounded doubtful. “I fear, however, that without a union in this church, it would not be recognized as legitimate.”

Seated in her chair, her foot tapped against the floor, quite unbecoming of a lady. Her fingers twitched in her lap, blood pulsing. “Then I suppose my ersatz husband and I must be married again.”

He nodded. “I see… yes, I see. And have you someone in mind for the role?”

It came tumbling out of her mouth so quickly, she ought to have been embarrassed. “Percy.”

“Your friend from the agoge?” 

Upon her return, she had relayed a number of stories to her family of her adventures--and of course, nearly all of them included Percy. They had all been privy to tales of his nobility, honor, and gentlemanly nature; surely there would be no reason for her father to refuse the idea. 

She swallowed, a knot of terror in her stomach.

“Percy,” he said again, “yes, I do believe this could work.”

At his assent, Annabeth nearly collapsed. 

“Another brilliant idea, my dear,” said her father, fondness suffusing every word, “though I cannot say I am surprised. Even as a child, your mother’s influence shone through quite clearly.”

Were she of a crueler, colder nature, Annabeth could have walked away right there and then, freedom solidly within her grasp, in a form most pleasing to her. Percy’s hand in marriage--the dream of many a girl in the agoge. She could leave it at that, and be done with the whole affair.

But. But. 

“I will speak to him on the morrow, then,” he said, gathering up his files. “Is there anything else you would like to discuss?”

“Just--” she blurted, heat rushing to her face. “Only--promise me, papa, that we will not move forward without his consent to the match. I do not… I would never wish to force his hand in this manner.”

She may have had him in her grasp, but she loved him too much to keep him there. 

But, she vowed, as long as Percy was beside her, she would never be able to marry another man, not a lord nor a king nor an emperor--for what were any of these compared to her prince of the sea?

 ***

 She silenced the little voice of doubt in her mind, cast aside all thoughts of fear or nerves. 

Percy had agreed to marry her, and, all told, it had taken very little convincing, as she had suspected--his nobility was well-documented and unflagging. He would never have left her to such a horrid fate if he thought he could do something to save her.

It did not make her feel better.

But, in the end, they were married in the local church, in a simple, unfussy ceremony. Annabeth wore blue for the occasion, a garment of her own creation, and a garland of flowers, as was custom. Percy, of course, was unfairly handsome as always, his eyes lighting up when he first saw her, and when he kissed her, as the ceremony required, she allowed herself to pretend for one beautiful, beautiful moment, that he had kissed her of his own volition. 

She was smiling as she pulled away, carried off by the fantasy, even as she could tell he worked very hard to keep his composure. It would not do to show open disgust at his own wedding, she surmised.

They were forced to kiss once more by her dastardly cousins, Magnus cheering and jeering and egging them on until they participated in the little wedding game devised by Alejandro. Her cousin was far more empathetic than many people realized, and though she had never spoken of it to him, she was almost certain Magnus knew the truth of her feelings, and had decided to play a cruel trick on her. If only it did not make her heart tremble so!

Fortunately, or unfortunately, depending upon the perspective, she could not dwell on it for very long. The marriage bed awaited them. 

Her family accompanied them there, to see her off on this final portion of the path to womanhood. Magnus and Alejandro were still quite inebriated, but her father was sober as could be, embracing his daughter warmly. “Tell me, Anja,” he whispered to her, in their language. “Do you love him?”

Athena would only have chosen the cleverest of men with whom to create a child. Of course he had uncovered the truth of it.

She nodded into his chest, and he held her even tighter. “I am glad,” he said. “I am so glad.”

Then releasing her, he nodded to her husband--her husband--and he left them alone with the marriage bed.

The two of them had shared a bed several times during their journey. It should not have affected her so--but there was a slight, yet significant, distinction between a bed shared by two friends, and one shared by a husband and wife. A distinction she could no longer ignore. A distinction which Percy, too, seemed well aware of. 

A distinction which, unfortunately, changed the nature of their relationship. 

The trinity men believed a marriage was not valid until intercourse had occurred--the rule held even more strongly for those of the nobility. Percy and Annabeth shared no such inane assumptions, of course, but they were beholden to a different set of rules, now. To please the land-grabbing nobles of Svealand, they would have to consummate the marriage.

Annabeth wished she could say she explained the matter plainly and calmly, and that Percy had accepted her logic without much fuss, and they had gone to bed in order to fulfill the silly contract set out for them.

In reality, that was not how it had gone.

She had fallen to pieces, dissolving into tears, so intense he had had to hold her, and she could not even enjoy the feeling of his arms around her, so ashamed was she by her display of emotions. Haltingly, punctuated by sobs and hiccups, she explained her case, and all but begged him to make love to her.

And he did. Because he was a noble man.

And it was just as wonderful as she had always imagined it.

He finished inside of her, glorious and copious, and she could have died in that moment, so full of him, she might never be empty again.

But the truth swiftly fell upon her like a sword: she had coerced, tricked, and beguiled a good man into her bed, a man who did not, and would never, love her. She felt cold all over, from the pit of her stomach to the tips of her toes, still wrapped around him. 

It was done. They were married. And Annabeth had never felt worse. 

Not even sleep could soothe her, for that night, she had a most frightening dream. 

In her dream, she stands upon a stone hill, overlooking a little town. From the rocks beneath her burbles forth a spring, salty and strong, and beside, an olive tree, of thick trunk and golden branches. Before her, there is a king, his body compounded of a man and a serpent, and there is a god, he who is the wave and the storm and the thunder of hoofbeats, and she, too, is a god, she who is the owl and the spear and the shield who strikes terror in the hearts of men, and the king delivers judgement onto them. He says then to the wave and the storm, “The people have spoken, and their choice is clear. This land shall be ceded to the goddess.”

“Bah!” scoffs the god, the rumble of the earth in his breath. “You would insult me so, who cares for your sailors and delivers them home unharmed?”

“Cecrops has spoken, uncle,” she says, in a voice not her own, silver and gold and unyielding. “The Oracle has given the people of this city the power to choose their patron, and chosen they have. You, who lay claim to the bounty of waves and the power of the sea, will you not allow me this little hill? Will you not respect their judgement, and go in peace?”

But the god frowns, his thick brows drawing together above the typhoon in his eyes, and he brandishes his weapon, the three-pronged trident which had split the very earth itself. “I shall go,” he says, as the crash of water on the shore, “I shall leave you the city--but be warned, glaukopis, and be wary, king, for you and your people have made a powerful enemy on this day.” 

“No, uncle,” she says, commanding and columnar, the sound and the fury and the cry of triumph, bolstered by the land which now belongs to her, and the people who are already worshipping in her name, an ever present thrum in the core of her being. “It is you who has made a powerful enemy.”

He glowers, the black, heavy clouds of the horizon, and he strikes the stone with his weapon, and from that spring which had been his gift, now becomes his curse, a mighty wave pouring forth from the earth itself, powerful and unyielding as the hundred foot waves and the stampede of horses, rising up as the sea itself, flooding the plain and the people and the king and the goddess, burying it all beneath the sand and the water, but still the stone hill remains, and still the olive tree stands upon it, its branches stretching towards the sky, defiant, willful. It stands, proud, rooted, planted, immovable, immutable. 

Permanent.

 ***

 Annabeth had dreamed of married life with Percy for far, far longer than she was willing to admit. In her dreams, she had imagined it to be endless fun, endless bickering, and endless bliss.

It was none of those things. 

He did not love her, nor any woman. He’d married her to secure her hand away from squabbling lords and wicked step mothers, and possibly for the financial security of her land--she did not blame him for it, of course. Such a large favor demanded an equal reward, and if any man deserved to rest on his laurels it was Percy. She was happy to take care of him, but as the days dragged on, she wondered if that was what was happening at all.

Marriage seemed to have drained all the light out of Percy. He floated around the manor, gray and listless, speaking rarely, and then mostly to Alejandra. They shared a bed, closer than ever before, and yet, she was not sure she’d ever felt so distant. He looked at her, yet she was not certain he saw anything at all. 

She tried to entice him to enjoy the finer things, offering to hunt with him as Alejandro had, suggesting that they go for a trip around the lake, even attempting to arrange for them to visit his new holding, so he might see where they were to make their estate. Each advance was summarily turned down. He resisted meals together, and ate very little. He retired to bed early, and stayed in after she’d gotten up. 

Once, desperate and sad, she even asked him to join her to view the beauty of the midnight sky. It was an indulgent thing, but she thought only the night sky could compare with him in beauty, and she wished to see it all up close. 

He declined. 

He did not even seem to notice when she found herself ill several mornings in a row. He slept for much of the time these days, but it still hurt--once upon a time, he had been so quick to observe her. 

Her maidservant tutted as she instructed a chamber girl to take the chamber pot into which Annabeth had vomited away. She was a middle aged woman who had served Annabeth’s aunt, and was rather eager to have another woman in the family, because Alejandra did not like having a personal servant to help with dressing for reasons Annabeth understood, but that was not well known beyond the family. After the pot had been emptied and the dirtied linen had been delivered to the laundry, she had helped Annabeth into her gown.

Annabeth had not engaged any servants in Constantinople, obviously, nor at the agoge, and could lace her stays perfectly well, yet there was something delightful about having assistance. The gowns here were heavier, after all, the fabric much thicker and the detailing far finer. Not having to do it all herself was a relief, as was someone to clean the room and cook the food. 

“Will you and the master be moving to your estate before or after your babe is born, ma’am?” asked the maidservant.

Stunned, all she could say, was a single, inelegant, “What?”

“I know you were inquiring with the steward about going and surveying them, and the houses,” said the older woman. “But no one was sure what you’d found.”

Slowly, like the pieces of a good strategy, the woman’s meaning began to make itself clear: Percy, her master, and the estate her dowry, now transferred to her husband, where they would have to move sooner or later. “We have not yet gone,” Annabeth said. Percy had not wanted to. “We have not yet gone,” Annabeth repeated, because she could not quite understand the last part of the maid’s question. 

“Then, if Lord Magnus and Doña Alejandra will have it, best stay here until the baby is born. You and your husband can have some time then to engage the household. My brother in law would be a good candidate for steward, ma’am. He’s learned in his letters, can write anything the master might need, even in Latin.”

“Percy can write Latin,” Annabeth said distractedly. 

“Oh, of course, ma’am. I should expect nothing less of a prince.”

Annabeth could not even begin to parse that statement. Percy was, technically, a prince, but that status was kept even from the small group of people who still kept the heathen gods in her cousin's house, and this woman was not one of those. But--“What baby?” she asked, instead of interrogating the woman what she knew of Percy. 

Her servant blinked, and paused in her lacing, just above Annabeth’s stomach. She gave a kind of condescending smile which would have normally rubbed Annabeth all the wrong way, but she was too struck with terror by the implication. “Well,” she said, speaking as though Annabeth were a little girl, “you can never quite tell before the quickening, of course. However, it has been seven weeks since your monthly, and five since your wedding. Now you have fallen ill in the morning,” She had a twinkle in her eye. “I won’t be getting anyone in trouble, but there has been lots of talk, given how taken you and your prince are with each other, for how long it would be before you’d be with child. Such a joyous occasion is to be celebrated, even if perhaps it wouldn’t do to go around announcing it just yet. For safety's sake."

Her blood rushing, the ocean in her ears, with almost trembling hands, Annabeth touched at her belly. Nothing felt different beneath the layers of fabric.

It had not occurred to her it could even be a possibility. Percy had only laid with her once, on their wedding night, and only at her insistence. Now that the idea had entered her head, it began to grow, taking shape in her mind and her heart. Just like Percy’s seed in her womb. 

Percy’s child. She could give Percy a child. 

That happy thought carried her for several more weeks, as she monitored the signs and tried to find the perfect time to speak with him, to get him to visit their land, so she might show him his fortune and share the news that she would give him an heir for it as well. 

Men wanted sons, she knew. Perhaps, perhaps with luck Annabeth could still win him, could give him money and a son, and earn a little of his affection in return. 

As the days turned longer, still his mood did not improve, until one day after the morning meal, she prodded him to eat more, so she could then take him out to see all that was his. 

He told her instead that he wished to leave. Leave Svealand, his newly acquired land, and leave her, too. 

Struck with panic and despair, still she would not resort to cheap ploys. She fell back to the tricks that always worked with Percy: a little bullying, a lot of logic, and a refusal to let him go without her. 

By the end of the week, then, the plan was set. Once again, she would set out for lands unknown, leaving her father and her family behind, with no assurance she would ever see them again. This time, however, she was able to give her a proper farewell--and to tell him her suspicions. 

He embraced her, his joy overtaking his sorrow, and she embraced him in turn. 

To leave once before nearly rent her in two. Leaving him now was sorrowful, yes, but startlingly simple. The road would be long, and hard, and dangerous, but she was going to have Percy’s child. She was going to find her mother.

Let all manner of horrors just try and stop her. 

 ***

 She was beginning to understand why her mother had sworn to remain a chaste goddess.

Pregnancy was a truly nightmarish invention. Between the nausea, the soreness, the constant need to relieve herself, the inability to use the full spectrum of her wits in the manner to which she had been accustomed, she was well and truly suffering--to say nothing of the incessant, unending, all consuming lust which would strike her at the most inopportune times. The wind could merely change direction, and she would suddenly be aflame with carnal desire, aching for the touch of her husband in her most private, feminine parts, unable to think for the haze of want and need.

It was maddening. Utterly, utterly maddening.

Then, her hand would come to rest on her stomach, and it all would fade away at the mere thought of the child inside of her. Percy’s child. Their child.

Their son, she prayed.

And oh, how she prayed for a son, a little boy with wild black hair and eyes the color of the sea in the sunlight, who drooled in his sleep and loved his mother above all other women!

Concern gripped her, then, cold fingers around her heart. 

What did Annabeth know of being a mother?

She had only met her true mother a handful of times, and had barely ever received an ounce of affection from her. Her father’s wife had been the sworn enemy of her childhood, the two of them always at odds, until it had reached its boiling point, and Annabeth had taken her chances with the wild. The most she knew of motherhood had been what little she had been able to glean from Percy’s mother, Sarah, who had been more than happy to share the secrets of her trade--yet she could have spent a lifetime under Sarah’s tutelage, and still she feared it would not be enough. 

Annabeth was not a kind, nurturing person by nature. Hard rather than soft, sharp rather than gentle, none who had ever known her would have ever imagined her to be a mother. In truth, as a young girl, Annabeth had not even imagined it for herself. A warrior woman, a daughter of Athena: she had been so sure that she had been destined for greater things than marriage and children.

How foolish she had been.

Wives and mothers won wars in ways that Athena herself could not even conceive of. When she considered motherhood now, she thought of Mary, her father’s wife, moving money and bodies on a chessboard of titanic proportions. She thought of Sarah, who had labored every day beneath the notice of the men around her to provide and care for her son, to teach him what he would need to know to defeat the titan lord. 

Now she better understood why Hera, queen of the heavens, had also been the patroness of mothers.

Annabeth would do everything in her power, she swore, to shore up influence around their little family, to ensure that they were safe and secure and comfortable in all ways, both seen and unforeseen. And, well, if Percy would not accept her affection, as was his right, then at the very least, she would be able to give it to their son. 

 ***

 He was perfect. By all the gods above, he was absolutely perfect. 

Her son. Their son. Little Alexandros. 

She had so wanted to name him ‘Perseus,’ not after the slayer of the gorgon, but instead the hero of Olympus. No matter her personal feelings, for all that he had done, Percy deserved to be immortalized with the best of the heroes, for he was the best of the heroes--no, the better of all of them--and he deserved to have his name and his legacy passed on.

But, alas, it was not meant to be. Percy, gentle as could be, rejected the name for their son, and so they had settled on Alexandros.

He had been right, to her great surprise. Alexandros, the name, was perfect.

“The ship’s crew are in a tizzy,” was Nico’s greeting the day after her son’s birth, and nearly three years since they had last seen him.

Glibly, she said, “I had not meant to give birth aboard.” 

“That is not the issue,” he said, his eyes locked on Percy. “They have noticed we are, apparently, traveling at a much faster pace than we should be.” 

“Do they not wish to reach Venice in a timely manner?” Percy asked, before busying himself with her shawl, though she had assured him she was warm enough. 

Nico’s eyes had not left him, piercing. “They are wondering if it is an ill omen.” 

“They should be happy that the new mother and her child will be in safety soon,” was her husband’s only response.

“Yes,” Nico nodded, “about that…” He trailed off, eyes boring into her now, brimming with so many questions. 

“You promised you would not pester them so soon,” Will scolded, though he had a smile in his voice. 

“Well you cannot expect me not to wonder at such extraordinary circumstances.”

Annabeth did not remember Nico and Will being particularly friendly during their days at camp; in fact, she distinctly recalled Nico running away from any sort of friendship at the first chance he could. He had been a surly, combative young man, with his stony glare and frightening aura. That he had attracted a friend as sunny and cheerful as Will was nothing short of a minor miracle, and that they tolerated each other enough for light teasing was quite the achievement.

In her memory, Niccolo di Angelo was still a skinny little thing, carrying an ancient, profane sword too big for his body, following Percy about like a lost puppy. She would confess to not knowing much about the young man, but she was certain she would have remembered if he had been a noble--yet somehow, the revelation that he was a count had completely blindsided her, with a fortune fit for the son of the god of wealth. 

“Well, what of your story?” she asked, adjusting her position to better support her sleeping child. “We have not seen you for nearly three years.”

He raised a brow, familiar disdain on his face. “I reside in the city.”

Oh. Well, then. Annabeth had sort of been under the impression that he lived in the Underworld, with his father. “Truly?”

“My mother was a countess,” he said, “many years ago, and, with some light forgeries, I was able to access her estate, as her sole living descendent.”

Many, many years ago, on their very first quest, Percy and Annabeth had sought to take refuge in a large tavern, only to discover it to be the den of the Lotus-Eaters, whose power stole time away from one’s perception, seducing them with food and wine and cards and dice to trap them there completely. Though they had not realized it at the time, Nico and his sister had been trapped in the same establishment, stashed there by an Underworldian associate some seventy or so years prior. How strange it must have been for him, to emerge into a world he could no longer recognize, and all his family long since perished.

But Nico would not be moved. “Our tale is long and tedious by comparison, but yours--now that has piqued my interest. I understand you and your husband were still in the city on the eve of its fall?”

“We fled as the walls were overrun,” she said. “We had thought to make straight for the agoge, but when we arrived, it had vanished, as if it had never been there at all.”

He frowned. “Yes, it had gone by the time we had arrived as well. Afterwards, then, Will and I traveled to Aachen, to speak to the Legion. I would have thought you would have gone as well.” He turned his eyes to Percy. “Iason sends his greetings, by the way.”

Clenching her teeth, she busied herself with something on Alexandro’s blanket, so she would not open her mouth and say something particularly foolish.

“We traveled to Thera, and to Athens, first, to try and contact our divine parents” said Percy. Annabeth did not think she could detect any changes in his voice, any hints of longing or the like, but she heard nothing--though that, in itself, did not necessarily indicate much. “Once we were unable to reach them, we decided to travel to Annabeth’s homeland in the North, to return her to her father.”

“A successful journey, I take it?” 

Lightly, Will swatted him. 

“After our marriage, then,” Percy went on, “we thought it best to return to the South.”

“And Venice?” he asked. “Have you any family here?”

Percy cast her a sideways glance, one she could not quite parse. “We… wondered if, perhaps, the gods had landed here,” he admitted, in a low voice, “after they fled the city of Constantine.”

“We have not seen hide nor hair of them,” said Will. “Nico has not even been able to contact his father."

Percy’s eyes widened. “Lord Hades has gone, too?”

“It seems so,” Nico said, looking pensive. “The ancient doorways have moved as well: the River Styx, the Door of Orpheus, and others.”

“The only clue we have is a message imparted to us in dreams from our parents,” said Percy, “the city of old soldiers.”

Will straightened in his seat. “I, too, have had such a dream.”

“As well, there also was a vision from my mother. In this city, she said there is a church, green and white with a red dome. Have you ever heard of such a place?”

Nico hummed, thoughtful. “Possibly. I was delivered a different clue, it seems: Zagreus and Thanatos, blood and death, appeared to me in a dream, and bade me to seek the birthplace of fire itself.”

As one, they frowned, turning over their words as though they had been handed one of Rachael’s prophecies. As one, they all came up empty. “Well,” said Will, after some time, “I do not believe we shall divine an answer today. There is another riddle I have in mind, one quite simpler: Percy, Annabeth, have you a place to stay in the city?”

With little persuasion, Nico had been insistent that they stay with him for the time being, in his large palazzo. When Annabeth was feeling better, he swore, Nico would show them all his available properties--for, of course, he had several--and that they would discuss rent at that time. Quickly and expediently on their arrival, he arranged for his staff to move their things, and granted them use of his beautifully appointed rooms, a separate one for each of them, down the hall from each other. In an uncharacteristic stroke of compassion, she thought, he had even located a wet nurse for Alexandros. Though Annabeth was loath to part with him during the day, she found it to be a godsent at night, even after only a week, allowing her the sleep she so desperately needed.

Percy proclaimed the procurement right and good, but it took her several days to realize he wanted to relieve her of her son. “Let Nico handle it,” he said, fussing over her, “you should rest.”

Days turned to months, and he let Nico handle a great many things. He spent hours holed up in Nico’s study, discussing matters of economics, travel, and management, as the Conte di Angelo poured his resources into a new business venture--a shipping company, financed by Nico and overseen by Percy.

The months stretched on into a year, and predictably, Percy had already seen great growth and investment from some other bankers and merchants in the city, what with his ability to not only turn the seas in his favor and outrun any marauding raiders, but also to simply discern the best days to sail, to predict weather patterns and wave directions. 

She always knew he’d be superbly successful at this line of work--even without his father’s blessings.

Annabeth, meanwhile, had not been sitting idly by. Once again, with Nico’s assistance, she had entered the expatriate community of Constantinople, rubbing elbows with certain persons who would not have even deigned to look her way, had they known her before, in the fallen city itself. Now that she was moneyed and married to a very important shipping contractor, a whole world of politics had opened itself to her strategic ways, though she largely tried to avoid the thorniest problems. Even now, there were whispers of what to do with the poor princess Zoe, how they might set her up in marriage with a Roman prince or Northern lord, and grow their strength and finances until they had mustered enough of a force to retake the city of Constantine.

Even with all her newfound money and influence, unfortunately the men of the community did not often take her thoughts into consideration--unsurprisingly. 

Besides, she was a mother now. She had a child, and a new sympathy for Zoe’s plight. Were it her decision, she would recommend that they leave the young lady alone. 

Annabeth could not say that she liked her new friends. They were pleasant enough people, and provided ample stimulating conversation, but many had never known the feel of a weapon in their hands or had tasted their own blood, never mind that they were all, of course, Christian. Oh, there were a few children of the gods here and there, one or two legacies of the Legion, but they were few and far between.

Percy was not always working, but he was not one to be confined to the home. He adored the city, and the city adored him right back, filling him with a kind of life and energy she had not seen since those few, halcyon months after the second Titanomachy. He was thriving in Venice, not just financially, but emotionally--and physically. Somehow, in the year since they had arrived, he had grown even more handsome, merry and always flushed with laughter after he returned from Nico’s residence. 

A part of it pained her to see him thrive among the Latins where he had only shriveled up in her own homeland. He had not looked poorly in Svealand, of course--Percy could not ever look poorly--but there he had been so sour and withdrawn and cold, and here he very nearly burst with life. After weighing the differences between there and here, she could only conclude that the greatest changes in his life had been the lack of snow, and the presence of a companion he liked better.

Not her, of course.

When she was feeling less charitable, it seemed to her as though her husband spent every waking moment with the count. They were an odd trio, Percy, Nico, and his doctor friend Will. At the beginning, she had thought Percy was exercising some latent protective tendencies over the count. She knew he still harbored no small amount of guilt over the death of his sister, many years past; the man of noble character that he was, of course he would want to see that Nico was well taken care of. It was one of the things she loved most about him.

Then they became business partners, a sound financial move. Then they began to spend the bulk of their time together. Then, during the Carnival season, Annabeth had heard them stumbling into her house together, no doubt having just come from the raucous festivities which had captured the whole city, tittering like a couple of young girls. 

Things began to piece themselves together after that.

“The next time we travel to Aachen, you and Percy should accompany us,” Will said, extending an invitation for which she had a distinct feeling only came from him, at supper one night, while Percy and Nico were out overseeing some new contract or other. “I know Iason and Franko always ask after Percy; I suspect they would be very pleased to meet you.”

Franko, perhaps, she thought to herself, but certainly not Iason. Annabeth very much doubted he would be pleased to make his acquaintance with the woman who had stolen his great love from him, trapping him with a phony marriage and an unplanned child. 

The children of the elder gods had a kind of undeniable sway; Annabeth had felt it for herself. How darkly amusing, she thought, that not even Percy was immune to its influence, having attached himself not only to the son of Jupiter, but the son of Hades as well.

“I should be very pleased to meet them as well,” she replied, sipping on a cup of tea. 

She would not, but she had no real recourse to refuse. 

Annabeth had made her deal with the devil, and now she reaped the rewards: her son’s love, her friends’ affections, her social standing, and her husband’s indifference. If she had to meet another of her romantic rivals, she would do so with all the grace and poise her station required of her.

Even if she would rather die.

 ***

 Venice, 1455

The distance from Conte di Angelo’s residence was a little farther than she would have liked. Most days, she would have taken a gondola all the way from the palazzo to their little house, but today, she needed time to think. What better way to do so, she supposed, than by strolling through the Piasa San Marco. 

Annabeth adored the square: the red stone with its straight, white lines, the beautiful arches on the surrounding buildings, and of course, the church which dominated the eastern end. Mammoth and blocky it was, yet it reminded her so strongly of the old St. Sophia, from the golden walls which shone in the morning sun to the grand domes which rose above it. The domes still had their weight borne by expertly decorated pendentives, each surface layered with gold and portraits in the style of Eastern Romans, hideous, of course, yet comforting in its familiarity. Whenever she walked around inside the building, pretending as though she were observing the rites of the Christians and ignoring the scandalous gazes of older women as she went about with her hair only lightly covered, a complex crown of braids piled upon her head, she felt as though she were inside of a great, golden jewelry box, fit for an empress. It was not, she thought, the church of Sarah’s dream, but it was beautiful nonetheless.

She did not enter the church today, but stayed outside of it, settling herself in one of the arches of the surrounding buildings, observing the strange procession of Christian men as they passed, their steps and their songs hypnotic, in their own way. Annabeth was no expert in the rituals of the trinity, but even to her untrained eyes and ears, the differences between such displays of piety on the part of the fathers, and the rituals and regimens of the eastern patriarchs were stark, almost exaggerated. 

Some days, she missed Constantinople and the agoge so much it ached. The good St. Mark, despite its Latin trappings, helped her to feel a little less lonely. 

And her son, of course.

Even thinking of her son, she could not help but smile. Little Alexandros. Already he took so much after his father, his same dark hair and green eyes and large nose. He would grow up to be very, very handsome, she could already tell. To her great delight, he was just as attached to her as she was to him, eschewing the nursemaids and nannies for Annabeth instead. He was her great comfort while Percy was out conducting business on the water, the little piece of him that he had left with her.

Annabeth loved her son, more than nearly anything else in the world. All of her immediate peers, however, they had large, sprawling, enormous families. Annabeth, with her single child, simply could not compete, and she so hated to lose. Was she merely lonely? Jealous, of the family ideal? Perhaps. 

But even besides… she still loved Percy. Even though he had barely so much as looked on her ever since they arrived. He was a decent husband and a magnificent father, and she wanted to give him more. She wanted more for herself. 

And selfishly, she wanted him to touch her once again. She could no longer satisfy herself, not when the sense memory of his fingers inside of her still haunted her dreams.

So, she had gone to the count in order to petition him for the use of her husband.

Nico had only stared at her, flabbergasted.

“...Come again?” he had asked.

In her finest dress to prop up her ego, she had once again repeated her request. “I know you and my husband are involved,” she had said, her head raised high, “but one child is not enough for a family of our class. He will need an heir, of course, as well as daughters for dowries and sons to carry on the business. I can provide those for him.”

Yes, Annabeth could--and not Nico. This was the keystone of her strategic brilliance, a body which could bear children. 

Still, he had stared at her, more confused than ever. “I… Signora, I do not understand.”

What was so confusing? “Your excellency,” she had said, ready to try again, “I have come to you today to--”

“No, no, I understand that,” he had said. “You have made your request quite clear. My confusion is thus: why do you feel the need to petition me for children, when you could very easily ask your husband?”

“Because…” Was he being deliberately foolish in order to mock her? “Well--because, you two are…”

He had raised an eyebrow. “We are what?”

Gods above, was he going to force her to say it?

“I think, perhaps, you may have misunderstood the nature of our relationship, Anna Elisabetta,” he had said, dryly. 

“With respect, sir,” she had replied, “do not mistake me for one of the trinity zealots of this city. I know what heroes do when they keep company with each other.” 

He had frowned, befuddled. “You… are you implying that your husband and I--”

“I, too, have kept company with women,” she had said, quickly, suddenly worried he would take her words as an insult, “and I would never seek to cast judgement.”

Then, he had done something she never expected.

He had laughed.

“I beg your pardon?”

He only laughed harder. 

So uncivilized, she had thought, her irritation growing by the second.

“I can certainly say,” he finally said, when he regained his wits, though stray chuckles still escaped every now and then, “that this was not what I was expecting.”

It had been odd to see him laugh. Odd, but not unpleasant. Truly, he had a lovely laugh, the dourness falling from his countenance. It was not difficult to see why Percy might be so taken with him. 

“Oh, Annabeth,” said the count, “I do not know what mist has deceived you, for it can only be through magical means that you do not recognize just how deeply Percy loves you.”

He had sent her away shortly thereafter, to seek out her husband, and ponder on his words, which was how she found herself at the church of St. Mark, lingering as the day stretched on into evening. 

Did… did Percy love her?

She thought he had, once. In their youth she had sought his affections and thought she had been making progress. She had spent several long months waiting for him to ask for her hand. 

She had destroyed all hope of them, then, and then he had found the legion, and the beauty of men… or so she thought.

Had he not gone around the world with her? Had he not agreed to marry her, to stay with her and build a family with her? Had they not shared intimate moment after intimate moment, exchanging secret words and heated touches?

But he had also avoided her as best he could, eschewing her companionship for that of his friends. He had only lain with her once, at her insistence. He had had to be convinced into the truth of his marriage, that they were a union, and not two people unhappily bound together. And those same, maddening words, the ones which had haunted her for months, ever since they had made camp in the ruins of Olbia, they rang so clearly in her ears: no mortal woman. The implication there was clear. Whatever interest he may have had, he had not acted on it.

However… 

Perhaps she had been… mistaken. 

A different sort of fear took over her then. Had she been mistaken? Had she missed such an obvious clue, and thus doomed herself to a life without love, all because of a silly misunderstanding?

She could not think on it for too long, lest she become consumed by the hurricane of her own fears and misgivings. 

Rather than take the river road, she chose to walk the rest of the way to their apartments in the eastern end of the city, the neighborhood they called Castello, hoping beyond hope that her heart would have calmed itself by the time she made it back. 

It hadn’t.

Entering her home, she was first greeted, as always, by Freya the cat, who had, in the intervening years, grown even softer and furrier than she had been as a kitten, the tiny little puffball. Trotting up to Annabeth, her tail held high, she gave her mistress a perfunctory sniff, and a sweet little bump of her head, before darting off to commit untold amounts of feline mischief, as was her wont. Following her inside, then, her heart already softened, the next thing she saw was him.

Percy must have taken off work early; she had assumed he would still be at the port for another few hours at least. He had Alexandros with him, as well. They made such a wonderful picture together, father and son. When she next had a stretch of uninterrupted time, she would go about having this moment captured in perpetuity in a tapestry, a moment trapped in time and memory, just to make her smile. He had not yet noticed her, so taken with their son was he. 

Then she saw what he was doing. 

“There you are,” he said, popping another olive into Alexandros’ mouth. “Yes, they are your favorite, are they not?” 

In response, Alexandros gurgled, happily. He had spoken a few words already--”mamma” and the like--but he did not need words to express his joy at being given his favorite food.

“Indeed?” he asked, as though he were truly carrying on a conversation with his son. “Another?” He held out another olive to him, but Alexandros would not accept it, clumsily smacking his hand away. “Oh no? You are finished, then?” 

He shook his head, indicating Percy with his thick, chubby hand.

“What,” Percy gasped in delight, “you wish me to eat with you? Yes?” he asked, bringing the olive to his mouth in order to test his hypothesis.

Alexandros giggled, clapping.

“Oh, very well,” said Percy, his bright, beautiful smile like the glint of the sun off the water. “Since you insist, and since I love you very very much, I shall share this with you. Not a word of this to your grandfather, however--understand?”

Then he popped it into his mouth, and swallowed. Alexandros giggled again, smacking his hands together. 

“And here I thought,” Annabeth said, unable to keep her silence any longer, “you hated the fruit.”

To his credit, he did not jump at her presence. His smile did not fall either. “I think our son is more important than my father’s disdain for olives, no? Say ‘hello’ to mamma!” he bade his son, hoisting him up on one hip. 

Alexandros reached for her, his sea green eyes wide and wanting, and she took him into her arms, kissing his forehead. “Hello to you, too, angele mou,” she said, falling in love all over again. “I apologize for being gone so long.”

“It was no trouble,” said her husband. “We were able to keep ourselves entertained well enough.”

She recognized the look on his face well enough. It was the one he wore whenever he was overcome with love for Alexandros, a silly little grin crossing his face, his eyes soft and shining, his whole being exuding warmth and comfort. 

But he was not looking at their son. He was looking at her. 

She swallowed. 

Many months ago, she had asked Percy how he knew that his mother had reached safety, and he had responded thusly: that it was a matter of faith. 

Pressing another kiss to Alexandros, enjoying the way his face scrunched up at the odd feeling of her lips, she passed him off to the nanny who had been observing the scene from a respectable distance, whispering, though he could not understand at so young an age, that she would be with him shortly. 

Then she turned back to Percy. Still did he look on her with that same expression, softness and affection, care and comfort, home and serenity. 

A matter of faith. 

Stepping up to him, she slid her arms about his neck, and pressed her mouth to his.

He responded in kind. 

His hands immediately went to her hair, tangling his fingers in the free-flowing strands. He tugged on them, just a touch, but enough that as her mouth opened in a gasp, he was able to slide his tongue inside, and there she tasted all of him, felt the firmness of his body as he pressed up against her. 

Yes, she thought, her senses full of the sea. Yes.

Pulling back, he chased her lips with his, whining a little as she did not let him continue, and oh, how she wished to continue, but words had to be exchanged first. She could not be wrong again. She refused it.

“I love you, Percy,” she murmured, gazing deep into the waters of the ocean. “I love you, most ardently.” 

Those eyes crinkled in the corners, joy crossing his face in thick lines, like the faces of the saints on the walls of St. Mark. “I love you, Anja,” he whispered back, bringing her hands to his mouth, kissing the knuckles. “I have always loved you.”

Then, without further ado, he kissed her again, and she melted into the warm embrace of the waves.

 ***

 The first thing she felt in the morning was soreness. 

She felt it everywhere, but she felt it most keenly in her stomach, pulsing out from the core of her into every muscle and sinew and bone.

No, not her stomach--lower.

She flushed.

Ah. 

With a groan, she rolled over, only to be met with the smiling face of her husband. “Oh,” she mumbled, still half asleep. “Good morning.”

“Good morning, Annabeth,” he said. “How was your rest?”

Deep and fulfilling, for she had been pushed to the very brink of exhaustion by their activities the previous night, a fact which he most certainly already knew. “Well enough,” she replied, with an air of disaffection, and he chuckled. She could feel it against her chest, realizing, belatedly, that he wore no night shirt, cuddled so close together they were. “And yourself?”

“Wonderful,” he said, and he kissed her cheek. “Marvelous.” He kissed her nose. “Absolutely divine.” He kissed her mouth, running one hand gently over the bare skin of her side, and she shivered.

“Mmph, Percy--” The force of his kisses stoked the fire within her, and as much as she desired to give into it, she felt that there were a few things which required a brief discussion. “A moment, please.”

At her request, he pulled back, though he kept a hand loosely curled at the juncture of her shoulder. His fingers brushed against her, as though he could not stop himself from touching her the way he wished to, the way she wished him to. “Yes?”

“We…” By the gods, she could not focus when he looked on her like that, dark and arresting and wanting. “I--”

But she could not help herself, breaking down into giggles and laughter. Percy joined her, until the two of them were as children again, laughing at nothing and everything. 

“Oh, perdono, perdono,” she said, breathless with humor. “There were things I wished to say, I swear.”

“There will be time later for discussion,” he replied, a familiar heat overtaking his gaze. “Now there are different sounds I would have you make.”

Rolling her on top of him, he kissed her once again, his mouth hot and insistent against hers, crushing her to his chest, the currents of his hands running through her hair and buffeting her body. With great, great regret, she lifted herself up, pulling herself away from him, even as he rose up after her, eyes gleaming with such affection that she could not even fathom, as boundless as the sea that was his lifeblood and his birthright--she drowned in him, and she would be more than happy to die with him once again. 

“Percy, wait,” she said, firmly. She could not let this go on a moment further without saying her piece.

Obedient, attentive, loyal to a fault, he sat up with her on his lap, his fingers curled about her hips, tapping lightly, waiting for her. She touched him in kind, her hands about his shoulders, rocking back and forth on his lap as she tried to settle her nerves. 

“I…” She swallowed, raising her eyes heavenward. Old shame caused her cheeks to heat, mistakes long since made rising from the fog of the past, like mountains. “There is… something I must say to you. Please, allow me to say it in totality, and without interruption.”

Frowning slightly, nevertheless, he nodded.

To ground herself, she squeezed his shoulders, focusing on the swell of his bare chest as it rose and fell with each breath, indisputable, irrefutable proof of his life, of his life with her. “What I said to you,” she began, haltingly, “all those years ago--please, you must know I never truly wished you dead.”

“Annabeth--”

She squeezed again, more firmly. “I beg you, allow me my space to speak.”

Mouth twisting, he acquiesced. 

“When you disappeared,” she said, casting her mind back to that horrible, terrible time, “I--I thought I had left you to your death. You, the person whom I loved most in the world, I thought I had left you to tender mercies of some monster, and that in my moment of weakness, I had abandoned all that I had been taught by Chiron, Thalia, you, to never leave a friend in peril. For over a year, I lived in my shame and my weakness, and when you did return, miracle of miracles, know that I was happy. I was so happy to know you were safe.” She could not count the hours she had lost to tears and sleeplessness and self-hatred. The year had passed as though in a terrible dream, in bursts of meaningless activity which she could not recall and had only served to render her even more miserable. To see him home once more had felt like the passing of a sea storm, or the healing of a wound, but then--”But when I saw the mark of the Legion upon you, I--I was so angry with myself, to think that I had spent all those months worrying myself sick for nothing, when you were as hale and healthy as one of our kind can reasonably consider to be… but that feeling, in itself, was childish and immature. I should never have thought those things, or treated you thus, yet I let my baser instincts take over until I pushed you away in the most vile manner, and for that, know that I am deeply, deeply sorry. I do not beg your forgiveness, nor do I deserve your love.” Then, taking his hands in hers, she kissed the knuckles there, as he had done to hers many times before, and closed her eyes against his face. 

It was not graceful, but it was the truth. She had never been so skilled with words, but she could not let another moment pass her by without her great confession.

Percy was, by nature, not a vengeful person. In that way, his mother’s influence far outweighed his father’s, so she was not surprised when he pulled her forward, and kissed her forehead. Opening her eyes, she saw Percy looking up at her, his beautiful gaze shining like the glass of Murano. “Of course you are forgiven,” he whispered. “Of course you are loved.”

“You forgive too easily, kærasti.”

“I most certainly do not,” he said. “But we were young and misguided in many things, and we deserve a little grace between us.” He kissed one cheek and then the other. 

“I do not want there to be anything between us,” Annabeth said. “no ambiguity or animosity. You must understand how much I adore you and always, have.” 

“I love you.” Even at such simple words, she felt her face grow hot, felt her mouth curl up in a smile. “I have loved you for so long, certainly since before we arrived at your father’s house, but, truly, for much, much longer than that--ever since I was a child.”

“You have?” she whispered, afraid to even voice the question, lest the fantastical words be ripped from her.

“Do you remember,” he said, twirling a stray curl about his finger, “the night of the Solstice festival upon Olympus? When we danced in the hall of the gods?”

Of course she did. She had been taller than him then, bless him, but they had danced together well into the small hours of the morning, to a song both sorrowful yet bursting with hope.

“That was the moment I realized that I loved you, and I have never, never stopped--not even during my time with the Legion.” His countenance changed, then, frowning lightly. “My only regret is that I did not tell you before I went with them. I should have said something on our way to Aachen, but, you must understand, I had nothing: no money, no employment, no--”

She placed her finger on his lips, silencing the stream of dour truths. “I know,” she said. “Of course I understand.”

“Never did I think that I could have this,” he said, around her finger, kissing the tip of it. “The gods saw fit to bless me with your hand and your child, and I would have been happy with no further.”

“But now you have me, too,” she responded--perhaps a little cheeky.

Percy liked a little cheek, she knew.

He grinned. “Oh yes,” he said, sweeping her close once more. “Now I have you, too.”

And if it were up to him, she knew, he would have her, again and again and again, a series of events to which she was not unopposed. Yet, he had given her so much, his life and his love and his loyalty, and so he deserved something in return. Something she had never done for anything else. Something she never imagined she would do at all. 

His arms crossed the bare skin of her back, one high, one dangerously low. It was almost difficult to move, to shimmy herself out of his embrace and down, and not only because Percy was stronger than she. He must have made a valiant effort to control himself during their little heart-to-heart, for she could feel the hard press of his cock up against her, no doubt having been awakened by such a warm, friendly presence, rocking back and forth upon it. As he had done the previous night to her, so she did to him this morning, kissing her way down the planes of his chest, his stomach, his hips--a body worthy of Phidias, of the greatest marble-men and bronze-workers of the ages. 

“Where are you going?” he pleaded, petulant. “I have not had my fill of kisses.”

“Worry not--you shall have all the kisses you desire, and more.” Truly, he must have been a man of particular restraint and discipline, to have gone all those years without kissing her, so demandingly, so full of passion. To think that such a romantic had been lurking beneath the surface of the sulky, downtrodden boy who had stumbled into their camp! Certainly, she had never imagined that they two would be in this position, until one day, when she could no longer imagine being in this position with anyone else.

Both in the literal sense and the metaphorical.

Lukas’ betrayal and Percy’s disappearance had made things… somewhat difficult for Annabeth, in the realm of romance, and without Silena, her closest confidant, to help her make sense of her feelings, she was left to the whims of her own imaginations. Though she never acted on any of them, her imagination had provided her with many, many scenarios to dwell upon, most, if not all of them, featuring the man before her--and being pregnant had only made them even more intense. To have known his attentions so intimately, to bear the proof of it so obviously, made her dreams even more vivid and agonizing than usual, particularly since he was so physically close, yet so maddeningly far away. 

She had not had a chance to perform this on her wedding night, too burdened with hesitation and dread. Now that she had him as he had her, she would not hesitate. 

A student of art and architecture, Annabeth was no stranger to male anatomy--beyond the simple study of marble and body, she had grown up with a number of young men and women in very tight corners, which did not allow for much privacy. She was even no longer unfamiliar with Percy’s anatomy, having studied it quite extensively the previous night. 

Upon seeing it again, she could not help but flush, biting her lip. 

Percy was a proper man, with a proper man’s cock--small and perfectly sized, unlike the large, boorish, sex-crazed animals in the poems and drinking songs. He wielded it as skillfully as he wielded his sword, bringing her to greater and greater heights with each thrust. 

She should thank it for giving her a son, no?

Annabeth then wetted her lips, and kissed the very tip of him. Percy nearly jumped out of his skin, his knees knocking into her shoulders. “Anja!” he gasped, “what--”

But she would not let him answer, taking the whole of him in her mouth. 

For some time, she had him prisoner there, hypothesizing and experimenting and committing to memory everything he enjoyed, which twist of the tongue or pull of the lips brought the most broken, wrecked sounds from his mouth. At his sides, his hands flexed and unflexed, hypnotic like the tides, grasping at nothing but air. “Anja, Anja, Anja,” he babbled, breathless and writhing, and Annabeth found she was quite enjoying this. The taste was not so pleasant, but the sight of his head tilted back, his chin pointed to the sky, the strain in his muscles as he struggled not to thrust in her mouth so that she would not be so rudely interrupted, the control and the power--she liked that very, very much.

It was not long before he was pawing, clumsily at her head. “Anja,” he groaned, “I cannot--I cannot--”

Even this, too, was becoming more and more familiar, the state of him as he neared that point. She must have miscalculated, however, for it was not a moment later that she was forced to pull her head away, her mouth suddenly very ill-tasting.

Unable to grasp any sort of control, he spent himself in her hand right there and then, so forceful it even landed on her face, and in her hair. 

“Cazzo, cazzo, merda, Anja,” he sighed, twitching and moaning as he fell once more to earth. “Oh, Anja.” His chest heaved as he gasped for his breath, his limbs boneless and lax. On his face was a smile, sleepy and silly, his eyes closed. 

She gave him one more lasting caress, and he shuddered, whimpering.

Climbing back up the expanse of his body, she returned much the way she came, kissing each exposed inch, from stomach to chest to shoulders to neck, then meeting him once more at his lips. He groaned, his face twisting quite adorably at the taste of himself in her mouth. “If I must taste it, love,” she said with a smile, “then you must too.”

His eyes popped open, then. “No,” he said, “no, no, you mustn’t do anything which you do not like.” With some effort, he craned his neck to see her, his hands coming up to cup at her face. “Neither something to me, nor with me, nor for me. I will only see you brought perfect pleasure in our bed.” 

“You misunderstand me,” she said, raising a brow. “I did not dislike it. I did not dislike it quite a bit.”

A moment, then he blushed, divining her true meaning, and flopping his head back down. “I see.”

She tittered, feeling once more a girl of sixteen years old, in love with a boy and with the funny feeling in her stomach whenever he smiled at her. 

“As well, I felt as though I had a debt to pay for all the pleasures you performed upon me last night. I must say,” she said, nestling into the space of his shoulder, drawing her finger up the planes of his chest, “that was very well done for one who has never known a woman.”

He frowned, though she more felt it than saw it. “How do you mean?”

“What you said to me, all those years ago--that you had lain with ‘no mortal woman.’” It had been a phrase which had haunted her waking dreams, ringing in her ears like the bells of the churches on every street corner, frightening her into withholding the truth of her heart for far too long. 

An odd smile crossed his face, then, something far more smug and self-confident than she had ever seen him before. Percy lightly stroking the skin of her neck, she shivered, pressing into him. “No mortal woman, yes.”

The implication of emphasis was clear. 

She leaned up on an elbow, incredulous. “An… immortal one?”

Strange little smile, he nodded. 

Her heart thudded in his chest. An immortal woman. The pool of potential partners had just expanded considerably. “Well,” she said, perhaps a little shakily. “Look at you.”

Look at me, she wished to say. Look at me, so plain and mortal. Look at me, who spurned and rejected you, whose beauty shall fade in time, who will one day leave you, through no will of my own.

Curiosity overcame the greater part of her fear. “With whom?”

But Percy, sensing her turmoil, raised himself up on his elbow to look her in the eyes. “One day,” he said, soft and low, “I shall tell you the truth of it. I shall divulge every moment of that time, and how each one paled in comparison to the long, cold, lonely nights beside the Danapris. For now, however,” he reached out to tuck a stray curl behind the swell of her ear. “Now, let us have peace. There will be time later for talk--a whole life’s worth of it, and one I look forward to sharing with you.”

“A whole life’s worth,” she agreed, settling down beside him. Instantly, he turned his body towards her, his arm coming up once more to pull her close. “I cannot think of anything better.”

“Nothing?” he teased.

“Well,” she said, stretching her neck up towards his face, matching smiles adorning their faces, “not quite nothing.”

In truth, there was nothing more she required of him than this, his body beside hers, their fingers intertwined, and their hearts finally, finally, finally together.

But she would never say no to another kiss.

It took them the better part of the morning, but they did eventually find the strength to pull themselves out of each other’s arms in order to get dressed and rejoin the household. The feel of Percy pulling the laces of her stays made her wonder if perhaps her maidservant would find herself relieved of that duty. When he was done, he pushed her hair aside and kissed her neck, the feeling of his chapped lips against her skin inspiring yet another surge of heat inside of her which nearly forced her to rip her clothing right back off, but the dual promises of food and her son kept her from pulling him back to her bed.

The bed they would now share, she was sure. 

She found one of her veils, a white one detailed in blue that she had hoped her husband would like, and began wrapping it around her head. “Must you torture me so, my love,” he said, face set in an adorable pout.

“How do you mean?”

“Why do you insist on covering even more of yourself?” As he spoke, he reached under it before she pinned it in place, and pulled several of her curls out of it. 

She giggled at his expression, strikingly reminiscent of the one which Alexandros wore when he did not wish to eat his sprouts. “You wish everyone to see me?” 

“Well, perhaps not all of you,” Percy admitted, his hand curling around her waist. “Some parts of you are mine alone.” He brushed his hand over the space where her feminine center lay, and even through her gown, it was nearly too much. “Yet, if it meant I never had to have it shielded from my view, I would not mind everyone seeing your hair.”

Pausing, she considered his eager, wide-eyed look. It was a little scandalous, but… there was not much work to be done outside of the household today. What was the harm? 

She stripped her veil away running a hand through her hair. Unexpectedly, it caught on something hard and crusty resting in her curls. Frowning, she pulled on her hair, confused--then when she realized what it was, she felt her entire face heat.

“If you insist on spending your seed in my hair, love,” she said, dryly, “then I will not be able to walk around with it uncovered.”

He flushed, too, dark and red, turning and retrieving one of her combs from her table. “Allow me then to rectify my mistake.” 

“Oh, no, no.” She waved him off. “As your punishment, I am going to keep it this way. But, as I am a respectable, married woman, and respectable married women tend hot to keep their husbands seed in their hair, it will be covered, for now, to teach you a lesson regarding aim and husbandly manners.”

Thoroughly chastised, yet still smiling, he set down the comb. “Might I… plait it, before you cover it, then?” 

Once he promised he would not attempt to remove his dried seed, she acquiesced.

It was not her boldest fantasy about the man sitting beside her, but she had long dreamed of the feeling of his hands through her hair. The only time she had experienced the feeling before had been the day he had cut all of it off. It had been quite the experience, certainly, and convenient in many many ways, but given his affection now, she vastly preferred this. 

He made quick work, weaving her hair into a rope, not as delicate or intricate as she might have done, but still, the fact that it was Percy doing the weaving, Percy tracing his fingers about the shape of the curls, Percy performing the act, made all the difference.

When he had finished, he tied it off with a leather strap, kissing at her hairline. “Please,” he murmured, “do not ever think that you are not the picture of wifely virtue in my eyes.”

A flattery, for Annabeth could not quite imagine what about her was the picture of wifely virtue--she had just insisted on wearing her husband's seed, for gods’ sake. She was neither deferential nor demure. She had broken his heart, and forced his hand, ripping him away from his life to deliver her halfway across the world, and then once more. Certainly he loved her. She knew that now, and could see it through their long years together. But to see her that way, when she felt so much like she failed as a wife, and could only now make it up to him with the full force of her devotion, was almost more than she could take. 

“When I have the best husband in the world,” she said, “to be a good wife is no great difficulty.” 

He paused and took her hand in his once again, kissing at her knuckles and then the palm, along a very old, once very deep scar. Then, her hand still in his, he led them out of the bedroom, and into their house. 

In some corner of her mind, she had expected just a little bit more of a reaction from the other members of the house. She thought the servants would have given them a suspicious look or two, or, at the very least, for Alexandros’ nurse to raise an eyebrow, yet neither strange word was spoken, nor odd look thrown their way as they walked their apartments, or sat down for their luncheon. In that state of utter normalcy, then, when they were done, they went to visit Alexandros.

Usually, Percy and Annabeth had often spent much of their time with their son alone, without their partner, as Percy was often at sea, and on his return, Annabeth rather felt she needed to leave them be, so that they could bond without any external influence on her part. Today, Alexandros sat between them, trading smiles with his father. They looked so alike, it warmed her heart. 

It always had, from his first moments, and even before, as she had been eager for her son to look like his papa, yet for the past year, there had been something of a painful edge to it, to the heavy knowledge that, while she had the love of her son, she did not have that of his father. It had been sweet and pure and perfect, yet bitter and cold as well. Now, however, as a family, real and whole and complete, she could not help but be overwhelmed with them both, with how much she loved them, and with the knowledge that they loved her in return. 

After an hour or so, in which Percy entertained her son with his menagerie of little animal toys, Alexandros turned to her, wide-eyed and innocent. “Mamma,” he said, grasping at her breast. “Mamma.”

“Are you hungry, my darling?” she asked, picking him up and taking him onto her lap, as she had dismissed his nurse when they’d come into the nursery. Now that he was on solid foods, he required less nursing on the whole, but his nursemaid also knew that Annabeth vastly preferred to do the deed herself, in something of a break with convention. She had not done so in the presence of Percy since Alexandros had been the smallest of newborns, on that ship, in the tightest, most unavoidable of quarters, and when they had reached Venice, and Nico had set them up at his house while they waited to find their own, Percy had left her alone to it. No longer bashful, she undid her lacings, and pulled down her chemise, and with very little effort, began to feed her son. 

Percy swept several of the toys aside, and came and sat with her on the little bench she held him on. 

“I am so happy,” he said, in a quiet voice, “that you have such a wonderful mamma, Alexandros. You deserve only the best--and you have received it.” 

She looked at him, and there were tears forming in his eyes. One like a crystal rolled down his cheek, and he made no move to hide it, or pretend it was not there. Percy was not usually one to weep--that was more her own purview, to her great chagrin--but she was pleased to see how he presented no shame at the thought of revealing his emotions. Good, bad, towering, subtle, a crashing wave or a gentle tide, after years of being deprived of his feelings through her own foolish actions, at last, she had them once again. 

“I love you,” she said again, unthinkingly, though she must have repeated the sentiment a thousand times before in the last few hours. She had wasted many a year by denying them both the truth, and so, she vowed, she would never withhold it again.

He smiled, face wet like the morning mist off the shore, moving closer, shoulder to shoulder, hand in hand, kiss to her brow. “And I, you.”

The day proceeded as naturally as possible from there, though they did not return Alexandros to the care of his nanny until the hour had grown quite late. Watching Percy hold him, as their little boy drifted to sleep in his arms, she was loath to part with such a wonderful picture. 

They laid him in his bed together, then, as soon as they had closed the door behind them, Percy picked her up, clear off the ground. She shrieked as she suddenly found herself in his clutches, though she knew it to be the safest of all possible places. “What are you doing?” she gasped, breathless with laughter.

“Holding what I cherish as close as I can,” he said, a touch dramatic, and swept her off to her bedroom. 

“You lovesick fool!” she cried, giggling as he practically bounded through the halls.

The moment the door had closed behind him, he dropped her on their bed, nearly ripping her veil right off of her head. 

“Please, take care--I happen to quite like the stitching on that one,” but he stopped her chiding in its tracks as he wound his fingers through her hair, dislodging handfuls of it from its braid, and pulling her mouth to his. 

“You have punished me long enough, I think,” he smirked, “and now I shall have my revenge.” 

His revenge was the sweetest kind. 

With a gentle hand, much lighter than she had expected, he unwound her hair, and, picking up her comb from where he had set it down earlier, went about brushing it out, the slow, sweet process of removing his leavings from their earlier intimacies. 

She winced as he pulled on a particularly knotty section. Of the many pains and indignities she’d suffered, her hair being tugged by her husband was not terribly high on any sort of list, though she was a bit theatrical about it. 

“A thousand pardons, my love,” Percy said. 

Oh, Annabeth could hear him say it a hundred times, and she did not think she would ever tire of those words. She had no wish to abandon their old, childish names for each other, but adorations such as these filled her with a lightness she had never known. 

“I shall need a thousand more” she said, “as you should not have spread your seed so liberally. Going forward, we shall have to clean it more quickly.” 

“I will endeavor not to pain you so,” he replied as he moved all her hair aside, planting a hot string of kisses along her neck that caused her to question the sincerity of such statements. Then, taking up a jug, he poured a bit more water on the hardened curls, reapplying the comb. 

“See that you do,” she said, “and that, in the future, you shall place your seed where it belongs.” 

“And where, pray tell, would that be?” 

He leaned in again to suck at the junction of her neck and shoulder and she moaned at the feeling, bringing her own hand to her center, rubbing lightly, before it grew to be too much, and she pulled away from him turning around to face him properly. 

Lifting her skirts to sit astride his lap, she said, “It belongs inside of me.” 

Wrapping one hand around the curve of his shoulder, she snaked the other between them, down to his breeches. And squeezed. 

“Yes.” he breathed, hot and heavy. 

“Oh, yes,” she agreed, short and clipped, trying to force her own breathless desire down for just a moment longer, “for if you do not spill inside of me, how am I to give you more sons?”

She leaned in to kiss him again, but he pulled back. 

Not far, not out of her arms, but away. All lust faded from her, replaced with concern. 

“You do not have to give me a single thing,” he said earnestly, raising a hand, and tracing her cheek with a sword-callused finger. 

“What?”

Sincerely, far more sincerely than his earlier promise of decorum, he brushed a stray curl from her face. “You have given me more than any man deserves--yourself, and our son. Please, please, my love, my dearest dearest Ana Zabeta, do not ever think I would ask any more of you.” 

His words took a moment to sink in, but when they did, they strung with the bitter bite of a poison dagger. “You… do not want any other children, then?” she asked, attempting to keep her voice level, her face calm, her pulse slow. 

“Do not think me to be so greedy,” he said. “My love, do not think I would put you through such pain and fear again. I have our son, and I have you. My only desire is for your health and happiness.” 

“But…” She knew not what to say, how to argue against this. If he truly wanted no more children, if Alexandros was to be their only one-- 

He went on, beseeching. “Yet do not despair, for I can love and pleasure you in a hundred ways which shall carry no risk. I can give you everything you desire, and you shall never want for my affection and my care.” 

“But I do desire more children.” It sounded petulant to her own ears, but, there was no other way to express the force of her wants. “Alexandros is perfect, his father is perfect--how can I not wish for more? Faced with such perfection, how can I not dream of growing our family, our home, our love?” 

He looked at her, his handsome features marred by hesitation and fear. “I… could not bear to lose you, Anja,” he said, softly, achingly gentle. “I only just got you. I almost lost you so many times before, either to monsters or to years of silly arguments and pointless squabbling. I almost lost you to pregnancy last time.” His voice shook as he spoke. “I, too, would love more children, but not if it carries any risk to you. You are too precious to me,” he breathed, tracing his fingers over her skin, so careful. So wonderful. “I could not bear it if anything happened to you.” 

She leaned over, kissing his cheek, small, quiet tears at the corner of her vision. His pains were so clearly evident, for her and caused by her, all at once. “It will not be so dangerous as you imagine,” she said, hoping to put him at some kind of ease. “By some great fortune, Will is here. Not only is he the greatest healer in the world, he has magic: ambrosia and nectar and all sorts of potions and pastes.”

But she could not dismiss his concerns entirely. Bringing Alexandros into this world had been a frightening experience, her fear and terror lingering even for months afterwards, slow to fade.

“I will freely admit it is not without any risk,” she said, after a moment, “but we have taken so many risks together, for us and for others. We have faced only the greatest of dangers, dangers that our mortal peers could never even dream of in their darkest, most terrible thoughts. Let us face this smaller danger together, with all the comfort of our house, and all the safety of the good doctor. And,” she grasped the hand that still rested on her face, and pulled it away, bringing it to rest on her belly, “think of the reward.” 

He swallowed, casting his gaze downward. “It would be great,” he murmured, reverent, speaking before an altar.

“The greatest,” she promised. “I can give you more sons, each one greater than the last.” 

“And daughters?”

She blinked. “Excuse me?”

“I--” He flushed. “Well--if I am permitted, then, to indulge in greed…” He pulled his hand off her belly, taking hers and bringing it to his lips, kissing it, just as he had over two years ago in Athens, when they had sworn an end to their hostilities, speaking faster, and with greater intent. “Whenever I thought of a family for us, I always dreamt of a daughter, of your daughter, a little girl with all of her mother’s spirit, intelligence, and cunning, her strength of heart and her wickedness with a dagger.” 

“I see.” It had not even occurred to her. A daughter, yes, in passing, those things happened, but that Percy might wish it so strongly… “Yes,” she nodded. “We can work towards that, as well.” 

He slid a hand around her back, bringing her even closer, her chest flush against his clavicle, desire and worship in equal measure in the heat of his eyes. “Then let me give you as many sons and daughters as you wish, my love,” he whispered, a rumble in his chest she could better feel, rather than hear. “Let me see as many legacies of Athena as I can provide take Venice by storm.” 

And with that, he pulled her down onto the bed with him. 

 ***

 “I hate the lost years,” he whispered into her skin, “but the truth of the matter is that I could not have made you a good husband when we were young.”

“Of course you would have,” she said, breathless, her mind mostly on his hands as they combed up her flanks. His skill with his tongue, his hands, his cock, it all had to be innate.

Still stroking her tender, he said, apologetic. “I had no means to support a wife. I still have no means to support a wife. It is only due to a sheer stroke of luck that you possess enough means for the both of us.”

“I have looked at the accounts,” she pointed out. “In just two voyages you have earned back nearly all of our investment. Within a year, you and Nico will be clear and settled. You support your wife and your child quite well.” 

She’d almost said ‘children,’ but she did not wish to curry his excitement just yet. The midwife had not been so sure, and given Annabeth a whole host of other potential maladies.

Will had said it was not any of those things, but told her to feel for the quickening, and then they might all know for sure.

"You support us,” Percy said, “I merely work to make sure your money goes far. I do not mind,” he sat up, assuring, “It is not a question of some manly pride on my part. I am so very happy that you and Alexandros are so well cared for, and that you care for me, as well. That it must all fall to you, however, and that without our journey to Svealand, I would not be able to see you taken care of as you deserve, is what irks me so.”

“But I am,” she said, “I am well taken care of by you.”

His smile was too small and sad for such a happy conversation. “I love you with more passion than I believe some know to be possible,” he said, simply, “and I hope I take care of you in many ways. I pray that I am a worthy steward of your money, and that I represent you well when I use it on both of our behalf. Yet I must never forget it was you who brought such an asset into our marriage. We would have had nothing after the war with the titans, and I would have hated that.”

"I would have had you,” she told him, equally as simply. 

What a sweet thought! How they might have grown together in that time! How many children mind they have, now, if they had not gotten in their own way!  

“I would have worked my hardest to be worthy of you,” he said, all the earnestness of youth clear on his face, “but I fear you would have only ended up with the least eligible man in all of Constantinople.”

She laughed at his little jest.

He did not laugh with her.

Her laughter trailed off at his confused look.

By the gods, he was serious. 

“Need I remind you,” she said, “that you were the most eligible man in all of the agoge.”

“I was no such thing,” he said. “When my lack of any kind of material advantages showed, all women but you were rightfully scared away.”

Annabeth stared at him. This man. Her husband, father of her son, love of her life. A great hero, a brilliant strategist, the person she’d want with her in battle over all else.

And, she sometimes remembered, the occasional fool.

“Do you know how much effort I spent, Percy, seducing women away from you?”

He blinked. “What?”

“Oh yes.” And what a time that had been. “Most of the girls of our little village had their own money, you know. Katya had some truly wonderful land, I was told, and Tora’s father was simply dripping in silks and spices.”

“You… seduced them?”

“I did indeed,” Annabeth said, easy and straightforward. “I distracted them, made them think that a man would not be worth their troubles compared to the passion I could provide.”

It had not, precisely, been much of a chore. They had been beautiful women, all, vivacious and full of life. Clarice and Silena had been her own choices, of course, sweet childhood romances while she’d mulled over her feelings for Percy, but the women whom she’d engaged so they might direct their attentions away from the man she loved had proven to be sweetly entertaining nonetheless.

“You romanced Katya and Tora to get them away from me?” His eyes were wide, the blush in his cheeks winding its way down his chest, roses in bloom.

“Not just them,” she said. “Between our journey through the labyrinth and the great war, I must have bedded… oh, half the children of Aphrodite--save Silena, of course, who was too enraptured by Carlo by then. And then a few others.” It was truly a wonder she had not garnered something of a terrible reputation. Truly, the children of the gods were an enlightened few, unburdened by arbitrary rules. “You were quite the catch.”

He blinked again, his gaze very far off. “You must have been… very distracting.” 

His voice hitched, and she realized he might have been picturing it.

“Oh yes,” she nodded. “I was quite the distraction.” Leaning in close, she trailed a line of kisses from his jaw up to his ear. She liked the rough stubble against her lips, a feeling she’d only ever known from Percy. She’d long loved women, their smooth skin and sweet faces and musical voices, as friends and partners both, but she loved Percy, too. “Would you like to hear about it, my love? Would you like the stories of the women I seduced, so I could have you all to myself?” she whispered into his ear.

He whined, marvelously, his breath shuddering in his chest.

She would not give him all the stories today, as she had many to share. Before he went back out to sea, however, she would give him a few.

 ***

 “Do not think,” Annabeth said, attempting crossness even as she lounged on their bed, “that I shall allow you to continue to put off your voyage this way.”

“Think you so little of me?” She could sense him attempting crossness as well, though he was far less accomplished at it than she was. “Which one of us can control the waves, again?”

“And which one of us has put off the extraordinarily lucrative Genoese shipment for the last two months?” she countered.

Percy shrugged one shoulder, jostling the bowl of olives awkwardly held in the crook of his arm, though he had remained in that position for at least an hour, now. “Giovanni does not require my assistance to move a few silks and spices ‘round the country. L’Imperatrice is in good hands, I promise you,” he said, plucking a fruit from the bowl and feeding it to her.

L’Imperatrice--the Empress. That he had named his flagship after the little canoe which had carried them together through to the ends of the earth, which had taken her name from Percy’s private little fantasy, it sent her heart on a strange little dance.

Annabeth should have been cross with him, truly. In all considerations of the situation, to defer and delegate such an important shipment to his mortal second-in-command who did not possess even a tenth of Percy’s skill with the waves in order to spend time with his pregnant wife, rubbing her feet and hand-feeding her olives, was a poor business decision. She should have been cross, yet, doted upon and loved and with a belly full of his children, she simply could not bring herself to feel anything less than perfect bliss, neither anger, nor irritation, nor even a passing annoyance. 

Yes, children. Will, the poor man whom they kept poaching away from the Conte di Angelo,  suspected it to be two. Her treasures were many, and multiplying. 

She moved her body, just a little, repositioning herself on the soft bed. Though her pregnancy had been rather a dull affair, all things considered, as compared to the previous one, some things, unfortunately, had remained constant.

“Still,” she said, as she refused to give up quite so easily, “please do promise me that you shall go down to the docks to at least speak with the man before he departs.”

“I suppose I could,” he tilted his head, considering.

She narrowed her eyes. Having seen and catalogued all possible configurations of his handsome face by now, there was virtually no possible way to construe this one as sincere.

“Or,” he said, a lascivious grin crossing his face, his free slowly, agonizingly slowly, tracing random patterns on her shift and her skin, sauntering ever so vaguely downwards. “Or, I could spend the afternoon doing something infinitely more… appetizing, shall we say, than speaking to Giovanni.”

Percy, the absolute rapscallion, even had the audacity to lick his lips.

Damn him. Her sense memory was far too strong to resist.

It was only a matter of time before she gave in. She knew it, he knew it--to argue otherwise would only be prolonging the inevitable, driving their lusts higher and higher with impatience and anticipation.

So, then, she decided to prolong it a little.

She hummed, tapping her chin with a finger. “Allow me to think on it for a moment or two.”

“Of course, my love,” he murmured, his voice already deep and warm, the quality it only took on during activities such as these. His fingers had transported themselves from her collarbone and clavicle to the skin of her shin, dancing and tapping at the edge of her shift, occasionally crossing underneath the hem. “You shall have all the time you require.”

Tap, tap, tap, a maddening little dance he played on the bumps and ridges of her knee, so distracting she could not even focus on pretending to be uninterested, her hips moving of their own accord, ever so slightly.

As it happened, she did not require nearly as much time to decide as she had thought she would.

And she did not even mind terribly when the bowl of olives, overturned and spilled in haste, ended up on the floor.

 ***

 For weeks, Annabeth had been dreading the birth. Twice the children, twice the trouble, she had thought, and given just how dangerous the last one had been, she had been wracked with nerves for days. Not even Percy’s presence, warm and soothing and solid, could chase away her fears.

Though, at the very least, there was no danger of Percy accidentally raising another typhoon.

“Much simpler than last time, no?” Will had commented in Greek, attending to Annabeth while he had his assistant wrap the babies. “I was, at the very least, expecting some sort of earthquake to send the city plunging into the lagoon.”

Percy chuckled at the good-natured jest, far past the point of chagrin. “To have you here the whole time has put me much at ease, Dottore,” he said. “If you are certain there is nothing more I can do for you as repayment--”

But he waved Percy off, wiping down an instrument. “Think nothing of it. I am always glad to assist old friends.”

“Scusatemi, signora,” said his assistant, timidly, holding the newest members of their family in her arms. She had been somewhat scandalized when Percy had not made himself scarce during the birthing process, as was customary for menfolk, and though she had not been outwardly cold to him, or anything less than professional, Annabeth could sense she was still in something of a state of shock. “I tuoi infanti--un bambinetto e una bambinetta.” 

Having already assisted Annabeth into a sitting position, Percy relieved her of one child, passing it to his wife, then took for himself the other. She had received the bambinetto, the little boy, curly wisps of blond hair nearly invisible against his skin. Just as Alexandros had been, he was beautiful, tiny and wrinkled, yet sublime in his smallness, in the little hands which curled into fists, in the slow, sleepy blink of his gray eyes as he first ever beheld the light, beheld his mother’s face. 

Loving Percy had been an unexpected surprise, something for which she had neither predicted nor planned. Loving Alexandros had been something of a foregone conclusion, a soothing balm to her then-broken heart, and she had feared she would not have enough room in her soul for her son, so taken was she with his father, unwilling to exchange one for the other. Loving this little boy, however, and his sister, would be the simplest thing in the world. 

She turned to her husband, pleased to see the look of awe and delight on his face. “Well, kærasti? How fares you now, now that I have given you a daughter?”

So enraptured, it was as if he had not heard her.

The door opened then, with a creak, a small, dark-haired shape toddling his way in, past the reaching hand of his caretaker. “Mamma!” he cried. “Mamma!”

“Accidenti,” muttered the Conte di Angelo, standing in the doorway. “A thousand apologies, Annabeth, but your little… child… could not be contained.”

She laughed. “Worry not--I have heard more than a few similar such sentiments from his nanny.”

Clumsily, lacking all grace, Alexandros clambered up onto the bed, making to crawl towards his mother, until he was stopped by the nigh impassable barrier of Percy’s outstretched leg. “Careful, careful,” Percy said, sweetly. “Your mamma is resting.”

All wide eyes and curiosity, he crept even closer, his mouth hanging open in a child’s confusion, as doctor, midwife, and count exited the room, in the periphery of her vision.

“Angele mou,” she murmured, “would you like to meet your brother?”

He did not respond, not so old yet that he possessed the gift of uninhibited communication, but he did peer, curiously, at the small thing in his mother’s arms. 

If she cast her mind back, Annabeth could not quite recall the first time she had ever met her brothers. Buried beneath the dirt and rubble of time and more pressing matters, she tried to remember if she had been excited to become an older sibling, to have some sort of sororal responsibility for her father’s new wife. Her situation had been quite different, of course; she had been old enough to comprehend what was taking place, and too clever by far for her to not feel some resentment, and in a fit of terror and rage, had taken flight into the unknown. 

Alexandros, perhaps, did not yet understand the matter, could not quite understand that these two little things were now his family, that his mama’s love and his papa’s attention would no longer be solely focused upon him. 

“This is your brother, Lukas,” she told him, the name she and Percy had agreed upon, a bygone memory of a friend and brother who had taken care of them both, and risen above all his failures in the end. “Can you say hello?”

“Loo-kas,” he said, reaching out a pudgy hand.

“Very good!” She was charmed far too easily by her children, but she simply could not help herself--it was far too sweet an image. “And that,” she said, indicating her husband beside her, “is your sister.”

If Percy could even conceive of a world outside of his daughter, now, he showed no indication of it, barely even moving when Alexandros made his way over to him, grasping onto his shoulder for balance. 

Hushed, she asked him, “Percy? Have you chosen a name for her?”

They had spent weeks agonizing over names for their newborns. Names had power, they knew intimately, and had to be chosen with great care. When it was determined she would be having twins, they had each agreed to choose one child’s name, to be shared with their partner, or kept a surprise. Percy knew the names for which she had a distinct distaste, and so she was not concerned he would choose something she truly hated, but she was quite curious. 

His gaze, green and glassy, was fixed on his daughter, a single tear falling down his cheek, his throat working as he summoned the will to speak. “Anja,” he murmured.

“Yes, my love?”

He turned to her then, his mouth trembling, the sunrise of his joy breaking on his face, warm and brilliant. “Her name is Anja.”

If her heart were any more full, it would burst right out of her chest.

“Then, if you are able to part with her, I believe Anja,” her voice hitched as she spoke the name aloud, the name of the little girl with blonde hair and gray eyes and all of her father’s love, “is in need of a little food.”

Percy nodded, bringing his little Anja to his lips, and laying a soft kiss on her blonde head.

Carefully, then, he passed her to Annabeth, making sure she was well situated in her mother’s arms, then he brushed a hand over Lukas’s head, as softly and tenderly as he could. This man could fight and kill, lead armies and win wars. His blood was that of the earth-shaker, the vengeful, the violent, who cursed and doomed any who would harm his children. Yet here he was, the absolute gentlest of fathers.

Little Alexandros, sweet thing, was drooping, sleepiness over taking his frame. Plucking him up, Percy transferred him to his other arm, so that he could be even closer to her, tucking Alexandros beneath one arm, and Annabeth beneath the other, his fingers playing with the ends of a curl or two. 

The lord of the sea could never be so soft, cradling Sarah and a baby Percy, nor the lady of war so affectionate, cuddling with Fredrik while they looked on their little Anja. All children of the gods emulated their parents, in ways both great and small, proliferated year after year, generation after generation, all their mistakes reborn alongside the heroes and the monsters and the stories. Yet, sometimes, they could break free of it. A daughter of Athena and a son of Poseidon could learn to trust each other, to love each other, to end the mighty rivalry of the heavens--and thus, in this way, they were already better than their parents, like the words of the old poet. 

Yes, she thought, as Anja and Lukas took their food, as Alexandros fell asleep in the crook of his father’s arm, as Percy stroked her hair, the thump of his heartbeat beneath her shoulder, beautifully, breathlessly mortal. Yes, they were better, by far.

[pjo-whore]

Percy In Tartarus

Chapter 1: The Fall, And Gone

ao3 link. if anyone wants to be tagged for future updates please comment!

Annabeth had seen some strange things before, having been privy to the mythological world since she was only seven years old.

Several things she could name off the top of her head was her first time at Camp Half-Blood when she witnessed her best friend die in cold blood, then proceed to be turned into a pine tree; witnessing the Stoll brothers pull of pranks that increasingly defied the laws of physics; and when she had even seen her boyfriend turned into a guinea pig by a vengeful sorceress.

And that wasn’t even half of the craziest stuff she had to deal with on the daily.

But if there was one thing she had never witnessed before, it was cars raining from the sky. If she was being honest, it wasn’t as cool as it sounded.

Like, three out of ten.

Would not recommend.

As the roof of the cavern collapsed, beams of sunlight came through from above, blinding Annabeth. Briefly, she caught a glimpse of the Argo II.

It had used its ballistae to blast a hole straight through the ground.

Giants chunks of asphalt tumbled down, along with six or seven Italian cars. One would have crushed the Athena Parthenos, but luckily the statue’s glowing aura acted as a force field, and the car bounced off.

Unfortunately, that car fell toward Annabeth.

Annabeth launched herself to the side to avoid it and accidentally rolled her bad ankle. Pain washed through her, making her lightheaded. She was only just able to flip onto her back in time to see a bright red Fiat 500 slam straight into Arachne’s silk trap, punching through the cavern floor and disappearing with the Chinese spider-cuffs.

As Arachne fell, she screamed like a freight train on collision course.

More chunks of debris slammed through the floor, riddling it with holes.

The Athena Parthenos remained undamaged, thankfully, but the marble under its pedestal was a starburst of fractures.

When everything settled and debris stopped falling, Annabeth was finally able to calm down and take stock. She was covered with cobwebs. She trailed the strands of leftover spider silk from her arms and legs like the strings of a marionette, but somehow none of the debris had hit her.

Annabeth wanted to believe that it had been the statue of her mother that had protected her, but bitterly, she suspected it may have been nothing but luck.

Around her, the army of spiders had disappeared.

Either they had fled back into the shadows, or they had fallen into the chasm along with Arachne, and there was no lost love from Annabeth for either option.

As natural light flooded the cavern, Arachne’s silk tapestries along the wall crumbled to dust. Annabeth could hardly bear to watch it, especially when the tapestry depicting Percy and her kissing underwater turned to nothing.

But none of it mattered the moment Annabeth heard her boyfriend calling from above.

“Annabeth!”

“Here!” She sobbed. It hurt to yell. “Over here!”

Her terror left her in one massive wave of relief. As the Argo II descended, she could see Percy leaning over the railing, waving to her. Black hair whipping in the wind, smile crooked, he appeared like a god sent from Elysium. His smile was better than any tapestry Annabeth had ever seen.

The room kept shaking, and with no lack of difficulty, Annabeth pulled herself to her feet. Her backpack was missing, along with Daedalus’ laptop.

Her celestial bronze knife, which she’d had since she was seven, was also gone.

Annabeth wanted to cry. It felt like she had lost a part of herself.

Above her, the Argo II came to a stop about forty feet from the floor. A rope ladder was lowered, but Annabeth ignored it as she stood in a daze, head still heavy.

Percy appeared at her side, lacing his fingers with hers.

He gently turned Annabeth away from the pit and wrapped his arms around her in a tight embrace. Annabeth buried her face in his chest and finally broke down in tears.

“It’s okay,” he said. “We’re together.”

Percy didn’t say “you’re okay” or “we’re alive.” After all the two had been through, he knew the most important thing was that they were together. Annabeth felt fit to bursting for the love she held for him, and she hugged him tighter.

Around them their friends gathered. Nico was there, but Annabeth’s head felt so fuzzy that it didn’t even surprise her. It only seemed right for him to be there.

“Your leg!” Piper exclaimed. She kneeled next to Annabeth and examined the Bubble Wrap cast, fretting over her friend’s injury. “Oh, Annabeth, what happened?”

Annabeth wanted to explain, but when she opened her mouth to speak, nothing came out. She felt so light-headed, and her tongue felt swollen. Her throat was parched. Percy seemed to know what she needed and called for a water bottle, which Leo grabbed from his utility bet and quickly handed over to her.

As she started, it became easier.

Percy didn’t let go of her hand either, which helped to motivate her.

When she finished, everyone was staring at her in disbelief.

“Gods of Olympus,” Jason said. “You did all that alone – and with a broken ankle!”

“Well, some of it with a broken ankle,” Annabeth said weakly.

Percy broke out in a grin. “But you made Arachne weave her own trap? I knew you were good, but by the gods – generations of Athena kids tried and failed, but you did it! You found the Athena Parthenos!”

Attention switched to the statue.

“So … what do we do with her?” Frank asked. “She’s huge.”

“We have to take her with us to Greece,” Annabeth said. “She’s powerful. Something about her will help us stop the giants’ rise.”

“The giants’ bane stands gold and pale, won with pain from a woven jail,” Hazel said, quoting the prophecy. Her expression gained a hint of admiration. “It was Arachne’s jail. You tricked her into weaving it.”

With a lot of pain, Annabeth thought humorlessly.

Leo raised his hands in a mock framing, trying to measure the Athena Parthenos. “Well, it might take some rearranging, but I think we can fit her through the bay doors in the stables. If she sticks out at the end, I might have to wrap a flag around her feet … or something.”

Annabeth shuddered at the image. She imagined the Athena Parthenos jutting out from the trireme with a sign across its pedestal that read “WIDE LOAD.”

Then she remembered the other lines the prophecy: “the twins snuff out the angel’s breath, who holds the key to endless death.”

“What … what about you guys?” Annabeth said. “What happened with the giants?”

Percy told her about rescuing Nico and the surprise appearance of Bacchus, along with the fight with the twin giants in the Colosseum.

Nico didn’t say much. He didn’t say anything at all. The poor guy looked like he had been wandering through a frozen wasteland for a week. Percy shared what Nico had learned about the Doors of Death, and that to properly close them, they had to be shut on both sides.

Overworld and Underworld.

Even with the sunlight from above, Percy’s news made the cavern seem dark again.

“So, the mortal side is in Epirus.” The gears in Annabeth’s head begun to turn. “I mean … at least that’s somewhere we can reach.”

Nico grimaced. “But it’s the other side that’s the problem – Tartarus.”

The word seemed to echo eerily through the chamber.

The pit behind the group of demigods exhaled a cold blast of air, causing Annabeth to shiver. The shadows got darker, the pit echoed, and an icy feeling crept up Annabeth’s spine. Annabeth knew with certainty that the chasm went straight to the Underworld.

Percy must have felt it too because he guided Annabeth away from the edge.

Slowly and carefully, the group migrated back to the Argo II.

Annabeth’s arms and legs trailed spider silk like a bridal train, and she wished that she had something to cut the silk off. She almost asked Percy to do the honours, but he leaned in and began talking. He frowned. “You know, Bacchus mentioned something about my voyage being harder than I expected. Not sure why he –”

Suddenly, the chamber groaned, making the Athena Parthenos tilt violently to the side. Its head caught on one of Arachne’s support cables, but the marble foundation beneath the pedestal was crumbling quickly.

For a horrible moment, Annabeth thought the statue was going to fall.

Her stomach dropped.

“Secure it!” She cried out.

Thankfully, her friends understood what she meant almost immediately.

“Zhang!” Leo called, already running. “Get me to the helm, quick! The coach is up there alone!”

Frank shifted into a giant eagle, pausing only for a moment to allow Leo to jump onto his back, and the two of them soared toward the Argo II.

“Don’t worry about running, I’ll be back for you guys in just a second. Just don’t reinjure Annabeth’s ankle,” Jason said to Percy and Annabeth. Then he turned and wrapped his arms around Piper, and he summoned the winds and shot into the air.

“There’s no time, this floor won’t last!” Hazel warned, but Jason didn’t hear her. She turned to the others. “The rest of us need to get to the ladder as quick as possible!”

The group started making their way to the Argo II less carefully, speed the only thing on their minds.

Plumes of dust and cobwebs blasted from the holes in the floor, causing the demigods to inhale the dust and choke. The spider’s silk support cables trembled like massive guitar strings and began to snap. The floor lurched and crumbled.

When they reached the ship, Annabeth watched anxiously as Hazel lunged for the bottom of the rope ladder, which was swaying wildly with the shaking of the cavern. Hazel gestured for her brother to follow. Nico was in no condition to pull himself up, still sickly pale and thin and limping. Hazel had to grab him from beneath the armpits to hoist him up.

Percy held onto Annabeth tighter, shifting on his feet worriedly.

“It’ll be fine,” he muttered. “It has to be fine – we’re so close.”

Annabeth wasn’t sure who he was trying to convince.

Above, grappling lines shot from the Argo II and wrapped around the Athena Parthenos. One lassoed Athena’s neck like a noose. Leo was shouting orders from the helm as Jason and Frank flew frantically from line to line, trying to secure them.

Nico had managed to climb a quarter the way up when a sudden sharp pain shot up Annabeth’s bad leg, causing her to cry out and stumble.

“What is it?” Percy asked.

Annabeth didn’t have an answer.

Everything was in a haze and her head felt heavy. Confused, she staggered toward the ladder again, only to find that she could not. Instead, she was moving backward. And then her legs were swept out from beneath her in one pull, and she fell on her hands and knees. There was a hollow sound as her head bounced off the ground, and Annabeth saw stars.

“Her ankle!” Hazel screamed from the ladder. “Guys, quickly! Cut it! Cut it!”

Annabeth didn’t understand. Cut her ankle?

Apparently, Percy didn’t understand what Hazel meant, either. He grabbed Annabeth’s hands and tried to pull her back to her feet, but it caused more pain and he stopped when Annabeth began to cry. Then, suddenly, an invisible force yanked Annabeth backward and dragged her toward the pit with the force of Heracles.

Percy yelled out in fear. He lunged for Annabeth, grabbing her arms, digging his heels into the ground. Unfortunately, the momentum still carried him along with her.

“Help them!” Hazel yelled.

Nico jumped down from the ladder, headless of his injured state, and began hobbling in the direction of the pit as Hazel tried to disentangle her cavalry sword from the rope. The others were still focused on the Athena Parthenos and Hazel’s cry was lost in the general chaos.

Annabeth’s stomach dropped when she was yanked back another few feet.

She was terrified.

Now that Annabeth realized what was happening, it was too late. She was tangled in Arachne’s spider silk. She had assumed it was all loose lines, but with the entire floor covered in cobwebs, she hadn’t noticed that one of the strands was wrapped around her foot – and the other end went straight into the pit. It was attached to something heavy down in the darkness. Something was pulling her in.

Percy continued to pull uselessly on her, until something popped in her right shoulder, making her scream in pain. Startled, Percy slipped and fell past Annabeth. A large chunk of marble was upended behind them, granting them momentary pause from falling.

Percy finally seemed to get his wits about him and pulled out Riptide.

Annabeth couldn’t see it from where she was scrabbling for purchase against the marble floor, but she heard the blade hiss as it cut through the air.

With a snap, a wave of relief crashed through Annabeth once the pressure was released on her ankle. She tried pulling herself up, but the ground trembled as the marble cracked further, and the chunk behind them dropped into the looming chasm. Percy, who was behind her, tumbled down the sudden incline and, in a panic, reached out for something to grab – which happened to be Annabeth’s good ankle.

Together, they slipped further from the pull of Percy’s weight.

Terrified, Annabeth screamed and kicked him away. “Let go of me!”

“Fuck!”

Percy disappeared over the edge.

She scrambled backward as Nico hobbled past her and leaned over the edge, eyes wet.

“Annabeth help!” Percy cried. Annabeth crawled back in fear as the floor cracked further. Nico either didn’t notice or didn’t care.

Percy was partway into the pit and dangling over the void. He had managed to catch a ledge almost fifteen feet below, but that wasn’t going to help him. He was holding on with one hand, struggling to get a drip with his other, which was bleeding profusely from a large gash across his palm. Several feet away from the hole sat Riptide, blood staining its blade.

No escape.

Annabeth jerked back.

She could have sworn a voice echoed from the pit, mocking her. Bile rose in her throat.

I go to Tartarus, and your loved one will come, too.

The pit shook violently, as if it were eagerly anticipating its next meal – its next victim.

Nico leaned over the edge of the chasm, hopelessly thrusting out his hand to help. But he was too far away. Nico knew it, Annabeth knew it – and Percy knew it, too.

“Percy,” Nico said, “grab my hand!”

Percy’s face was almost white with effort.

Hazel was still yelling for help from the others.

Even if they did hear her over the chaos, they would never make it in time.

Annabeth felt like her whole world was crashing down around her. She couldn’t comprehend that Percy was going to die. Even from a few feet away, she could feel the pull of the pit. She could see the darkness slowly rising, trying to claim Percy.

Percy gasped when the ledge shuddered and shifted. He looked up at Nico fifteen feet above, hand still extended. Percy’s face twisted as something final crossed his expression.

“The other side, Nico.”

Annabeth didn’t understand right away, but Nico did. He shook his head violently. “No, Percy –”

“The other side! I’ll see you there. Understand?”

Nico’s expression turned pained. “But –”

“Lead them there!” Percy said. “Promise me! Please!”

It suddenly struck Annabeth that Percy couldn’t see her. He had his eyes locked on Nico. Beside her, Nico looked lost. He stuttered. “I – I will.”

Below Percy, somewhere from the endless void, a voice laughed in the darkness.

Ice crawled up Annabeth’s spine.

A sacrifice. Such a beautiful sacrifice to wake the goddess.

It finally clicked in Annabeth’s mind.

A one-way trip.

A very hard fall.

And Percy looked scared.

Annabeth couldn’t bring herself to watch anymore.

She looked away, and Percy was gone.

*

[sabrinasgrimoire]

Goddess Studies: Arianrhod

Arianrhod is the Celtic Goddess of rebirth, fertility, cosmic fate, and the stars and moon. Her name translates to “Silver Wheel”, which is symbolic of the wheel of the year in pagan tradition. Outside of modern pagan tradition, the wheel refers to the oar wheel that Arianrhod used to carry dead souls back to her land called the Corona Borealis. Some traditions say that this is where dead souls waited to be judged before they were reincarnated. She is associated with the North Star and with the Moon, and spends most of her time in the realm Caer Sidi, which translates to “Revolving Castle”. There is actually a physical location of where the Welsh saw Caer Sidi. Of the northern coast of Gwynedd, a county in norther Wales, there is a formation of rocks. This place is called the “Caer Arianrhod”, and is supposedly the entrance to her great domain. The constellation Corona Borealis is also said to be the final location of her kingdom, and is another name for this rock formation. Arianrhod is one of the children of Dôn, the Great Mother Goddess in Celtic lore and Beli Mawr. She has multiple siblings including her three sisters Gwenna, Maelen, and Elen. Her two brothers are Gwydion (a poet-wizard and heir of Math) who I mention in the first story listed below, and Gifaethwy (God of the Forge). Arianrhod’s two children are Dylon, a sea God, and Lleu Llaw Gyffes, a Sun God. She was said to have been very beautiful, with pale white skin like the face of the moon. She was also the most powerful deity to be born from her mother Dôn. Although there are legends of her purity, one of which I have told below, she was a virgin Goddess in the ancient sense. This means that she is a woman who is complete without a man. Arianrhod was known to have a very active sexual life, preferring mermen. This makes her a very feminist Goddess. In fact, Arianrhod is a very sacred Goddess to the Divine Feminine. She lived her life much like Artemis and Athena in the Greek Pantheon, surrounded by women. Unlike Artemis and Athena, she did enjoy the company of men in her bed. Also known as a talented weaver and Goddess of the Silver Wheel, Arianrhod is said to spin her wheel to weave the tapestry of life. Her symbols include the owl, wolf, and birch tree. The owl is corresponded to death while the birch tree is symbolic of new beginnings. Wolves are corresponded widely to the moon. In Welsh and Celtic tradition, Arianrhod is the symbol of the Mother aspect of the Triple Goddess, where Blodeuwedd is the Maiden aspect and Cerridwen is the Crone Aspect. There is not much surviving ancient texts and depictions of Arianrhod. In fact, the only ancient myth surviving is the first story I have quoted below that comes from the Fourth Branch of the Mabinogion. It is quite interesting then, that she is such a prominent Goddess in current pagan worship and such a powerful Goddess in ancient context. She does after all symbolize the Mother aspect of the triple Goddess and is considered the most powerful of Dôn’s children. Perhaps it is best we worship deities the way we see fit in the modern era.

Myths

This is a sad tale of Arianrhod and her uncle Math. It was said that Math kept a virgin in his court because he must keep his feet in her lap when not at war. One day, the virgin was raped when he was away doing battle. Without a virgin, it was suggested by her brother Gwydion that Arianrhod might make a good replacement. You see, Gwydion wanted to father an heir with his sister Arianrhod so that they may continue their lineage together. Arianrhod had refused him, so he set forth to trick her. In order to test her purity, Maths demands that Arianrhod step over his magician’s rod. She follows her uncle’s demands, and give birth to two children, one of which runs to the ocean, and one of which is hidden away by Gwydion. The Goddess runs away from the scene, ashamed and embarrassed by the public humiliation she was put through by her uncle. Gwydion now has the child he so desperately wanted from his sister, but when she learns about the child, she curses him. He will never be given a name, marry a woman, or have the ability to bear arms. Gwydion breaks these curses using magick, and forms a wife for his son out of flowers.

Another legend says that Arianrhod is able to transform into a beautiful snow white owl. Through the eyes of this owl, she is able to see into the depths of men’s souls, down to their deepest and darkest secrets to the core of who they are. Through the night sky she flies, spreading her wings and delivering healing and comfort into those who seek and worship her.

Works Cited

Various (Various), Arianrhod, Wikipedia, https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Arianrhod

Unknown (Unknown), Arianrhod, Goddess Guide, https://www.goddess-guide.com/arianrhod.html

Judith Shaw (February 23rd 2013), Arianrhod, Celtic Star Goddess, Feminism and Religion, https://feminismandreligion.com/2013/02 ... goddess-2/

Unknown (Unknown), Arianrhod, Moon Goddess of the Silver Wheel, Angelfire, http://www.angelfire.com/journal/ofapoet/arianrhod.html

Unknown (November 25th 2012), Goddess Arianrhod, Journeying to the Goddess, https://journeyingtothegoddess.wordpres ... arianrhod/

[hasmashdoneanythingwrong]

Voice Lines for Arachne

Summon (Pre Debut event): Well hey! We meet again, Master of Chaldea! I guess I was right about our destinies being interwoven! ...Eh? You don’t know us? Damn it, Summoning System! Oh well. We are Foreigner Class Arachne. Please, let us weave you a tapestry of glory and triumph!

Summon (After Debut Event) I am the Foreigner Class Servant who has heeded your call, Master! ...Huh? You know me already? You’re happy to see me? Well, unfortunately I can’t say I remember you... but I’m glad I left a good impression! I suppose now’s as good a time as any to reacquaint myself. And beyond that, you seem nice. Let me weave you a tapestry of victory!

Line 1 (Human Form): Hm. While I like this form, I feel... limited somehow. Never thought I’d say this, but my other forms would be preferable.

Line 1 (Jorō and Outer Forms): As a weaver and seamstress, I understand good fabric is expensive as hell, which is why I love that I can just make more like this! ...Now if only it didn’t require my lower regions to remind me of Athena’s curse.

Line 2 (Human Form): Say, Master, I hope you’re not arachnophobic. Why? Well... I think you can gather from my True Name.

Line 2 (Jorō and Outer Forms): Well... here we go! Are you fine with this? I can stay human if you need. ...You’re fine with this? Oh, good! I’m glad.

Line 3 (All Forms): Fabric never did get woven by just sitting around. Let’s go, Master!

Bond 1 (Human Form): I’ve only just begun to know you, yet I think I can see you’re a good person. I think I’m going to like it here!

Bond 1 (Jorō Form): I do not see a look of fear or disgust from you... I can already tell. You’re going to be a good one.

Bond 1 (Outer Form): You look upon a form born of the Abyss, and yet you stand with me? You’re a very accepting person, Master. I can appreciate that.

Bond 2 (All forms): I’m surprised at how many women you have summoned among your Servant... Say, uh, you wouldn’t, er, be willing to make some introductions on our behalf would you?

Bond 3 (Human and Jorō forms): Every once in a while I hear the whispers of the Weaver... they’re kind of disturbing if I must be honest.

Bond 3 (Outer Form): I’m not usually one for dark whispers in the back of my mind coming from beings beyond this realm, but I have to admit, Atlach-Nacha isn’t so bad. At least when she’s not urging me to sneak arcane secrets of the Dreamlands into my weaving.

Bond 4 (All Forms): Now, admittedly I’m not usually one for compliments (mostly because I have a hard time giving them), but you’re pretty great!

Bond 5 (Male Master, all forms): Master. Allow me once again to say I’m infinitely glad to have met you. You who accepted me knowing what I could become... I can’t appreciate you enough.

Bond 5 (Female Master, all forms): Hey, M-Master? I... I think I want to... no! No ignore me. I’m sure you already... Just... just know I’ve never met a better master. In health and sickness, I can only pray I can remain with you until the end of days.

Likes: Something I like? Weaving, at the risk of sounding like I’m really leaning into the spider stereotypes. Even after everything, I just can’t bring myself to hate it...

Dislikes (1st Ascension): I’m still mad, you know. At her. I dunno if gods still can hear mortals in this modern era, but I hope Athena knows I still hate her.

Dislikes (2nd and 3rd Ascensions): Master. You’d let me know if Athena was summoned somehow, yes? You wouldn’t... hide... her from me, would you? You wouldn’t... Protect... her, would you?

Grail: A wish granter? Hm, maybe I’d use it to ensure you summon Sappho. F-for purely pragmatic reasons of course! Not because I want to meet her and have her sign my collection of poems! Honest!

Event: Hm... this cheerful atmosphere... sounds like a celebration! As long as it’s not in her honor, I’d say let’s go!

[therkalexander]

The Good Counselor Chapter 4

Book Three in the Hades and Persephone series. Seventy years have passed since Elysion was created, and Persephone's efforts to conceive a child with Hades have been in vain. But a secret rite on Samothrace might bend the Fates and give her all that they have dreamed of, or pave a path of untold suffering.

Author's Note: Woohoo! The longest chapter to date! I hope you enjoyed it. I will be interviewed on a radio show called "Behind the Scenes" on Friday at 4:30pm PST if you want to tune in online. I'll be discussing The Good Counselor and turning my series into a TV show

Chapter 4

“Ready?”

Persephone clicked her teeth together. “I suppose so.”

“She did this on purpose,” Athena said. “On the very day that beast will be there…”

“You could avoid Poseidon, you know.” Her gateway through the ether twisted in a winding gyre of Phlegethon flame, and on the other side stood Olympus. “You don’t have to accompany me.”

“I know,” said Athena. “And I hope you don’t think that my ill temper is because of  you. But she told me to bring you and what the Queen wants, the Queen gets. Father is always asking us to play nice with her. Much good it does any of us.”

They stepped through. Persephone’s first impression of Olympus had held true over the years. The garden was filled with perfectly manicured trees, shading plates of rich food from the perpetually bright sunshine. But the perfume of the vibrant flowerbeds was soured but the stink of unpicked rotting fruit, uneaten food, and spilled wine. Around every elegant bend was another display of intrigue, in each secluded bower more emotionless fornication. Deferential nymphs peered over cups of wine, gods and goddesses were swarmed by their retinues, each coincidentally finding a reason to be there to catch a rare glimpse of the Queen of the Underworld.

Persephone had returned only twice since her first visit: once at her husband’s side to announce the creation of  Elysion to  Zeus and the Dodekatheon, and again as a guest of Aphrodite. She wished for  an excuse not to come here, but everyone knew the sowing season had passed, and one didn’t just turn down an invitation from the Queen of Heaven.

“You don’t have to go in,” Persephone said.

“Father wants me to.”

“Why?”

“Strategy. He went easy on me for my role in Poseidon and Apollo’s plotting. I was new to Olympus, then. He wants to make sure that his brother and I hate each other and never conspire again.”

“Given your history with Poseidon, I can’t see why he’d think that’s likely.”

“His punishment for the rebellion has been meted out slowly. He’s been inflicting that animal on me for aeons now” Athena rearranged her scowl into a smile as they passed through the hall, and she straightened her shoulders.

Poseidon stood before the throne, tattooed arms folded. He turned and spread them wide, his sea green eyes lighting up when he saw Persephone. “Well, this is a pleasant surprise!”

She’d only seen Poseidon once, and even then in the most formal of circumstances, at the court of the Dodekatheon. Persephone started to bend her knee.

“No, no, we’ll have none of that,” Zeus said, descending the step of the dais. “You’re Hades’s Queen. Not my vassal. Relax here, daughter. Hera is looking forward to meeting you.”

Poseidon cocked an eyebrow. “I was under the impression she and Amphitrite would be alone.”

“I am no tyrant over my wife’s hearth. She may invite who she likes. Besides: this is quite the occasion. The first meeting of the three goddess Queens. A momentous thing,” he said slapping Poseidon’s back. “Don’t you think, brother?”

Poseidon folded his arms, his shoulders tense. “Indeed.”

“Is Amphitrite here, your excellency?” Persephone said.

“My dear, you don’t need to call me that, and no,” he said, a smirk twisting up the corner of his mouth. “She’s hunting.”

“Not much untried quarry to be had here for either of you, uncle,” Athena said, placing a protective hand on Persephone’s shoulder. “If memory serves.”

“We’ll see.” Poseidon replied. “If she’s unsuccessful here, I could always send her to your temple.”

Athena took a step forward and Persephone could feel the heat rising from her skin.

“If memory serves, it hosts the sweetest prey of all.” Poseidon bared his teeth in a wide smile.

“Let’s not start this again in front of our dear guest,” Zeus said. “I want her to have a good impression of you both.”

“Perhaps we should kiss and make up,” Poseidon took a step toward Athena.

“That’s—”  Athena said, raising her voice. She took a quick breath and continued more calmly, “—quite unnecessary uncle. What are a few jokes among family?”

Persephone stayed quiet. Athena curtsied and quickly strode from the room, hounded by Poseidon’s chuckles echoing through the marble halls. From the corner of the room came a glow of red and yellow, indigo and green.

A woman, kneeling low, shimmered as the light settled. She rose and faced Zeus. “Your grace, your illustrious wife sent me to escort her majesty Queen Persephone to her home.”

“Yes, yes, thank your Iris,” Zeus said, waving his hand. He turned to Persephone. “Well, I’m sure you’ll have a wonderful time. Sadly, I don’t think I will be free when you are finished. There’s much business that needs attending to.”

“Fates, I hope not…” Poseidon muttered. He gave Persephone a kindly smile and nodded to her.

She nodded to her father and Poseidon, then followed Iris out of the symposium. Persephone had only seen her from a distance as a child. The goddess-in-waiting to Hera had hair like a raven’s wing, tinged with every color of the rainbow, and her gown shifted color as she took Persephone through shadow and light in the marble halls and along the path to the Palace of Hera. The walk down the hill to Hera’s villa made Persephone uneasy. How odd that Hera kept a separate home, a separate bed from her husband, and situated below his place at the peak of Olympus. Just as her throne was steps below that of the King of the Gods. Hades’s Palace was Persephone’s palace, and Persephone’s bed was Hades’s bed. Olympus again proved itself a world apart.

Like the other private palaces of the Dodekatheon, the grand villa was newer than the old citadel of Olympus itself— the original home of Gaia and Ouranos. Its columns were painted marble statues of women, the heavy balustrade beneath the domed ceiling resting on their uplifted arms.

“If you think this is impressive,” a voice beside her whispered, “you should see ours beneath the waves. And saffron is a good color on you. The daughters of the sea don’t wear that shade often. A pity.”

Persephone blinked, startled from her reverie. Her unexpected companion was a curvy woman with rich umber skin and blue coral and cowry shells woven through her tightly braided hair. A diadem of cross sectioned conch shells sat above her thin eyebrows. She was clothed strangely, like the paintings of the priestess queens on Old Crete. Her flounced skirt and tight fitting blouse were made of an embroidered linen as diaphanous as sea foam. “Am— are you Amphitrite?”

“The same. Though perhaps it’s not so grand. Poseidon and I have merely one bed to share, instead of two. One throne instead of a pretty chair three steps below the big one. The bed keeps him from straying too far if I’m there waiting every night, and sitting thigh to thigh keeps his eyes from wandering too far by day… ”

Persephone’s cheeks grew hot and she stared at Iris’s back, wondering how much Hera’s lady in waiting could hear.

“You’re an earth goddess… wouldn’t you agree that the best way to keep a man from sowing his wild oats is to make sure that his grain silo is always empty?”

“I hadn’t heard that analogy before…”

“I hear you sit your own throne in Chthonia, but Fates— tell me you don’t sleep separately from Hades,” Amphitrite said, louder than was necessary for Persephone to hear her.

“Ah, no, our room is… we definitely— well, I suppose, for six months of the year…”

The sea goddess laughed and threw an arm around Persephone. “Don’t be so nervous up here. They’ll eat you alive. And she will think you’re as much of a prig as she is.”

Persephone’s jaw fell slack and she stared at Amphitrite.

She bit her full lip and chortled. “I couldn’t care less what the rainbow girl hears.”

Iris’s long peplos shifted from a sky blue to the violent gray green of a storm and she spun about. Her face was tight. She forced a smile and straightened her back, her dress lightening until at last it returned to a tranquil hue. She spoke to Persephone. “I shall introduce the consort of Poseidon first. You, as our most honored guest, shall be introduced last.”

A delicate golden gate, it’s filigree mimicking swirls of clouds and the eyes of peacock feathers, swung wide and Iris walked through, followed by Amphitrite and Persephone.

Amphitrite turned her head. You, as our most honored guest, shall be introduced last, she mouthed, exaggerating Iris’s mannerisms. She ended her impression with a spin and a courtly bow. Persephone stifled a laugh.

They passed between the statues who held the ceiling aloft. One looked a bit like her mother. A peahen shrieked and ran across their path, pursued by a peacock. Iris turned the corner and led them through a grand hall, similar to the symposium of Olympus, but with watery light dimmed by gauzy blue veils and green drapes. The columns inside were enormous and carved at the base with stylized lotuses. Soft divans were scattered in clumps here and there, covered in plush fleeces and rolled wool pillows. Frescos and tapestries featuring lionesses with their young, pomegranates, and the ubiquitous peacock feathers plastered the walls. Shafts of light penetrated here and there, giving the strange feeling of being submerged, but the color and softness was welcoming after the Symposium. A delicate, jeweled throne dominated the center of the room, empty.

“Majestic Hera, most treasured daughter of Rhea, She of the Heights, Protector of Men, wife of Zeus Aegiduchos Cronides, and Queen of Heaven,” Iris said to the empty throne, “may I present Amphitrite Halocydne Nereida, Lady of the Sea, Goddess of the Encircling Third, consort of Poseidon, and may I introduce Persephone Karpophoros Chthonios, Goddess of Spring, Exacter of Justice, consort of Aidoneus, and Queen of the Underworld.”

As her titles were uttered, Persephone knelt to one knee, her head bowed. She pressed her right palm to the floor, just as her husband did when in the presence of Zeus, though she was uncertain to whom she was bowing. The throne before her was still empty. She kept her head lowered.

Amphitrite had given a customary nod and curtsy, but stood tall.

“We are all equals here. Please. Stand.”

Persephone rose and looked for the source of the voice. Beyond the throne, a blue veiled woman sat at a loom, her back to them as she wove a fine woolen thread through the taut strands. Iris bowed low once, backed toward the door, curtsied, and departed.

Hera stood and pushed her veil off her head. Beneath were dark locks held up by a simple green filet. Her features were sharp, yet warm, large brown eyes that reminded Persephone of Aidoneus, and a thin, serene smile. Malachite hung heavy on her lids, and kohl rimmed the edges, making them appear even larger. “Come. I thought tea would be in order. If memory serves, wine is not preferred in the lands below, so we shall abstain.”

Persephone felt tension leave her shoulders. “Tea would be fine, thank you.”

“It might be a bit tepid. They took it off Hestia’s hearth several minutes ago.”

Was she late? No, three hours past midday was the appointed time, she thought. Hestia… Persephone tried to remember. The second Child of Kronos. Hera’s closest friend, who had a vast collection of herbs and spices curated from all the plants of the world, some varieties lost for aeons. She cared for the plants, and tended to the hearth with which she cooked and warmed Olympus. And her gateway through the ether was the same as Persephone’s: fire. “Will she be joining us also?”

“No.”

She balked at Hera’s abruptness. But then the Goddess Queen smiled broadly, exposing perfectly white, if slightly large teeth. “I thought it should just be us today. The three of us have never really met.”

“A bit odd that you haven’t invited her here,” Amphitrite said, “since she has been Hades’s queen for nearly four score years. We all thought you were going to go the whole one hundred before holding court with her.”

Hera demurred. “Alas, we’ve been… preoccupied. Much has transpired in that time, no? And dear Amphitrite, how many times has Persephone been a guest at your palace?”

Persephone already felt like a country peasant here. Was she remiss in requesting an audience with Hera or paying fealty to the Queen? Had her oversight endangered the alliance between the Earth and the Heavens? Despite Hera’s tone of friendliness and informality, Persephone kept alert, knowing that every word she chose might be perilous.

“Speaking of, Persephone, I must apologize to you.” Hera moved closed to her, her eyes cast to the ground.

“For what?”

“When I sent you that pomegranate nectar…” She grasped Persephone’s hands, her fingers warm, and looked at her with pleading eyes. “I never intended for my wedding gift to aid your mother’s maidservant in causing so much trouble.”

“There’s nothing to forgive. I assure you.”

“I understand you dealt with that wretch and your mother’s base behavior rather succinctly.”

Don’t ever show them weakness, Demeter had told her. Let them believe what they must, her husband had said. Persephone straightened her back. “Yes. I did.”

“Ooh, there’s an idea, Hera.” Amphitrite giggled. “How do you suppose Zeus would react if you made his next dalliance burst into flames mid-stroke?”

“My ways are more subtle than that,” Hera shot back at her. “Thanks to her resourcefulness, Persephone’s husband was unharmed. And, if anything had transpired, Aidoneus wasn’t himself. He had been poisoned by that whore, had he not?”

“With ergot,” Persephone said guardedly.

“Well, as I said.” Hera again cast her eyes to the ground. “I cannot tell you how sorry I am, Persephone, that you had to endure that.”

“In the grand scheme of things,” Persephone said with a strained smile, “nothing happened.”

Hera clapped once, and three lady’s maids dressed in identical sky blue peplum floated into the room, each bearing a steaming  kantharos. Hera took her place on a divan, and Persephone and Amphitrite flanked her on couches of their own. Persephone didn’t even get a chance to look into the eyes of the servant who bore the golden tray holding her tea: she was silently retreating as soon as Persephone’s cup left the platter. The tisane was pink, and smelled sweet and pungent. Persephone realized that it was rose and jasmine— an honorary nod to her role as the Goddess of Spring. She inhaled and smiled.

“Now, Hera usually punishes those women’s sons and daughters, rather… firmly,” Amphitrite said, “But you… Is it true what I heard from Anauros of Thessaly about what you did to Kokytos, Minthe’s own father?”

“That was… an unrelated matter. He violated the rules of my husband’s kingdom and the dead cast many curses upon him for his wrongdoings. It was my duty to carry them out.”

Amphitrite laughed. “You sound like Aidoneus. So grave! He’s certainly wormed his way well into you, hasn’t he?”

Persephone blushed and looked away, sipping her tea. A burst of sweetness revealed that it was full of ambrosia. She shouldn’t be surprised. Ambrosia was in everything here.

“There’s no need for you to embarrass her,” Hera said under her breath.

“Please… we’re all wives, here. And if they’ve already had a hieros gamos so impassioned that it created Elysion, a realm within their realm, I think that there’s little left to blush about.”

“Let her be the arbiter of that,” Hera said, an edge creeping into her voice. She forced a smile and changed the subject. “I have not seen Elysion yet. Though I heard from my dear husband it is incomparably beautiful.”

“I think it is,” Persephone said. After they told Olympus of its existence, Zeus had made a rare descent into Chthonia to see the Elysian Fields himself. He had said almost nothing at the time, and had looked nervous.

“Tell us a little about it.” Amphitrite said. Both she and Hera leaned forward.

“There’s… the entrance is a grove of intertwined pomegranate trees within the palace garden. Well, it was within our garden. We removed part of a wall and a path was laid out to guide the worthy souls to their new home. Once inside, Elysion appears… expansive. There are many trees, of all varieties, some from lands that we’ve only heard about, and beyond that is a sea, with green, hilly islands dotting the surface.”

“It must be vast,” Hera said, her brow knitting. “How large is Elysion?”

“We haven’t found its end yet.”

Hera’s eyes widened, then she quickly schooled her expression and took another sip. “How do you determine who enters?”

Persephone bit at her lip. “Aidoneus and I spent the better part of the last century combing Asphodel for the worthy shades. With some difficulty, we let them revisit their lost memories long enough to speak with us, and then either sent them back to the peaceful Fields, or rewarded them with Paradise.”

“That sounds exhausting,” said Amphitrite.

“Do you find these souls together during the winter, or does Aidoneus take it up when you are… with your mother?” Hera wrinkled her nose.

“I would not delay any of our— his subjects on my behalf. Aidoneus has ruled Chth— the Underworld for aeons. He is plenty able to search out the worthy shades without my assistance.”

“You have made a great change in him, I think. I didn’t take him for someone who is quite so compassionate. What of the recently departed?” Hera asked. “What must they do to gain entrance to Elysion?”

“Their soul must be prepared. Nothing more.”

“Ah, your Eleusinian Mysteries.” Hera said, raising her eyebrows. She exhaled and turned to Amphitrite. “Any news from beneath the waves, Amphitrite?”

She smiled wide, her teeth showing brilliant white. “There is. I am expecting another child.”

“Oh, by Poseidon?” Hera said over the rim of her cup.

“Oh yes,” Amphitrite hissed at her. “And I would be happy to share every exquisite detail of how he—”

“Congratulations to you,” Persephone interrupted. She hadn’t come here for this. She could very well be with Aidon right now in the comfort of their villa in Thesprotia.

“Why thank you.” Amphitrite smiled at her, and then winked. She knew that Persephone was trying her utmost to keep the peace. She readied her arrows for Hera anyway. “Poseidon was… very eager for another son.”

“You know that it’s a boy?” Persephone said, putting her cup down.

“Why yes,” Amphitrite said. “You know how these things are known.”

“I…”

“Your modesty is quite refreshing here, Persephone,” Hera chimed in.

“I beg pardon,” Persephone said, her eyes cast down on her cup. “But… I cannot claim modesty when I honestly do not know what either of you are talking about.”

Hera put down her cup and canted her head. “Oh dear, I’m sorry, I had completely forgotten you have no children. How careless of me.”

“Good! Then I’ll explain it to her.” Amphitrite stirred her tea. “After the deathless ones create a child, they can both … learn about it together. Its sex, what it might look like, sometimes its sigil for the ether…”

“How?”

“By the simple touch of both, upon the womb,” Hera said.

Amphitrite smirked. “Poseidon likes to find out from inside—”

“Persephone is too much of a lady to listen to any more of that.”

“And what sort of lady? The kind that sits beneath her lover like a concubine?”

“The sort who doesn’t speak like a concubine.”

“At least she too is her husband’s equal.”

“That is not the order of things,” Hera said quietly. “No matter how crookedly you’ve wound Poseidon around your finger.”

“Oh, you hadn’t heard? A little nymphai reminded me that Queen Persephone sits as an equal to Aidoneus.” Amphitrite turned to her. “I know how Chthonia operates. You can tell her, Persephone. Maybe she’ll learn a little something and she can finally bring that insufferable man to heel.”

Persephone sat stock still. Amphitrite was correct, but there wasn’t any way she was going to say so. Persephone didn’t know how to play this game. Fates help her if she was foolish enough to side with either of them.

Hera swallowed a polite sip. “How very strange to hear you speak that way about your sworn king, my husband, when it is well known that Poseidon’s eye wanders far afield. And debasing yourself so shamelessly for his benefit has done you little good.”

“No, plenty of good, I assure you. It was during a very enjoyable ‘debasement’ that we conceived little Eurypylus.” She stroked her belly for effect. “And our bedmate Astypalaia was all too happy to participate.”

Hera sighed, and set her tea aside. She dropped her head into her hand and squeezed her temples. Persephone didn’t move.

“Poseidon desperately wanted to bed that innocent princess, but knew I was between the tides. He started caressing her, then lowered his lips to hers, and she was so enrapt that Astypalaia didn’t even know I was in the room until I replaced Poseidon’s tongue with mine. And it turns out, Astypalaia was not so innocent as Poseidon imagined. To men, sure enough, but not to women. Trust me, the sights and sounds the two of us treated him to drained him of his seed rather quickly.”

Persephone felt the color seep from her face, and looked from Hera to Amphitrite and back.

Amphitrite snickered, then put her cup to the side before she doubled over. Her laugh echoed through the hall. “Alright, you win, Hera. I’ll stop embarrassing her. Gods… you refuse to let me have any fun.”

Persephone relaxed, relieved but exhausted. Hera exhaled and rolled her eyes. “Well since that’s done…”

“I’m done, I’m done. I promise.” She leaned forward. “One last thing though…”

Hera looked skyward. “Amphitrite…”

“Tell me, Persephone… have you considered inviting one of those delicate winged nymphs from the Styx into your chamber? I would be fascinated to find out what they are like.”

“I have not. Nor will I.”

“Surely after all these decades, you’d want to liven things up for the King of the Dead?”

“Neither Aidoneus nor I have any interest but for each other. And it will remain so.”

Hera and Amphitrite looked at one another. Hera lowered her eyes to the floor, but Amphitrite smiled and held her belly, feeling her son turn. “It’s only been seventy five years, Persephone. You have an eternity to truly find the limits to your marriage. And likewise an eternity to try for children.”

Persephone scoffed. “Well rest assured, that despite Zeus’s oath to us, I doubt a child will be forthcoming.”

“Oath? What do you mean?” Hera said, her eyes trained on her tea.

“The Stygian oath he swore to us at the Pomegranate Agreement.”

“Don’t let him get to you.” Amphitrite said. “Hermes told us everything. Cruel and selfish to taunt your husband that way. Zeus only made that promise so that he could bring Aidoneus to heel. He does that to my husband constantly. Not by promising that our child will become the heir to the heavens, mind you, but he has other ways of needling Poseidon.”

“Thank you. As I said, it’s of nothing, and his words on that matter bear little consequence. Aidoneus and I could be content if it never happens at all.”

Amphitrite was silent a moment, then took Persephone’s hand and squeezed it in hers, and gave her a reassuring smile. “As I said, it’s only been seventy five years. Only the Fates know what the future will bring.”

Hera stared into her cup, her serene smile set in stone.

[kuno-chan]

Love Amongst the Dragons: Gales of Yesterday - Ch. 3, The Tempest

Summary: In a sentence, Prince Callum doesn't care for dragons. He has his reasons for not being a fan, but the Dragon Ban has expired and now his life is full of them as the Dragon Keep has finished and everyone around him is preoccupied in making sure everything is ready for the Xadians arriving so the dragon rider's training program may succeed. Now, Callum is up to his neck in everything that has to do with dragons as he does his best to satiate some dangerous curiosities, wrestle sorrowful memories and support his stepfather, King Harrow, in this time of redemption.

Rating: G

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The human kingdoms were a strange place. There was very little magic. In fact, there was basically no magic anywhere.

Rayla found it rather bizarre,honestly. She said as much to Runaan.

“Humans were not born with magic,” he told her, concealing a knife in his boot. He instructed her to do the same. This entire diplomatic mission was supposed to be peaceful, but it wasn’t as if the humans were completely trustworthy. Runaan’s chief fear was what might happen if things went wrong; if they suddenly found themselves surrounded by human guards with no way out. They had their dragons, but now, so did the humans. “We can’t expect their lands to have any, either. Otherwise, they would have figured out a way to harness it.”

“They have dark magic,” Rayla said.

“What they call magic. Dark magic is not true magic.”

Rayla nodded. She agreed wholeheartedly.

“Are Luna and Athena secure?” he asked.

“In the stables. They’re resting, I’m sure. It was a pretty long trip for them. Luna was getting a bit cranky after a few days.”

Runaan raised his brows at her in question. “Is Luna secure?”

“... she was when I left her,” Rayla said, grinning nervously. “I swear.”

“And we must keep it that way. Dragons are new for most of these humans and Luna will spook them if she simply shows up.”

“She’ll probably just steal their kitchen utensils.”

“And I imagine they value their kitchen utensils.”

Rayla shrugged, though she shared a knowing smile. “Oh, I suppose. I’ll make sure she knows she can’t play with the whisks around here.”

“Good. Now, come.” Runaan beckoned. “I want you to be there when I speak with the King. You should know how to navigate these situations. Diplomacy is a skill you might learn.”

Rayla followed Runaan to a more private room than she was expecting. It was small, not even half the size of the throne room, more intimately decorated with paintings and items that she assumed the king held dear. A drawing of him and the boy she saw upon arriving at the castle hung on the wall.

“Please, both of you,” King Harrow gestured. “Sit. I appreciate you being available despite how tired you must be.”

Runaan nodded. “It’s what we came to do. We ought to start with a conversation.”

Rayla sat quietly, as ordered, but also impressed. Humans were not Runaan’s favorite people in the entire world. So, when he showed no qualms about leading the diplomatic party into the human kingdoms, Rayla was surprised... and not. On one hand, Runaan didn’t care for humans for a variety of reasons. On the other hand, he would perform his duty without complaint. Without fail.

So, Rayla did as expected, she sat quietly and observed the situation. She even debated sitting or standing in the corner. But she took a seat and Runaan gave her no indication that he disapproved.

“I agree. So, first, let me open with a question: What are your main concerns? I want to address those before we move on to other things. I realize the need for transparency if there is to be any trust between Xadia and Katolis.”

Runaan nodded. “The treaty has expired, but Xadia is concerned about the humans using the dragons solely as war machines. Yes, in battle they are invaluable, but to raise and use dragons with that purpose and that purpose alone is to foster a culture where they are nothing more than tools. And, that, is a dangerous sentiment to breed. Especially considering the use of… other magics among humans.”

“I absolutely agree,” King Harrow said. “And you have my word that I am doing everything in my power to make sure those in charge of the dragons’ training understand this. These are creatures who deserve respect if we are to gain their allegiance, should we even call it that. There must be respect and trust between dragon and rider.”

Rayla almost raised her brows. She hadn’t expected that answer.

“Then, we are in agreement,” Runaan said. “As long as that ideal shines through there shouldn’t be a problem. As for the Dragon Keep, who oversees it?”

“I’ve put Lord Viren in charge of the Dragon Keep. He is my closest advisor and I would trust him with my life.” The king stood said.

“The high mage.”

A pause. The king nodded.

Runaan said nothing.

The king broke the long silence that followed. “Lord Viren is my responsibility and I will see to it that nothing, and I mean nothing, atrocious happens to those dragons. Contrary to what you may believe, I do not always agree with him and his… methods.”

“I will hold you accountable then.”

King Harrow sat back but said nothing. He only nodded.

Rayla sat in silence the entire time as the king and Runaan discussed the conditions of which Xadia would allow the humans use of their dragons for military power without risk of transgression.

All the while, Rayla examined the king. This was the man who drove their kingdoms to war. The man who had a part, however big or small, in killing Thunder. They never even recovered his egg. Some part of her wanted to hate him. Wanted to blame him for the situations that plagued her life. But she couldn’t quite bring herself to hate him for all the sincerity in his eyes. Runaan could see the conflict written on her face once they finished an hour later.

“You’re troubled,” he said.

“He’s… not what I expected.”

“I imagine he’s not. What do you make of him?” he asked.

“... He regrets.”

“As he should. Many people died in his war. Human or not, those decisions weigh on him.”

“What do you think of him?”

“I can respect a man who realizes his mistakes, but it doesn’t make the mistakes go away. The people who died won’t come back. Regardless if he knows what he did was wrong, those who laid down their lives or suffered in the shadow of his decisions gain no reprieve.”

“Sorry isn’t enough.” It was more of a statement than a clarification.

“I will hold judgement. Your judgement is your own. I expect you on your best behavior, regardless.”

Rayla rolled her eyes. “I know, I know. You don’t have to keep telling me, you know.”

Runaan only made a noise that told her more than enough about his expectations.

-:-:-:-

In the morning Callum saw his brother for all of ten minutes before Ezran found somewhere else to be. He was starting to wonder if he upset his little brother somehow, but that usually wasn’t the case when Ezran left to go exploring. Callum wondered, but he supposed it was something else.

Either way, it left him somewhat alone for the day. Claudia and Soren both had other obligations and different things to do under the orders of their father. Soren and Varius were busy with the new dragon riders and Claudia was doing research for her father on some aspect of dragon behavior.

Even his stepfather was entertaining and making sure the Xadians were comfortable. They were planning to visit the Dragon Keep soon.

Every day was about dragons, really. Every day Callum woke up, the dragons were a part of their lives in some capacity. He hadn’t expected it. Not like this.

He still tensed up when he woke in the morning. It took him ten minutes or so just to get himself prepared for the day, even if nothing was inherently wrong. His stepfather always told him he didn’t have to be involved and, initially, Callum had completely prepared himself to do just that. No dragons, no way.

Then, the Dragon Keep went up. Then, dragons started being brought in. Soren got Varius. Claudia began looking more into it. His stepfather talked about it more. They assigned Lord Viren to the project.

Suddenly, everywhere he turned… dragons, dragons, dragons.

It used to be thirty minutes in the morning. Thirty minutes before he could get up and face his new reality.

It made him sick, having to look at it all.

All of it just reminded him of his mother.

Her breath rattled in her chest.

It stopped.

Callum’s chest tightened. The thoughts threatened to overwhelm him when he thought about it too much. When he thought about it all, sometimes.

With Ezran busy for the day, apparently off on his own shenanigans, Callum took his sketchbook and, against his better judgement, found his way to the Dragon Keep.

At first, that was how it started and why he ended up going there at all. As long as he stayed on the wall and far from the actual creatures, he could sketch them to his heart’s content. He would sketch one dragon, then go home. It gradually became two or more. Now, he didn’t really have a limit. Just whenever he felt finished for the day.

He still stayed high on the wall though. He never ventured close to them. Not once. Not on his life.

When he got to the keep, however, Soren and his dragon riding recruits were using the wall he normally occupied. Whatever they were doing, he didn’t want to disturb them. Step-prince or not, occasionally, it distracted people that he was a prince and was the adopted son of the king. Those who weren’t around him as often sometimes felt like they had to pay him mind. It made Callum uncomfortable.

So, he looked around.

Sketching would have to wait, he supposed.

It probably wasn’t the wisest of ideas, but he started poking around. Frankly, he felt like Ezran, just wanting to know what was around the corners, going to places he most likely wasn’t supposed to.

He walked near Lord Viren’s office at the keep, past it and down the hall he’d never bothered going down. The halls were simple but decorated, red rugs, tapestries and weapons hung in traditional Katolis fashion. The hall widened and simplified at the very end. To the right, Callum knew was the arena. To the left, a darker tunnel, but otherwise open. Airy. Breezy, even? Drafty, perhaps was the right word.

Callum knew better, but he took the left anyway. He wanted to know where the breeze came from. Was it another way out? An escape route should this place go up in flames?

What he found was a simple room. The breeze came from the open windows, letting in light and the smell of fresh air; it gave the room a less scary quality than Callum expected. It would have been a perfect place to spend a private moment, were it not for the cage in the center of the room.

And the dragon in the cage.

Blue slitted eyes trained on him. Callum froze.

The Tempest looked at him, eyes focused on his every move. Callum didn’t budge. He and the Tempest stared each other down. Rather, the Tempest stared him down.

Callum just stared.

He stared and prayed.

Could it shoot fire at him from this distance?

Did it shoot fire?

Was it poisonous?

He recalled Soren’s words about Chaos class dragons and realized he’d already made a mistake by praying and not running first. It was too late now though. He was as good as dragon lunch if he moved even one muscle and --

The Tempest’s eyes flickered. It looked him over, then snorted. It went back to laying down.

Callum was almost disappointed. Relieved, but almost disappointed. He wasn’t even worth a dragon’s time.

“Thanks, I guess,” Callum said. “Didn’t mean to bother you. I’ll just be--”

There was a muffled string of familiar voices coming from down the hall. The trainers.

And Lord Viren.

Callum closed the door to the room and ducked away from the entrance. If Lord Viren found him down here, he’d be furious and that was not something he wanted to face so close to his office. It was just… an unsettling office. Especially if Lord Viren thought he might have stolen something. No, thank you.

The Tempest went back to staring at him.

“I’m sorry. I’ll leave in a minute, okay? I just need to wait until he’s gone,” Callum hissed.

What was he doing? Why was he apologizing to the dragon? The Tempest probably didn’t care one way or another what Callum did so long as he didn’t come and bother him. He didn’t have to worry about that. Callum couldn’t have been tighter against the wall if he tried.

He wasn’t sure which one was worse: Lord Viren or the dragons.

Apparently, Callum had decided Lord Viren right at this moment.

The Tempest groaned and turned over. Fair enough. It didn’t seem to care what Callum did. It had its own problems.

This is what he got for being nosy, he supposed. He’d kept coming to the keep just to draw the dragons for the sake of art and curiosity, knowing what it would make him feel. He went to sleep at night, nowadays, feeling a little more anxious knowing that tomorrow he’d go back. But it was a point of pride for him. This was going to be his life, right? Surrounded by dragons. He ought to face his fears and deal with it.

At least, that’s what he told himself when his heart was beating in his chest so hard it hurt.

He wasn’t good at anything that didn’t have to do with lines on paper.

At the very least, he could face this… issue haunting him.

Every time he saw a dragon, he saw his mother’s dying face.

Callum looked back at the Tempest. A groan escaped the dragon’s mouth and his belly rose and fell. He frowned at the dragon’s breathing. The Tempest seemed… exhausted?

Lord Viren was just outside the door. Callum could hear him, probably making his way to his office.

“... no food, no water. Understood? Make an example out of them if need be. These beasts need to know who’s in charge around here. If they go out of control, we may all end up burned alive.”

The trainer shuddered, then agreed to obey.

In the cell, the Tempest rolled over just barely, lethargic and breathing somewhat labored. Restless, even. He opened and closed his mouth, his tongue lolling out slightly. He wasn’t hurt -- not that Callum would see any bruises with a hide as thick as a dragons, but…

“You’re starving,” Callum said softly.

The Tempest trained a blue eye on him. There was some animosity that kept Callum from getting any closer to him. Humans were not his favorite people in the world. And he had a feeling an elf would not be in his good graces either.

Outside, the door to Lord Viren’s office slammed shut.

Callum didn’t leave right away, but the Tempest looked away from him, curling into a ball as if to protect himself from anymore visitors.

It took a moment for Callum to leave, observing the Tempest before his hands and feet finally found the door, then a whisper.

“I’m sorry.”

-:-:-:-

“Prince Callum.”

Callum froze, tensing from Lord Viren’s stern and not so pleased tone of voice. He turned on his heel.

“Lord Viren, I was just, uh, exploring.”

“Were you now?” Lord Viren closed the door to his office. “Exploring the very cell down the hall from my office? How coincidental.”

“Yep, it is pretty strange how we met down here, but I really should be going now--���

“Do you take me for a fool?”

His tone cut like ice.

Callum tried to act like nothing was wrong. “No, sir, I--”

“Then, why don’t you and I remain honest with each other, hm? I know you were down here spying on whatever you think I have hidden away, but I assure you there’s nothing. So, I suggest you run along and not do it again.”

Callum frowned. “If there’s nothing down here then why do you have a dragon in the cell you know I was just in?”

“That dragon is in confinement for poor behavior. There is nothing down there. Nothing that concerns you, at least.”

“You’re starving him.”

“I’m teaching him to listen to his masters. He will be fed and kept alive, but at my discretion.” Viren tapped his staff on the ground. “These are wild beasts, boy. Not humans. And you’re a fool if you truly believe that we shouldn’t protect ourselves from their wrath. If the dragon doesn’t make it that is its own fault for not cooperating.”

“Right now, the king’s wrath is the only one you should worry about.” Callum turned to leave. “When he finds out about this, he’s going to be furious.”

Lord Viren said nothing.

Nothing dismayed him more than the king’s disapproval.

But in a chilling tone Lord Viren said, “He will be… worried.” Callum stopped. “Yes, very worried. This Xadian diplomacy mission is very important to him. Why, if he thought it might fail on account of me, I’m not sure he would even sleep at night. But, I suppose you’re right. The stress of his anger is something I fear. For all our sakes.”

Callum turned to glare at Viren, but the man was already walking away, his cane tapping the ground the only sound between them.

-:-:-:-

No, Lord Viren was…

He was right.

Yes, he was right.

But so was his decision.

Callum couldn’t just let that Tempest starve to death. No, that was wrong in every way and he couldn’t just let it happen.

On the other hand, Lord Viren wasn’t entirely wrong either. His least favorite person right now, but not entirely wrong. Callum thought about it all the way back to the castle and it wasn’t until he ran into Ezran once he got back to their joined rooms.

“Where have you been?” Callum raised a brow at Ezran.

Ezran looked up from where he was playing with Bait. “Callum! Oh, uh… nowhere?”

Callum frowned. “Were you sneaking into the baker’s again?”

Ezran grinned. “Oh, uh, yeah! You caught me.”

Callum snorted and shook his head. “Well, you’ll never guess what happened to me today.”

Callum told him all of it. About the Tempest he found, wanting to tell the king and his conversation with Lord Viren.

“So, are you going to tell dad?”

“Well, yeah. It’s the right thing to do…” Callum said. “... right?”

Ezran smiled a little. “Of course. We should go tell him right now.”

The king sat in his room, the desk piled high with papers that probably had to do with the arrival of the Xadian diplomats. After all, their safety fell on his shoulders. A heavy responsibility considering everything.

“I’m sorry, boys. I know I was pretty busy all day.”

Callum shook his head. “No, it’s okay. We know you’re busy.”

“Yeah,” Ezran said. “Dad, you don’t have to apologize.”

Harrow sighed and stood from his chair. He paced the room with his hands behind his back. “This diplomatic mission with the Xadians and the Dragon Keep… it all needs to go well. “

“Your Majesty,” Callum started. Harrow looked back at him with a sad smile. Callum cleared his throat. “You know… everybody can see you trying to make up for everything.”

Harrow chuckled a little, a crestfallen tone somewhere in it. “It is very hard to make up for a war you helped start. Believe me, Callum. As it is, I don’t care about my reputation. No. After the things I saw and realizing my part in those horrors? This is my duty. For the sake of peace between our two kingdoms, it is my duty to ensure that this goes well. That Xadia and Katolis -- all the human kingdoms -- can have a chance at real peace and cooperation between all our peoples. Do you boys understand?”

Callum and Ezran looked at each other, then nodded at their father.

“We understand,” Callum said.

Harrow approached them and got down on one knee, coming to eye level with Ezran specifically. “Ezran, one day you will also need to make decisions like this. As king, there will be… a heavy burden on your shoulders. One that I will always be sorry fell on your shoulders. But it’s important that you take this duty seriously. People will look to you for guidance. But to learn how to lead you must learn how to follow and learning to follow means listening. And, right now, as a prince, this is the best time to do just that. I was young when I became king. And perhaps I didn’t listen as a prince as well as I should have. Do you understand why I’m telling you all this?”

Ezran nodded. He even smiled and put Bait down for just a moment. “If I can be half as good a king as you are, then I’ll do great, Dad.”

Ezran hugged him and, a moment later, Callum joined. He felt King Harrow put his arms around them. “Thank you, boys.” When they pulled back, he put a hand on each of their shoulders. “Now, it’s getting late. You boys should go and rest. Tomorrow I’m sure will be another long day.”

“Actually, Dad, we--”

“Really should be getting that sleep,” Callum said quickly. He grinned and nodded. “Yup. It’s time to sleep. Just like you said.”

Harrow laughed a little as he rose to his feet. “Very well. You two run along, then. There are other ways for you to get some sleep than to help me with my paperwork.”

They left the king to his dreaded paperwork and Ezran frowned at Callum. “Why didn’t you tell him about the dragon, Callum?”

Bait croaked. Callum sighed. “You saw him, Ez. He’s got enough to deal with right now with the Xadians here. I’ll just have to figure something out on my own.”

“Well, what are we going to do?”

Callum shook his head. “Don’t worry about it. I’ll figure something out. No matter what happens, I’ll make sure that dragon has a fighting chance.”

[seasons-of-ceres]

Retelling the Myth of the Minotaur - Verse 3: Kore

Grey-eyed and grey-haired, Kore cannot help but question her mother’s choice in a name meaning “maiden”. Maidens are small and soft like birds, but Kore has always taken up space and been protective of it. She is tall and broad with sharp shoulders, lean arms, angular of face, stern lips, harsh and proud like a weathered tree refusing to bend before a stiff wind. If her appearance was not so noticeable, Kore imagines Minos would’ve taken her to bed as one of his many ill-fated concubines, but Pasiphae expressly forbid it.

           Watching from the doorway as her mother cut the queen’s stomach, Kore stared unflinchingly at the half-babe, half-calf squealing in Pasiphae’s arms. Kore cannot remember what brought her so far from the servants’ quarters into the royal bedchamber, but she knew instinctually that she had to be there to witness whatever was about to happen. Pasiphae said there was a chance she was gifted by the gods, not only did they allow her to be named after the Queen of the Underworld, but perhaps even grey-eyed Athena sought to aid the child. Many of Kore’s tapestries were displayed in the palace, but never with her name mentioned.

Not that Kore minds, she makes her offerings to Athena and Persephone in peace and quiet, even though some of the other servants tease her for it. They think Kore should be praying to Aphrodite for beauty, enough so some distant lord can carry her away to his kingdom, adorn in her splendid clothing and jewels to take away from the strangeness of her face.

Kore isn’t dumb.

Mortals make silly requests all the time and pay dearly for them; it is enough that she is protected by two great goddesses. Besides, what then? A life of luxury dulls the mind, Kore sees it in Ariadne. Watching the princess prepare offerings for her brother in the Labyrinth, watching her lead the Athenians to their doom – Ariadne is pleasing to the eye and nary disturbed by anything. In one ear and out the other. Kore used to attend Ariadne at the opening to Asterion’s den. She would listen to Ariadne offer sparse words of encouragement and comfort, and then leave with the belief she had done “the right thing”. Asterion would call out to Ariadne, he wanted to share his thoughts and feelings, but she would already gone.

So perhaps being sent away from the royal family is good. After making her daily offering, Kore travels back to the opening of Asterion’s den. Pausing to ensure no one else is around, she kneels and gazes into the dark abyss.

           “Asterion.” She calls and she waits. Waits until the sunlight finds the horns on his head as he emerges from the dark water.

           “Kore?” Asterion shakes his head and clears the water from his long eyelashes. He tips his head back, and once his eyes land on Kore, he waves.

Kore places a hand over her mouth to muffle a laugh as Asterion clamours onto his tiny island. He raises a hand to block the sun from his big black eyes, and those are what Kore adores most in the world. Even from a distance, she can see the way memory moves behind them, the way they seem to shimmer when Asterion remembers something important.

           “Kore.” He rumbles. “I remember.”

           “Good, that’s good.” Kore’s face hurts, it always does when she sees Asterion. Like her mouth is trying to split her face apart.

           “You look sad. Is Kore sad?”

           “A little. But I’m happy to see you, Asterion.”

           “That is my name?” He asks, tilting his head. “It is, isn’t it? I like how you say “Asterion”, Kore. I like how you say my name.”

           Perhaps Kore does have a maiden heart; it flutters in her chest when Asterion reaches out with his other hand for her. Kore carefully leans out, the tips of her fingers brushing up against his own. This is dangerous, she thinks suddenly. But then again, she doesn’t care. With patience, she will sit here until she is called away. In the meantime, she and Asterion will talk about everything and nothing, measuring their fondness for each other with every syllable that leaves their lips.

Kore is convinced that if everyone simply treated Asterion as an intelligent being, the monstrous side of him would dwindle and fade. There would be no reason to keep him prisoner, they could integrate him back into the world and this silly, secret affair could be…

           “How old am I again?” Asterion asks. “I keep losing track.”

           “Twenty,” Kore replies. “And I am twenty-five.”

           “Good number.”

           “Why is it good?” Kore lies on her stomach, letting her hair cascade into Asterion’s den. He lies on his back, head cushioned by a rock, crushing petals between his fingers.

           “It just is.” Asterion says shrugging. “Your hair looks like mist in the sunlight, it’s beautiful.”

           Kore feels her mouth stretch strangely across her face.

           “You don’t know what mist looks like, silly boy.”

           “I do.” Asterion insists. “I’m looking at it and it is beautiful.”

           “Stop.”

           “Take the compliment, Kore. It is sincere, from my heart.” Asterion pats his chest, the best equivalent of a smile on his face. “You are beautiful, Kore. I know it.”

[tipsycad147]

SPIDERS AS SPIRITUAL GUIDES

Posted on September 11, 2017 by Crooked Bear Creek Organic Herbs

I know many are saying “Ewww”. Autumn is a great time to learn about spiders as many are attempting to come inside before the weather becomes too cold for them to survive.

Last night my daughter and I had flashlight’s in hand searching around our house and the apartment complex we manage looking for the many types of arachnid that dwell among our corners, eaves and under a rock. To say the least our neighbours and tenants think we are beyond crazy! My favourite as long as I can remember is the cat spiders.

Here is a unique aspect of our eight-legged friends.

Spiders in Druidry:

As we all know, Druidry is a spiritual path based on Nature. The knowledge we have can be found everywhere. In Druidry, the Spider represents The Bard, the Ovate and the Druid. As a Bard it produces works of art as depicted in the many kinds of webs it can produce; as an Ovate seer, to determine the best spot for the web or hideout for the hunt, and the lessons the animal teaches us shows us the Druid side of Spider lore, or as some call it, Spider Medicine.

The Spider is the guardian of the ancient languages and alphabets. Every society has had myths about how the different languages and alphabets were formed. One example is the Ogham. The Ogham can be found in the Web of a Spider. This is why the Spider is considered the teacher of language and the magic of writing. Those who weave magic with the written word probably have a Spider as a guide.

I have found that we can learn much more from the webs and their makers, the Spider. According to Scottish Legend, King Robert the Bruce of Scotland hid in a cave where he saw a persistent Spider weaving her web.The story about Robert the Bruce, the cave and the Spider is well known to all English or Scottish school pupils. However, outside the Isles it may not be this well known, so here is the story.

King Robert the Bruce I was born at Lochmaben Castle in 1274. He was Knight and Overlord of Annandale. In 1306 he was crowned King of Scotland and henceforth tried to free Scotland from the English enemy.

After being defeated at a battle, Bruce escaped and found a hideout in a cave. Hiding in a cave for three months, Bruce was at the lowest point of his life. He thought about leaving the country and never coming back. While waiting, he watched a Spider building a web in the cave’s entrance. The Spider fell down time after time, but finally he succeeded with his web. So Bruce decided also to retry his fight and told his men: ‘If at first you don’t succeed, try, try and try again’.

Old legend as told

The lesson the spider is teaching here is persistence. King Robert the Bruce of Scotland and his army had this strong persistence and determination until they finally beat the English at the Battle of Bannockburn. And this is an important yet simple thing a Spider can teach us.

The Spider as an animal is a spiritual teacher in its own right. For example, the Spider’s web is a constant reminder of the eight festivals. This is easily seen in the wheel webs some Spiders weave. The strands of the web, like the spokes of a wheel, are straight from the edge to the middle and do form the eight fold wheel. That same web also shows the pentagram and the levels of spirituality known in Druidry as Annwn, Abred, Gwynvyd, and Keugant.

The Spider is The Bard, the Ovate and the Druid rolled into one. Let’s take a look at the lessons from the Druid Spider by contemplating its web.

Seeing the Spider weaving the web, it signals to us that we must weave our own lives. The Spider as a guide (or totem, familiar, etc…) serves as a reminder that our choices construct our lives. When the Spider appears to us, it is a message to be mindful of the choices we are making. Then ask yourself:

How are my choices affecting my life?

How can my choices improve my life?

How are my choices affecting others in my life?

Spiders and their webs draw attention to our life choices, but that is not all. They also show us how we can manipulate our thinking so we can construct the life we want to live.

Spiders make us aware of the amazing construction of their webs. They are fully functional, practical, and perfect in design. Spider webs serve as homes, food storage, egg incubators and are almost limitless in their functionality. When we take a good look at this diversity, we can also look at the web-like construct of our own lives. How do we get the most effective life?

We can derive even more Spider symbol meaning when we consider certain subtle characteristics that represent ancient symbols of infinity. When we take a look at the Spider itself and consider most Spiders have eight eyes and all have eight legs, we can see that the Spider also shows the meaning of the number eight, which involves cycles, the passage of time, evolution and, as mentioned before, the eight fold path of the year.

Spiders are also found to be connected to Halloween or Samhain. This is because Spiders are related to death because of the venom they carry. This venom is of course also used as a basis for the antidote, connecting the Spider both to death and rebirth and thus she stands for the completion of the circle.

The Spider teaches us to maintain a balance – between past and future, physical and spiritual, male and female. The Spider also teaches us that everything we now do is weaving what we will encounter in the future. In the tarot deck is a card – The Wheel of Fortune. This is a card that has to do with rhythms – the rise and fall, the flow and flux. It is linked to the energies of honor and fame, and the sensitivities necessary to place ourselves within the rhythm of Nature. Meditation upon this card would be beneficial for anyone with the Spider as a guide.

The Spider, because of its characteristics, has come to be associated with magic and the energy of creation. It is a symbol of creative power, reflected in its ability to spin a silken web. It is also associated with keeping the feminine energies of creation alive and strong. This has ties to the characteristics of some Spiders, i.e. the female black widow, which will kill and eat the male after mating has exhausted it.

The Spider is also associated with its spiral energy, the links with the past and the future. The spiral of the web, converging at a central point, is something to be meditated upon by those with Spiders as a guide. Are you moving toward a central goal or are you scattered and going in multiple directions? Is everything staying focused? Are you becoming too involved and/or self-absorbed? Are you focusing on others’ accomplishments and not on your own? Are you developing resentment because of it – for yourself or them?

If a Spider is a guide in your life, ask yourself some important questions. Are you weaving your dreams and imaginings into reality? Are you using your creative opportunities? Are you feeling closed in or stuck, as if in a web? Do you need to pay attention to your balance and where you are walking in life? Are others out of balance around you? Do you need to write? Are you inspired to write or draw and not following through? Remember that the Spider is the keeper of knowledge and of the primordial alphabet. The Spider can teach how to use the written language with power and creativity so that your words weave the web around those who would read them.

Spiders in Druidry are linked with the Goddess, some Gods, the wheel of the year, spinning, weaving, each individual human, the world, creations, and creation.

Spiders in other cultures:

Spiders are very delicate creatures that play an important role in the myths and lore of many peoples as the teacher of balance between the past and future, the physical and spiritual. To the Native Americans, Spider is Grandmother, the link to the past and future. In India, it’s associated with Maya, the weaver of illusions. With its gentle strength, Spider spins together the threads of life with intricate webs. Spider knows the past affects the future and visa versa. It calls us to make use of our creativity and weave our dreams into our destiny. If you want to make a deeper connection with your Animal Totem, fill your environment with images of the animal to let the animal know it is welcome in your space.

Among the various Native American traditions, spider medicine has been known to represent creativity. Her eight legs represent the four winds of change and the four directions on the medicine wheel, while her body is in the shape of the infinity symbol, which represents infinite possibilities. Spider was said to have woven the alphabet, creating the means for people to communicate and record their history through language. Just like the Greek myth of the Fates, three women who weave the tapestry of life, spiders are said to weave the creative forces that bring forth the intricately symmetrical patterns of our lives.

Of course, I must not forget the Greek myth of the maiden Arachne and the Goddess Athena. In the myth, Arachne claimed that she was a better weaver than the Goddess Athena. After winning from Athena, she was turned into a Spider and she and her offspring became the best weavers in existence. Nor must I forget to mention the West African and Caribbean trickster spirit Anansi, also known as Ananse, Kwaku Ananse, and Anancy whose story is like the tricksters Coyote, Raven or Iktomi found in many Native American cultures and Loki found in Norse mythology. Anansi literally means spider. These tales show spider teaching skill and wisdom in speech, slave resistance, and survival as well as teaching mankind the techniques of agriculture and so we see again a kinship in spider’s lessons reaching many cultures in a profound way.

Practicum

This practicum is designed to get to know the spider a little better.

Perform this while in your Sacred Grove after performing your Light Body exercise or in a state of meditation or visualisation.

In your mind, you see an open place with one exit. From that exit, you see a small garden Spider approaching. You follow the Spider and you see that she walks to a tree. In that tree, she starts to weave a web blocking the exit. The spider weaves her web so steadily that fascinates you and soon you realise that the weaving itself is a meditation. With that weaving, you imagine her as a creator weaving the whole universe and you also imagine her as a dream catcher weaving the net to manifest our deepest desires. When the Spider is finished weaving, she sits in the middle of the web and she starts her teaching to you. She ends her teachings by telling you that she weaves a new web every day. She tells you that she takes down the web when it is ruined and begins again every day and she never has to think about it, she just spins her web with great care.

After giving her lessons to you, she takes down her web blocking the exit and leaves. By doing so she is signalling that it is time to end your meditation or visualisation.

Eisteddfod Grandmother Spider Steals the Fire. A Mississippi Choctaw Legend

The Choctaw People say that when the People first came up out of the ground, People were encased in cocoons, their eyes closed, their limbs folded tightly to their bodies. And this was true of all People, the Bird People, the Animal People, the Insect People, and the Human People. The Great Spirit took pity on them and sent down someone to unfold their limbs, dry them off, and open their eyes. But the opened eyes saw nothing because the world was dark, no sun, no moon, not even any stars. All the People moved around by touch, and if they found something that didn’t eat them first, they ate it raw, for they had no fire to cook it.

All the People met in a great powwow, with the Animal and Bird People taking the lead, and the Human People hanging back. The Animal and Bird People decided that life was not good, but cold and miserable. A solution must be found! Someone spoke from the dark,

‘I have heard that the people in the East have the fire.’ This caused a stir of wonder, ‘What could fire be?’ There was a general discussion, and it was decided that if, as rumour had it, the fire was warm and gave light, they should have it too. Another voice said, ‘But the people of the East are too greedy to share with us.’ So it was decided that the Bird and Animal People should steal what they needed, the fire!

But, who should have the honour? Grandmother Spider volunteered, ‘I can do it! Let me try!’ But at the same time, Opossum began to speak. ‘I, Opossum, am a great chief of the animals. I will go to the East and since I am a great hunter, I will take the fire and hide it in the bushy hair on my tail.’ It was well known that Opossum had the furriest tail of all the animals, so he was selected.

When Opossum came to the East, he soon found the beautiful, red fire, jealously guarded by the people of the East. But Opossum got closer and closer until he picked up a small piece of burning wood, and stuck it in the hair of his tail, which promptly began to smoke, then flame. The people of the East said, ‘Look, that Opossum has stolen our fire!’ They took it and put it back where it came from and drove Opossum away. Poor Opossum! Every bit of hair had burned from his tail, and to this day, opossums have no hair at all on their tails.

Once again, the powwow had to find a volunteer chief. Grandmother Spider again said, ‘Let em go! I can do it!’ But this time a bird was elected, Buzzard. Buzzard was very proud. ‘I can succeed where Opossum has failed. I will fly to the East on my great wings, then hide the stolen fire in the beautiful long feathers on my head.’ The birds and animals still did not understand the nature of fire. So Buzzard flew to the East on his powerful wings, swooped past those defending the fire, picked up a small piece of burning ember, and hid it in his head feathers. Buzzard’s head began to smoke and flame even faster! The people of the East said, ‘Look! Buzzard has stolen the fire!’ And they took it and put it back where it came from.

Poor Buzzard! His head was now bare of feathers, red and blistered looking. And to this day, buzzards have naked heads that are bright red and blistered.

The powwow now sent Crow to look the situation over, for Crow was very clever. Crow at that time was pure white and had the sweetest singing voice of all the birds. But he took so long standing over the fire, trying to find the perfect piece to steal that his white feathers were smoked black. And he breathed so much smoke that when he tried to sing, out came to a harsh, ‘Caw! Caw!’

The Council said, ‘Opossum has failed. Buzzard and Crow have failed. Who shall we send?’

Tiny Grandmother Spider shouted with all her might, ‘LET ME TRY IT PLEASE!’ Though the council members thought Grandmother Spider had little chance of success, it was agreed that she should have her turn. Grandmother Spider looked then like she looks now, she had a small torso suspended by two sets of legs that turned the other way. She walked on all of her wonderful legs toward a stream where she had found clay. With those legs, she made a tiny clay container and a lid that fit perfectly with a tiny notch for air in the corner of the lid. Then she put the container on her back, spun a web all the way to the East, and walked tiptoe until she came to the fire. She was so small, the people from the East took no notice. She took a tiny piece of fire, put it in the container, and covered it with the lid. Then she walked back on tiptoe along the web until she came to the People. Since they couldn’t see any fire, they said, ‘Grandmother Spider has failed.’

‘Oh no,’ she said, ‘I have the fire!’ She lifted the pot from her back, and the lid from the pot and the fire flamed up into its friend, the air. All the Birds and Animal People began to decide who would get this wonderful warmth. Bear said, ‘I’ll take it!’ but then he burned his paws on it and decided fire was not for animals, for look what happened to Opossum!

The Birds wanted no part of it, as Buzzard and Crow were still nursing their wounds. The insects thought it was pretty, but they, too, stayed far away from the fire.

Then a small voice said, ‘We will take it if Grandmother Spider will help.’ The timid humans, whom none of the animals or birds thought much of, were volunteering!

So Grandmother Spider taught the Human People how to feed the fire sticks and wood to keep it from dying, how to keep the fire safe in a circle of stone so it couldn’t escape and hurt them or their homes. While she was at it, she taught the humans about pottery made of clay and fire, and about weaving and spinning, at which Grandmother Spider was an expert.

The Choctaw remember. They made a beautiful design to decorate their homes, a picture of Grandmother Spider, two sets of legs up, two down, with a fire symbol on her back. This is so their children never forget to honour Grandmother Spider, Fire bringer!

https://goodwitcheshomestead.com/2017/09/11/spiders-as-spiritual-guides/

[violetrose-art]

Disney Hercules Headcannons, Theories, and Ideas

This is just a list of the theories, headcannons, and ideas I came up with for Disney's Hercules. I might add more later on, so watch out

-Nyx, the Goddess of Night, is very good friends with Hades and she owns a nightclub down in the Underworld called 'The Void'

-Hades and Eris, the Goddess of Discord and Chaos, used to date, but Hades broke up with her due to Eris being too wild and clingy

-While they were together, Persephone beat, insulted, and abused Hades and forced him to do whatever she wanted him to do until Nyx, Erebus, and Thanatos stood up for Hades and forced Persephone to leave the Underworld and not come back

-Hades had no children with Persephone, mostly because she refused to have children with him

-Persephone cheated on Hades with Prince Adonis, just to get Hades' attention

-Macaria and Melinoe are air nymphs and Zagreus is a demigod

-Helios, the God of the Sun, is the father of Persephone, not Zeus

-Persephone had three demigod children with Adonis. Their names are Plutus, Obelix, and Deianira

-Zagreus is the son of Persephone and an unknown man

-Metis, the Goddess of Good Counsel, is the also the mother Ares, the God of War

-Thanatos, the God of Death, and Hades are very good friends and they even have a personal handshake

-Zeus and Hera had six more children after Hercules. Their names are Amoratta, Parthenia, Wisteria, Averos, Naidon, and Margalo

-Apollo and Athena have a son named Oleus

-Harmonia, the Goddess of Harmony and Peace, is the daughter of Aphrodite and Hephaestus

-Hecate, the Goddess of Witchcraft and Necromancy, has a crush on Thanatos and she tries to flirt with him every chance she gets… but he turns her down every time

-Circe is the daughter of Hecate and an unknown mortal man

-After living a long life together, Megara and Hercules both ascended to Mt. Olympus and became gods

-When he was younger, Hades used to be very close with his mother Rhea, the Titaness of Motherhood… until the Titanomachy, that was when they drifted apart

-Adonis used to be Megara's first boyfriend, until he ran off with Persephone, who was disguised as a human girl

-After the weaving contest between Athena and Arachne, Hades was the one who cursed Arachne, not Athena. He was a hidden spectator and when he saw the girl’s superior tapestry, he was greatly offended by it. So he cursed the human weaver to weave forever as a hideous spider monster

-Hades used to own a magical artifact called the Ember of Blue, but it was stolen from him by his father, Cronus, the Titan God of Time, and it was hidden away during the War with the Titans

-As a boy whenever Hades felt angry, sad, or scared, Rhea would take him to a secret temple they only know about and they would dance together until Hades was happy again

-When Hades was little, he had a huge argument with Cronus and he was so angry and upset that he ran away and hid in a cave… only to be chased out by the most horrifying creature he had ever seen: a huge black blob-like creature with giant rusty claws, a gaping mouth filled with rows of razor sharp teeth, and one giant, bulging red eye

-Persephone is a spoiled, selfish, and jealous goddess, always putting on a kind and innocent façade to get others (mortal or divine) to do what she wants

-Medusa was born a gorgon, and she is the youngest out of her and her sisters, Euryale and Stheno

-While she was growing up, Persephone was spoiled rotten by her father, Helios

-Apate, the Goddess of Deception and Lying, and Peitho, the Goddess of Persuasion, are good friends with Persephone and they like to gossip and spread false rumors about the other Gods and Goddesses

-Hades inherited his fiery temper from his mother, Rhea

-Minthe is able to turn herself into a mint plant at will

-Cerberus had started out as a regular mortal puppy until Hecate decided to place a curse on the poor thing and turn him into a three headed beast, and a younger Hades felt pity for the cursed dog so he took him in and trained him to be his guard dog

-Macaria, Zagreus, and Melinoe may not be gods, but they work for Hades in the Underworld

-Instead of a goddess, Ker is a sly spirit of violent death that works in the Underworld

-Eons ago, Hecate created an herb that is extremely toxic to mortal beings, but it has an opiate-like effect on the Gods

-Amphitrite can transform her legs into a fish tail whenever she pleases

-Hades was the one who removed Arke's wings and imprisoned her in Tartarus, not Zeus

-From time to time, Hermes likes to flirt with Iris, the Goddess of the Rainbow

-Elpis, the Spirit of Hope, is good friends with Zeus and Hera's youngest daughter, Margalo

-Whenever Hades falls asleep after a huge meal, he tends to sleepwalk and he gets a really bad stomachache

-Leuke and Minthe each had a massive crush on Hades and they competed to win his affection… but they both failed miserably

-Orphne works for Hades in the Underworld, but she usually keeps to herself and she doesn't really interact with him very much

-Lamia used to be a well-respected human queen, but Hera transformed the queen into a serpent-like creature when she attempted and failed to seduce Zeus. Hades even tried to recruit Lamia for his uprising, but she turned him down flat

-During the Titanomachy, Hades stole Cronus' magical sundial and Cronus tried to get his youngest son to join him and the other Titans, but Hades refused. He and his older brothers beat their father and locked him away in the deepest part of Tartarus and Hades hid the Sundial in the Underworld where Cronus would never find it

-Hades knows Erebus, the God of Darkness and Shadows, but they rarely hang out as good friends. They're more like casual acquaintances and they only exchange an occasional “hello” sometimes

-Chloris, the Goddess of Flowers, is a total hippie and she likes to throw parties with Bacchus, the God of Wine and Revelry

-Narcissus is the God of Vanity and Pride

-Fortuna, the Goddess of Luck and Fortune, is something of a gambler. She enjoys giving mortals luck, either good or bad, and seeing what happens… and the Fates don't like her for that very reason

-Macaria, Zagreus, and Melinoe usually go around and tell people that they are the children of Hades and Persephone… but they’re NOT. Hades always dispels these rumors very quickly and the three of them are always brutally punished for it

-After Hercules and Megara were married, they had five children together. Their names are Arsenius, Phoebe, Elena, Matthias, and Deicoon

-Tempest, an Amazon Warrior, had a son named Achilles. He never knew his father, but doesn't care since he's a mama's boy. Achilles more drawn to doing theater, dramas, dance, and music over fighting in wars despite being named after a great warrior like his namesake

-Adonis and Helen of Troy were married after graduation and had two daughters named Aurea and Dalia

-Cassandra ended up falling in love with Icarus, they got married, and had two sons named Jenos and Dion

-After graduation, Icarus became a well-known inventor and Cassandra became a wise and famous oracle

-Helen of Troy and Adonis rule a kingdom of their own

-Hebe, the Goddess of Youth, has a pet eagle named Omega

-During the time of Hades’ banishment in the River Styx, Thanatos and Nyx were tasked to rule the Underworld together in Hades’ absence, but they both missed him terribly

-Geras, the God of Old Age, used to flirt with Hebe until Hera stepped in and told him to back off and leave her daughter alone

-In the Underworld, Geras likes to tick Hades off by doing things like leaving his dentures on the throne and pretending to be hard of hearing, which drives Hades up a wall

-Hephaestus is very close with his daughter, Harmonia, but he’s also a little overprotective of her

-The Sirens used to be ordinary naiads and playmates of Persephone, but Demeter cursed them to be monsters when they failed to rescue Persephone when she was abducted to the Underworld

-Nyx has an unusual relationship with Hemera, the Goddess of the Day. They have their differences and they can sometimes butt heads on certain subjects, but they usually get along rather well

-Eos, the Goddess of the Dawn, is a total glamour girl. She enjoys fashion and loves to accessorize, especially with bracelets

-Aether, the God of Light, is a bit of a rock star. He loves to sing and rock out and he has a very sweet relationship with Hemera

-Aura, the Goddess of the Breeze, is something of a hippie and enjoys meditating

-Gelos, the God of Laughter, is the official jester of Mt. Olympus

-Hades rarely interacts with Moros, the God of Doom. Hades considers him the type of guy you wouldn’t want to grab an Ambrosia with

-Amoratta is the Goddess of Family

-Parthenia is the Goddess of Honor

-Wisteria is the Goddess of Cleverness

-Averos is the God of Courage

-Naidon is the God of Loyalty

-Margalo is the Goddess of Hope

-As a child, Hades was always a troublemaking rascal. He had a dark and strange sense of humor growing up and he used to spend his time playing cruel and unusual practical jokes and tricks on the other Gods and Goddesses, especially on his father and older brothers. Oddly enough, Rhea never found her son’s pranks funny… and that’s why Hades usually received timeouts most of the time

-Hedone, the daughter of Cupid and Psyche and the Goddess of Pleasure, is a super sweet and happy-go-lucky goddess and she’s very good friends with Hebe and Margalo

-Eileithyia, the Goddess of Childbirth, is the younger twin sister of Hebe

-Hyperion, the Titan God of the Heavenly Light, is the father of the Muses

-Mnemosyne, the Titaness of Memory, adores her daughters the Muses and she taught them everything they know

-Tyche, the Goddess of Chance, was born blind, but she doesn’t mind it

-Mania, the Goddess of Insanity, is not only a mentally unstable goddess who easily goes berserk at the drop of a hat. She’s also incredibly paranoid and often drives Hades nuts with trivial things that bother her in the slightest

-Nephele, the Goddess of Hospitality, owns a hotel on Mt. Olympus called ‘The Imperial Heights Plaza’

-Elpis is a happy and energetic spirit who always want to help others

-The Charites, the Goddesses of  Charm, Beauty, Nature, Human Creativity, and Goodwill, adore Aphrodite and they all look up to her

-Metis and Zeus used to be married until Metis called things off when she noticed the way Zeus was looking at Hera. So now she can’t stand Hera and whenever she visits, Metis does everything she can to ruin Hera’s day

-Aletheia, the Goddess of Truth, is usually calm and collected, but she’s also a total truth nut and she hates it when people lie. She and Hades don’t get along very well for that very reason

-Ker likes to drink smoothies or slushies made with the blood of her victims, which grosses Hades out so much that he usually wants to throw up

-Before Lamia transformed into the monster she is today, she and Hera had a brutal cat fight over Zeus

-Hades was very annoyed by Leuke and Minthe’s efforts to win his affection. He even threatened to smite Minthe if she didn’t leave him alone

This is all I've got so far, but feel free to tell me what you think and tell me which one is your favorite

[centerfold-centifolia-blog]

When Athena first set foot in the throne room of Egypt, she could sense a flicker of divinty. Looking up from the merchant’s garb she was wearing and playing with, she saw golden columns and alabaster ceilings, skin the color of the ebony glistening in the afternoon sun, and honey eyes that cut through all the spices and silks and useless things, staring straight at her.

Despite her mortal appearances, Athena was a goddess, so she returned the look, enjoying what she saw.

Nefertiti was, in every single way, as beautiful as she had heard. Apollo, while on his chariot of fire, saw Egypt’s Queen Mother bathing in the Nile. “Limbs finer than marble,” he said. “And hair woven out of the darkest silk.”

When one of Poseidon’s storms crashed into the Royal Boat of Egypt, the bearded god contemplated the queen. “Tall,” he had reported. “A moving statue, almost the woman Adonis, but possesing none of his vices and all of his virtues.”

Aphrodite came then, disguised as a girl-child, and had served Nefertiti a fig. “Witty,” her sister told her. “Able minded and able bodied.” Then the goddess of love walked away with not so much as a wink or a knowing smile.

Athena could not hold her curiosity any longer. She traveled to Egypt, wearing a merchant’s guise, and here she was now, presenting her wares to the ruling family, as per tradition.

When it was her turn, Athena spoke of olive oil and wine, speaking the truth of creation easily, for is there was anything Athena knew best, it was how to make something work. She brought out tapestries woven by herself, with fields of golden wheat under the setting sun, burning gold and red, of women and nymphs dancing to song of forest satyrs, hair wild and feet looking as if they would move any second. She wove tapestries of the stars and the constellations, with her uncle Atlas carrying the weight of the world on his shoulders, ichor— golden blood— seeping from his shoulders, his hands, his fingers, his eyes.

Nefertiti never looked away. Nefertiti never said a word.

She then had a walk in the palace gardens, unsupervised. It was simple enough to make it so that no one could see Athena, except for one particular person.

“Pallas Athena,” came a voice richer than liquor. “It was an honor to have you in my court.”

Athena did not turn around from the tree she had been studying. “The pleasure was mine Nefertiti. I hope you do not mind, as sovereign, my unexpected arrival.”

“Far from it.”

Athena turned around, holding her breath as she saw the features of Nefertiti closely. She had delicate bones, but a body so finely crafted it looked like stone. She looked like she could send an armada to sea with the flick of a finger. She looked like she could make a god fall on his knees in worship.

Good thing then, Athena thought wryly, that she was a goddess.

“I knew that you were smart enough to see through my disguise,” said Athena. She studied the way Nefertiti smiled, like a cat, a jaguar maybe.

“You spoke of olives as though you were its mother, and you wove tapestries of things only the divine know. Who else, aside from an immortal, would know how gods bleed?”

“I should have given you sparser clues,” said Athena, “if you found my identity that easily.”

“You sound impressed, Pallas Athena.” The lazy smile turned sharp.

“I am not,” she replied.

“I never said you were,” Nefertiti said. Athena gave Nefertiti her full attention, and millenia later she could still recall the lines under her eyes, the tiny dimples, they way her honey eyes looked on fire as the sun began to set. That was when Athena reminded herself that though Nefertiti may shine bright, all mortals burn out in the end.

    Nefertiti spent her days outside of court showing Athena around the library of Alexandra. It was a delight to indulge the goddess of wisdom with the scrolls she gaurded and collected ferociously.

She spent her nights inviting Athena to her private quarters, the ones she did not share with her husband. The deity looked amused at the suggestion, questioning if her husband would mind. Nefertiti had laughed.

“My husband and I are partners,” she said. “Not lovers.”

Athena smiled at her wit, but there was melancholy hovering there, at the edges of her grey eyes. Nefertiti wondered what her family life looked like.

Nefertiti had once been in bed thanking Ra for her blessings, the golden hair of Athena spilled in the pillows beside her’s, when the normally even voice of Athena came to her’s, sounding quiet and sombre.

“I was never a child,” she said. “I was born as I am now, adorned in full armour, out of the brain of Zeus. Hera despises the fact that I am not borne from her, and yet a daughter of my father.”

This is the moment that Nefertiti realises that she has a goddess in her chambers, has a goddess in her heart. Athena, for all her pain, does not cry, but Nefertiti embraces her divine lover and hopes that she can fill the hollowness inside of Athena for as long as she is able to.

   “You are on fire,” Athena whispers to her, once, after Nefertiti comes to her, lines of stress etched on her ebony skin, knowing that the elders and officials are making mistakes and exhausted by the measures she took to clean their mess.

“You are the light which they follow, whilst the rest of them are in the dark. Try as they might to prove themselves better than you, they will soon realise that it is a useless endeavor. You are greater than them, a blessing to these mortals.”

“But I am exhausted,” Nefertiti says. “When will the sun rise?”

When a minute goes by without Athena answering, Nefertiti looks up to see that her lover’s grey eyes are fixated on the mid-day sun. Pallas Athena does not look away from the blaze that could burn a mortal’s sight. Pallas Athena does not get injured from seeing the truth. Pallas Athena looks up, ever reaching, ever wanting more, forever understanding more than needs to be known.

Athena feels the honey eyes of Nerfertiti on her. She feels obliged to answer this intelligent creature beside her, if not as her lover, then as a scholar at the altar, praying for an epiphany.

“You are the sun,” she says. “The day you die is the day that your kind will know darkness, until another comes with the same inferno in them.”

   “May I ask you a question?”

They are in the banks of the Nile. Athena looks up from a scroll as Nefertiti sets some papyrus to the side, a thought passing by her that, for whatever reason, intrigued her more than the legal documents that demanded her attention. Nefertiti decides to take a risk, and indulge her curiosity, but Athena seems distant again, as if there were other suns calling her back home.

“It depends on the question,” Athena says. Nefertiti isn’t insulted by her lover’s caginess, since her lover is divine. Though she is a queen, she knows her place.

“The story of Arachne, is it true?”

“Which one?”

Nefertiti is almost surprised by the answer, but she supposes that the tongues of men are quick to talk but slow to check.

“A mortal woman wins against you in a weaving contest. Furious, you turn her into a spider.”

Athena is silent for a moment, and Nefertiti can feel her thinking. “It is strange, the tales priests weave just so that the masses will keep coming to the temples to worship and bring sacrifices.”

She sets the scroll to the side, her feet dipped in the cool waters of the Nile. “Arachne wove a tapestry that beat mine, for it showed everything she was; human. I could weave epics and ballads easily, but Arachne made the mundane beautiful, electrifying. I asked her what it was she desired most, and like a true artist, she desired to practice her craft for as long as Time exists. I granted her request.”

“You turned her into an immortal spider?”

“Immortal, yes. But Arachne is not really a spider. She works for me, you see. I taught her to weave tapestries out of dreams, how to create armour out of thread. She is, let us say, merely spider-like.”

Nefertiti listens to Athena with her full attention, drinking in knowledge like a babe does milk. The queen of Egypt wants to know everything, wants to understand what can be understood, wants to hold as much information as she can in her small little hands because what she has she can use, and she will use whatever she can to better herself and better Egypt.

But something is tugging her heart strings, and whenever Athena would speak to her, Nefertiti spends time memorizing the way her mouth moves just as much as she devours whatever Athena has to say.

“When you first came to Egypt,” Nefertiti says, “I was struck by your depiction of the god Atlas, the world under his feet but the sky on his shoulders.” Athena is looking at her with a peculiar gleam in her eye, so Nefertiti continues.

“The stars you wove seemed to shimmer, and I thought to myself that it may be finally possible to touch their light. But what captivated me the most was that although Atlas bled, his face was serene. I say this without the intentions of blasphemy that when I first saw his face, it reminded me of my husband’s, my father’s, the old pharaoh’s. It also reminded me of the old scholars I see in Alexandra, in the beggars outside the palace, and the sailors who would take me through storms. Athena, you made me see the human in the divine.”

The goddess ponders the mortal before her. She wants to say that she was never bitter about being bested by a mortal, that there was no point in Nefertiti trying to comfort her when she wasn’t hurt by that in the first place. But that would be rude and tactless. So instead, she tears her gaze away from Nefertiti, looking at the vast expanse of the Nile resting by her feet.

“While I was creating that tapestry, I took much time creating the darkness between stars. It was the most peaceful part of the tapestry to weave.”

Athena sighs, and though she hesitates at saying the truth that has been haunting her, she understands that Nefertiti trusts her, and that surprisingly, Athena finds herself trusting her back.

“As I wove the darkness, I wondered what it would be like to stop existing. To stop thinking and planning. There are times when I wonder what it would take for me to die. I plan my own demise, when there is nothing to keep me stimuated. There are days when I am tempted to test them out. But I stop, and gather my wits about me, because the sun always rises, and with it, so I shall. That’s what I tell myself, but Time wears me down thin, and I don’t think that I want to exist anymore. Nefertiti, I don’t want to live for five hundred more years, a thousand more years. It’s killing me.”

Athena is silenced by a kiss. She doesn’t want it, but she accepts it, because its easier to drown out her fears with the honey of Nefertiti’s mouth. They spend the rest of the afternoon with Athena’s head in Nefertiti’s lap, and the daughter of Zues takes turn sleeping and crying, while the queen of Egypt caresses her.

   She is back in Olympus, simply because it was impossible to stay in Egypt for as long as she has without any herm coming to her temples. Athena remembers the sad smile on her queen’s face, and it haunts her whenever she looks up at the stars. So Athena doesn’t look up, and bides her time by cleaning her own mess, waiting for the inevetible, never reaching out because she is a coward.

She drowns herself in war meetings and libraries, noticing the years passing by, so when Hepheastus comes up to her with the news that Nefertiti’s sun has set, Athena is not surprised. She’s been expecting it. But that does not mean that she feels nothing.

Athena grieves in her own way. She donates more scrolls to the library of Alexandra, she encourages Egyptian trade within the walls of Athens, and asks Thoth if a Greek deity could wade through the Du’at.

One more chance at goodbye, she thinks. But that one last chance is never given. Nefertiti’s soul has been recycled, and Athena wonders if she’ll ever see her lover again. Another part of her is uglier, selfish; it screams at her own self, raging in her breasts, demanding to know why Athena never mader Nefertiti immortal. She was not mine to keep, Athena thinks, remembering how her lover gazed at the Nile with reverence, how she would look at the throne of Egypt and be reminded at all the people who lived through her. Nefertiti was her’s to love, not to have.

The years pass, and the offerings to her temples are no longer meant for Pallas Athena, but Minerva. The Romans pray to a demure, virginal goddess. They think that, by taming the Greek gods, Greece’s power might be forgotten, hidden away in the memory of dying people. But Athena remembers who she once was, remembers that she was able to win wars and win the heart of a woman as beautiful as Aphrodite and as wise as her.

Alexandra is burnt, and she rages. Ares is called to hold her back, dark eyes wide in surprise at Athena’s indomitable wrath.

“They will die”, she screams, and she might as well be a serpent ready to swallow the sun whole. This is the first she has donned her ægis in what has felt like eternity, and Athena is out for blood.

“They will die,” Ares assures her, and he learns of another way he and his sister are alike. He sees the rage in her eyes and respects it, understands it; he has seen in mortals, right before battle, right before the end.

“They will die”, he says to her once more, “as all mortals die.”

  It takes her centuries to return to her old self. She has a group of women that do her bidding, all of them possesing a skill that rivals one of her own. Arachne is the first member and is now a crochety old woman, despite the immortality Athena gave her. Several others follow, and they gather information for her, create inventions for her, monitor the universe for her. Athena feels that she is grasping the stars for peace in her heart, but there is something in the past that holds her back.

Nefertiti’s soul had been recycled. Athena wonders if she’ll ever see her lover in another skin. With every passing century, she doubts she will, and hopes that in her second life, her lover will find the peace that seems to elude Athena.

Then a strange brown-skinned girl is brought to her, blindfolded. Her agents tell her that she was able to pick pocket the Tarot, a deck of enchanted cards that chooses only one master; they tell her that the child had been temporarily blinded by the Tarot, and their healer says that it was best that the child rest her eyes a few days. Athena nods, but does not fully understand. Later when no one was watching, Athena tries to touch them and her hand burns.

She lets the child stay by her side, and learns that the young girl has a gift for tongues. The girl abandons the dialect of her native tribe, a tribe that exists in a small Pacific island, for French, Italian, English, German, and Ancient Greek. Athena finds the girl drawn to politics, and indulges her. She starts to take a liking to this little child, Tala, whose name means star.

A few days past, and the blindfold comes off. Tala has eyes that shine like honey, and Athena knows. Nefertiti’s soul is in that child’s body, and Athena thinks that she should feel something, anything, but the romance has died down, and all that Athena really knows now is that she wants to teach Tala everything she can.

Tala grows to be tall and silent, never speaking unless spoken to, but Athena does not mind the way her ward keeps her thoughts to her self. She enjoys her company regardless, and Athena surprises herself by realising that she loves for Tala as a daughter. She sees Tala bent over a scroll, one saved from Alexandra, and imagines that maybe Tala could have been the daughter she and Nefertiti could have had.

Or maybe Athena, for all her godliness, is drawn to the soul of Nefertiti and Tala, is in love with the fire that burns in their minds and loves the way she doesn’t get burned when she stokes it.