Chapter Text
Percy Jackson wakes up to the sounds of an unfamiliar ocean lapping against a gentle shore.
If he keeps his eyes closed he can pretend it's the ocean he's lived next to his entire life. Good ol’ New York Harbor. But the facade doesn’t last long. There's a power pulsating underneath the current that Percy's never felt before. It's wild. Rageful. Visceral.
It pulls him out of the last dregs of his slumber– calling out to him like a long lost friend. And, when the tide brushes against his bare feet and checkered pajama pants, it sends a jolt of power through him like lightning. Within a blink of an eye, he's standing up with sand crunching underneath his feet.
What in Hades was that?
Percy's always been stronger when he touches water, yeah. But never like this. Power pulsates through him, pushing and pulling like the tides. It's incredible. He flexes his hand and the water replied with enthusiasm.
This is new.
And the power is all too intoxicating. The energy buzzing under his skin almost makes him feel drunk. And trust Percy– he's been very drunk before. Most of the demigods at camp have. (Not Annabeth though, Wise Girl had always been a stickler for the rules.) One doesn't get a prophecy that they might die at sixteen, and not try a few underaged vices.
It takes all of his willpower to draw back. He takes a few steps away from the water, further onto the beach. Even as he distances himself though, he can feel it calling out to him like a Siren's song, and whispering for him to dive into it, become it, love it .
(This is where you belong– where are you going little demigod– come here– you’ll be safe in my arms–)
Percy shudders.
He then takes a look around him.
The sixteen-year-old notes the pristine beaches and the startling lack of pollution. Along the coast is a forest of trees, and in the distance are the shadowy shapes of stone structures rising from the leaves.
This definitely isn't New York.
Percy sighs and places his hand on his hips. He definitely remembers going to bed in his cabin last night. But, this isn't the first time he's woken up in a new place and halfway around the world. At least this time he still has his memories. Thanks again, Hera.
(There's a shiver in the air before him.)
Shoot, Annabeth is going to wake up to him missing again.
His heart swoops at the thought. She's going to be so upset. It's been relatively a short amount of time since they've escaped Tarturus together and since then she– and admittedly, Percy too– has been a bit clingy.
He had to get permission for Annabeth to sleep in his cabin. Since they both woke up from their nightmares (death, golden dust, blood–) screaming each other's names, it saved them both the trip of stumbling out of their respective cabins in the middle of the night just to check if the other is alive and breathing. It also saved Annabeth's cabinmates from being woken up at odd hours.
When Percy had confided in Mr. D during a rare vulnerable moment at camp, the god of insanity had looked at him sadly with violet and golden swirling eyes. He had said that the night terrors were normal and would die away with time.
That had been weeks ago.
They persisted.
Percy runs a hand through his hair and sighs as he stares at the buildings off in the distance. Well, there was no time to waste.
There had to be a reason that he was sent here. If he's lucky maybe it would be something small? A small retrieval quest or something.
He dismisses the small cynical laugh in the back of his mind that asks when has he ever been lucky?
He marches into the woods.
Hopefully he'll be back home before the end of the week.
Guards welcome Percy as he approaches the tall wooden, iron reinforced gates. And by welcome– he means they point spears at his throat.
He knows that he should be more worried about the obvious sharp objects aimed towards his flesh, but he can’t help but take notice of the stark difference between their clothing.
They wear armor like in camp, but their under clothes are definitely not modern. They wore what looked to be chitons made from tan, rough fabric. Meanwhile Percy is still in his checked pajama pants and a dark t-shirt designed with top-hat wearing fishes.
He grimaces.
“Halt there–the–attack,” One of the guards says in a mixture of slurred words that Percy doesn’t quite understand. But he can read in between the lines. It’s only when he speaks that he realizes that they’re both not speaking English.
“I bring no harm,” Percy says, the Ancient Greek tasting sweet on his tongue. He raises his hands in the air in a placating manner.
(From behind him, leagues away, he can still hear the ocean croon at him, beckoning and pulling at him to return.)
The guards look at each other, expressions dropping from angry to resigned. They sigh at each other, not lowering their weapons, “ Greek.”
Well, that’s just offensive.
“What trickery is this?” One guard asks, switching to a version of Ancient Greek that Percy at least understands. They must have been speaking something else before.
Quietly he wonders just where he has ended up. Even on the Sea of Monsters Circe had spoken a mixture between English and Ancient Greek. Here though, they speak it flawlessly. With their armor? It’s plain odd.
“No trick,” Percy says. “Just lost.”
The guard to the left barks out a sharp laugh. “You will have us believe that? A strangely dressed Greek coming to Troy claiming to be lost?”
Wait a second– Troy. As in…Trojan?
All the pieces click into place. Their armor. The language. The hostility in their voice towards Greeks.
(A wisp of laughter echoes behind him, smelling like salt and waves. The sea beckons him again.)
Oh no.
There’s no way he’s gone back in time. That’s impossible, isn’t it? He’s never heard of that happening to any other demigod before. Wouldn’t this cause some sort of paradox? What if he steps on a butterfly– like in the stories Annabeth told him– and somehow wipes out the human race?
Not for the first time, Percy wishes Annabeth was here. She’d probably be able to come up with a plan that wouldn’t completely disrupt the time stream. She’d keep him from stepping on any butterflies.
But she isn’t here.
And Percy has a spear aimed straight at his throat.
He swallows. “It’s the truth. I’m a traveler from lands away, that is why I am dressed strangely. Yes, I am Greek from my father, but I am not from Greece.”
“And where exactly is this land you hail from?” The guard on the right asks.
“You wouldn’t know of it–” Percy tries.
The guards scoff, and Percy’s stomach drops. “Any Greek would have stayed far away from Troy during the war. You cannot even lie–”
“He’s telling the truth!” A voice speaks up behind him.
( The ocean stops laughing behind him, falling quiet, before their pleas for him to return turn frantic in the peripherals of his thoughts. They are interrupted by the feeling of being plucked away from mind, like fingers trailing across the strings of a violin. )
A young guard makes his way to the front of the gates. He’s wearing the same clothing as them, but his armor is looser and is less used. He has brown curls and eyes that shimmered a sky blue.
He turns to Percy, and something behind his eyes gleam with a feeling that Percy can’t place, but is all too familiar.
The new guard’s mouth quickly flashes upwards before it drops. “You’re not from Greece?” He asks. Percy denies him, and the guard nods. “I’ll take him to see our leader–”
“Hold it right there–!” “A Greek enter Troy–?” The two other guards object at once, their voices overlapping. Their cries die out as the new guard shoots them a glare.
“What are we if we can not handle one unarmed Greek?” The new guard asks, his brows furrowing. “Are we cowards enough to be scared of one man? Grab hold of your wits again, for it seems you have them go.”
His words seem to hold power over the two as they stand up straighter with his words. Taller. Prouder. They nod at his commands. “We’re very sorry Lord Anatolius, we won’t let it happen again.”
Percy feels his heartbeat quicken. (Anatolious– come on – really– a name meaning sunrise– it’s so obvious)
The new guard– Anatolious– looks at him with a raised eyebrow. “Follow me.” The demigod clearly hesitates, but the man snorts at his indecision. “Surely if you’re brave enough to walk up to Troy’s doorstep in the middle of a war, then you’re brave enough to follow one soldier. Come. I won’t let anything untoward happen to you until we see the commander.”
The ‘what happens after that’ is noticeably unmentioned.
Why did the fates have to drop him off here of all places? How was he supposed to know that he was basically waltzing up to Ancient Troy? This is just the first place he spotted–
Annabeth would have known. Or Nico.
If they were here…Percy stops that train of thought as he enters the gates behind Anatolious. He can feel the guards' stares follow him until he’s out of sight.
There’s no point in wondering what he would’ve done with his friends. He has to focus on his current situation.
Which is apparently entering an ancient city.
Anatolious takes him into a camp. Tents and makeshift buildings are propped up on the outer edges of the field surrounding the town. Up ahead Percy can make out more walls protecting the inner city.
Dang. No wonder they had to trick their way inside with a wooden horse. These walls are impressive.
( Both the pluckings of violins and the song of the ocean preen proudly in his mind.)
As they trek through a winding dirt path, the brown haired guard curiously glances Percy's way every so often, his eyes flickering between him and the road.
Percy grimaces. “If you want to ask me something, you can simply ask.”
“Before…you said that your father is Greek,” An unspoken question lingers in the air. Percy nods. Some soldiers around them perk up and take notice of him as they walk by.
“Yes. It’s no wonder they stopped me. I’ve been told I look just like him.” At his words, Anatolious jerks to a stop. He turns to him, his eyes searching his face before widening.
Recognition flashes on his face.
“And your father–” He grimaces and his eyes glance back towards the gate they just entered, towards the beach. “Does he know you’re here?”
A sea breeze brushes over them gently.
“Maybe, maybe not,” He shrugs his shoulders, unaware if the meaning of the action is still conveyed in older times. Percy smiles, his teeth hinting at something sharp. “But I have a feeling he’ll find out.”
( The ocean laughs and stops it’s pulling. The fingers plucking them away freeze, letting them go.)
“That’s,” Anatolious breathes deeply through his nose, “ Interesting.”
“Yes, but don’t worry. You said nothing would happen to me on our way to the commander didn’t you?” Percy gestures in front of them, “Lead the way, Lord Anatolious.” His words emphasize the man’s name, letting his true knowledge slip.
They both know just who the other is. Who admits it first though is still a guess.
They continue their trek, but Anatolious draws back and walks beside him instead of in front of him like before, a hand grips his knife protectively. From the corner of his vision, Percy could almost swear he sees the man ’ s eyes flash a swirling gold.
Men lounging around the camp stop what they are doing as they come closer. A few up ahead stop sharpening their weapons and stand to step into their path. Anatolious slows, one hand reaching up to grip Percy’s shoulder, stopping him. If Percy didn't know better, he'd say Anatolious looks furious. He squeezes Percy’s shoulder reassuringly before he drops it.
The sea breeze grows stronger through the trees and fields, rustling the leaves and grass. Storm clouds start to grow overhead in the distance. When they block out the sun, Anatolious's face visibly darkens.
“What do we have here?” One asks, looking Percy up and down. A slimy feeling crawls over his skin, and Percy has to resist the urge to shudder.
“Leave him alone, he’s with me.” Anatolious argues. His voice carries the power that Percy knows he has, but the men around them don't seem to hear the melodic undertones, the song notes that ring out between his voice.
They don’t take the warning he so graciously gives him.
For the first time, Percy wonders why Apollo has taken the form of a Trojan soldier. From what he remembers reading with Annabeth, the god hadn’t hid during the original war. Instead he had stood proud with his bow against Poseidon. He had lost the encounter– of course. But he hadn’t been hiding as a mortal.
However, he’s disguised himself as homeless Fred before, so it’s not really that far from the realm of belief.
Anatolious confronts the other soldiers. “Do you have a problem with that?”
“He’s obviously Greek–” A man spat onto the ground. Gross. “--What’s he doing here?”
“That’s for the commander to decide,” And there he is again, mentioning a commander. Percy wonders who it is. Maybe another demigod? He hadn’t studied much of the Trojan side of the war. Not when the Greeks had won–
Wait a second. Percy freezes. He’s at Troy. The losing side. Was he going to die? He doesn’t remember any victors coming out from Troy. It had been ransacked and desecrated.
Holy shit, Percy has to get out of here. And fast. He should have taken his chances with the ocean.
( Not too late– little demigod– come back– it's safe here.)
The storm clouds rumble overhead, the earth trembling so slightly that no one other than him or Anatolious notices.
Earth–Shaker. Poseidon.
(The ocean distantly shouts in glee.)
‘ Father?’ Percy prays in his mind, being answered with a following rumble. Well, that complicates things more. Especially since this Posideon has no idea who he is. Will he know that Percy is his son at first glance? Or will Percy has to convince him?
Hades, he hopes he doesn’t have to convince him. Percy can’t imagine a universe where Posideon looks at him and doesn’t claim him as his–
Anatolious shifts his feet at the barely quaking ground, his eyes frantically shooting over to look at Percy. He’s takes a more vehement step in front of him, pulling out his knife. “I said that he’s with me! Out of the way.”
“Why should we when can just take care of him now?” One tries to cajole.
A few men grunt their agreement. They circle around him, predators overlooking their prey. Percy can see the bloodlust in their eyes.
He pats his pockets and his heart sinks–
Riptide isn't there.
(Not that it matters. These are mortals. Celestial bronze wouldn't hurt them.)
He still feels completely naked without his pen in his pocket.
Anatolious looks between the men. “I promised I would grant him safety until he’s seen the commander. Have you all never been to war before? Are you all that green behind the ears? Don’t you know how much information a prisoner can have?”
They snap out of their bloodlust.
Anatolious mutters something underneath his breath about, “...no wonder we’re losing.”
A second passes as the men think amongst themselves, then they step aside, allowing them space to pass. Anatolious grabs his arm and drags Percy between them, keeping him close.
“So your father–”
“Definitely know’s I’m here, yeah.”
“Excellent,” Anatoliou’s smile strains. His voice sounds like he thinks it’s anything but.
Before they get any further into the camp, he’s dragged between two large tents, with crates and barrels of supplies blocking their view. Anatolious’s knife still remains in his hand.
Even though it isn’t pointed at Percy, he takes the thinly veiled threat for what it is.
“Why did you come here?” Apollo asks– and it is Apollo now. No hint of his mortal disguise remains. His eyes swirl with molten gold, his voice takes a melodic quality, and his hair shines a golden blonde.
A part of Percy wants to reach out and poke it.
“You’re asking that now?” Percy questions as the storm continues to grow overhead. The sun is now completely blocked by thick gray clouds.
The wind smells of salt and a promise.
“I didn’t know you were Posideon’s kid!” Apollo strains. “What were you thinking? Walking into a Trojan camp?”
“To be honest, I had no clue this was Troy of all places. It’s just where I washed up.” Apollo is the god of truth– there’s no way that Percy is going to try to lie his way out of this. He’s not that much of an idiot. Nor that good of an actor.
“You said that at the gate,” Apollo pauses. His eyebrows furrow in contemplation. “That you washed up here.”
Percy gives a bone-deep sigh. “Trust me, Lord Apollo, I am just as confused as you are.”
“You know who I am,” Eyes blink and they’re a sky blue again. His head tilts, and Percy can’t help but think how similar he looks like his sacred animal. The mischievous glint in his eye is deceptively raven–like. Apollo takes a fluid step forward, tapping his own chin with the flat side of his knife. “Yet you truly didn’t know where you were. You are a very interesting creature.”
There's a pause. Apollo then lets out a mirthful sound that’s a mix of a chirp and a laugh. “The fates sent you here!”
That’s also what Percy thought, but he isn’t quite sure he likes the way that Apollo sounds pointing it out.
“Why would they do that?” Percy asks. Apollo shakes his curls with a smile.
“Don’t you see? We needed a warrior like you,” There’s a glow to Apollo’s eyes. Percy would take a step back, but there's no room. “I see it now. You’re the answer to our problems. The counterpart to Achilles. I see there are tinges of iron skin on you, little godling.”
No. No. That isn’t possible. Percy frowns. His curse of Achilles had been washed away when he crossed into the Roman camp.
Hera had said so.
The sun god must have seen his disbelief, because he clicks his tongue in a bird like manner.
“May I?” Apollo asks, cupping Percy’s hand in his. His touch is so warm that it almost burns. He brings his knife to the pad of his hand. Percy jerkily nods.
The knife digs downward–
–the earth shakes more than before, knocking over a crate. Voices shout in the distance–
–the tip of the blade glances off his skin.
Percy stares at it in horror. Apollo’s grin sharpens. His hand sneaks down to encircle his wrist.
“No, that’s–” The ground feels as if it were swallowing him. “That’s supposed to have gone away. It was gone! Why–?” His voice cuts off as he clicks his teeth shut.
“The Greeks have always had an unfair advantage,” Apollo answers, still gently yet firmly holding Percy’s wrist as he slips his knife back into his sheath. Suddenly, the god’s glow is too blinding (too sun-like) to look at. Percy blinks and averts his eyes. “Balance is always restored in the end, the fates know this.”
“That’s not how it’s supposed to go though,” Percy cries in abject sorrow.
“How it is supposed to go?” Apollo laughs high and light. “Who are we to say what will be so when obviously the fates have decided?”
“It just is,” Percy breathes sharply, heart pumping fast. Is this what a heart attack feels like? Because Percy is too young for a heart attack.
“Have you’ve Seen?” Apollo asks, lips forming an ‘o’ shape. Then he shakes his head. “Nevermind that. We'll speak of it later.” Oh Hades, there's going to be a later. Percy is never leaving now. “You need to breathe now, little demigod.”
“I–” Percy chokes.
( The ocean panics, it calls out to him faster than musical hands can pluck them away, though it tries.)
(Not safe out there little demigod– return here– please come back.)
“ You need to breathe,” Apollo stresses. His eyes worriedly flicker to the sky. “Come on now. In for five–”
Percy inhales.
“--Out for ten.”
Percy exhales. They do that three more times until Percy finally has his breathing under control. The hand that isn't holding his wrist draws small circles on his shoulder comfortingly.
It takes a few seconds to realize that Apollo is speaking.
“--it isn't everyday a god would help–” His voice comes in and out of focus. “--should smite you for not listening– honestly– pay attention!”
Percy snaps out of his stupor. The sun god scowls at him. Sky blue eyes roll in disbelief. “We're going to have to work on that.”
“No we’re not!” Percy gasps. “I didn't even mean to come here– I just washed up on the shore– I don't want to fight another war–” The words tumble one after another. Apollo's hand grabs his chin, forcing him to look at him. His eyes narrow.
“The fates dropped you here. That means you’re ours. If they had wanted you with the Greeks that is where you would have awoken.” His eyes dilate, the pupil becoming round and full. “Don't try and fight me on this. You won't like the consequences.”
“I won't–” Percy breath hitches. “I won't fight against my father. You can't make me.” Apollo raises an eyebrow. Percy doubles down. “I'll fall on my own sword before I fight family.”
There's no clap of thunder of a promise made to the River Styx, but it hangs in the air heavy all the same.
Apollo's grin is a dark, mocking thing. “You leave the talking to Uncle to me.” His head tilts. “I think we'll find we now have some …common ground. Now come along!” Apollo drags him back into the open, his mortal form rippling back over him. “We can't keep the commander waiting!”
They arrive in the heart of the camp.
Not once during their walk over does Apollo let go of his wrist, despite the puzzled looks soldiers send them. His grip keeps firm even as they approach the largest tent, as if he were afraid Percy would make a break for it.
He's not wrong. Percy would. But that doesn't mean Percy has to like it.
Apollo opens the flap to the command tent and strides inside without missing a beat. It’s full of three men, but as soon as the door closes behind him, Apollo points at two of them. “You– and you– out!”
“You’re not in a place to command us boy,” One of the larger men, with long dark black hair and a bushy beard says. Percy feels a hint of fear inside him at the tone of voice he takes. Does he have a death wish? Percy tries to step away from Apollo, but his grip is still firm.
He nervously glances at him. Apollo’s eyes shine, and this time Percy is sure it isn’t a trick of the light.
“I wasn't asking,” Apollo sneers, voice lilting in a melodic tone.
The change is immediate.
The two men’s expressions melt into blankness, and they quickly bow their heads and leave the tent. The remaining man rolled his eyes at the display. He is a bulky and intimidating figure with hair as black as the night, and eyes that had a fire lit behind them. The air around him seemed charged.
( A bow being strung– a sword being drawn– the tidal waves drawing back in preparation.)
A burning starts to buzz under his skin.
Percy would recognize him anywhere. “Lord Ares,” He breathes.
Oh, so that is who the commander is. That’s worse than it being another demigod. Shoot, shoot, shoot. Why did it have to be the one war god that hated him the most? He dips his head into a bow.
Normally, Percy would greet the god by their favorite form of communication– flicking him the bird. But he doubts the god would understand the modern gesture for what it is, nor would it be appreciated if he did.
The fact this is Ancient Greece starts to dawn on him. These aren’t the gods he knows. This isn’t the war god that he faced at the age of twelve. This is one that is younger, more wild, and in the prime of his power. Someone who will not hesitate to smite him.
Apollo squawks in offense beside him.
“You recognized him immediately, yet you did not recognize me?”
I did recognize you– Percy wants to say, but holds his tongue.
“Apollo,” Ares growls out in his gravely voice. He ignores Percy completely. Fine by him, really. The last thing Percy wants is another god's attention. “What is this?”
“ Who is this, you mean,” Apollo corrects, a mist runs over him as his mortal disguise disappears. Golden swirling eyes stare at him delightfully. “And he, brother mine, is the answer to our little demigod problem!”
Ares stares at him distrustfully.
For once, Percy doesn't even blame him. He'd be suspicious too. A random person showing up in the middle of a war?
The earth shakes again.
Are's eyes go wide. His form shifts. Tusks appear and disappear at the corners of his mouth in a second. He places a hand on the table to support himself. Little flags on the maps fall over.
The air charges again.
( Arrow poised to fire, sword swinging in an arc, the waves cresting with foam)
Fury wells up inside Percy like an overflowing river. He's felt this before, but he can't help the anger that bubbles up. The grip around his wrist is too suffocating– too tight. He starts to struggle.
“Stop it Ares, he's going to hurt himself!” Apollo orders, drawing Percy close in a mockery of a hug. One arm encircles his back. It cages him in. Percy puts his free hand on the god's chest and pushes.
“Apollo, what the fuck was that–?” Ares' eyes comically widen and focus on Percy. “Whose child…?”
A nervous laugh escapes Apollo as he keeps the struggling demigod in his arms. “Funny story that–”
Rain pelts down against the tent.
Ares eyes flicker from Percy to the top of the tent. “You didn’t.”
“We did!” Apollo has the absolute gall to cheer. Neither Percy nor Ares are enthused at his expression. The sun god’s face drops into a pout. “Oh come Ares, finders-keepers, now we have a mortal champion to face Achilles.”
“ We,” Ares gestures a finger between the both of them, “Didn’t do anything. This is all you. Throw that thing back into the ocean where it belongs.”
“Thing–?!” “Back to the ocean–?!” Percy and Apollo both protest at once.
( Yes. Come back to me little demigod. Back here. Back home.)
“He’s going to bring us nothing but trouble,” Are’s nose scrunches up distastefully. “I can already tell.”
Again, Percy feels as if he should be offended. But he brings a valid point.
Since when had Ares been the responsible one?
Apollo’s frown deepens as he hauls Percy up further into his arms like he was holding some type of disgruntled cat instead of a squirming teenager. His eyes narrow in a challenge. “He’s going to bring the Trojan army glory.”
Ares scoffs, but Apollo presses on. “Look, they have a son of a sea deity with iron skin. We now have a son of a sea deity with iron skin! The fates wouldn’t have led him to us if he were not to be useful. We’re fighting a losing battle! Most of the soldiers can’t stand seconds against Achilles when he cannot be
pierced.
We’re sending soldiers to the slaughter. So if this little cousin of ours could even buy us some time…
well.
I think it’s worth a shot.”
“This brat has iron skin?” Ares blinks. His eyes focus on Percy. The boy stops squirming, vaguely uncomfortable.
“Should I have led with that?” Apollo asks sheepishly.
“You think?” Ares growls stalking closer. He grabs Percy’s arm that Apollo is holding and inspects it further. He lets out a contemplative hum. Are’s calloused fingers feel rough on his skin, and he’s totally aware that he is being appraised as a tool and not a soldier.
A shiver runs down his spine at the thought.
Percy resumes his squirming. “Let me go! I don’t want to be here!” All of his protests go unheard.
“Hold still,” Apollo murmurs. “Don’t you want honor? Glory? For legends to know your name?”
“No!” Percy sharply says. “I already have that, thank you!”
Apollo looks down at him disbelievingly. But Ares nods as if it’s perfectly reasonable. When Apollo sends him a questioningly look, he answers.
Ares taps a scar on Percy’s hand. Percy freezes.
“Pit Scorpion,” Ares says, eyes flashing with a fire behind them. “A worthy opponent. Most people would have died from a wound like that.”
Percy almost had. The memory of Luke’s betrayal still stings despite all the years that have passed. Had the river not been there…Percy shudders.
The god of war’s hands move upwards and lightly run along the white streak of his hair, “From holding up a large object–” Hands trail and poke his collarbone, “From a harpy–” Are’s eyes grow softer as he glances at a scar on his arm. “From a–”
“We get it! I’ve fought a lot of monsters!” Percy snaps, not enjoying being poked and prodded. Are’s eyes lose their softness, and instead a dark, sparkling gleam enters them. He looks
hungry.
Percy blinks and Ares form morphs. Tusks are prominent, jutting out from a maniacal grin. Eyes shine red as they take in the patchwork of skin in front of him. Reds and oranges swirl in his irises, and a black diadem lays softly on top of his head.
“ Too many monsters, kid.” Ares says, not at all sounding sad about the fact. For the first time of that night, they lock eyes. “How young were you when you first held a sword?”
Apollo tightens his grip as if warning him from lying. Not that he would of course, he knows better than to tick off the gods when he’s literally in between two of them. He’s a smart mouth. But he isn’t that much of a smart mouth.
“Twelve,” Percy answers.
The air around Ares shimmers like heat waves radiating off a sidewalk. “I take back what I said Apollo.”
“You do?”
“Yes,” Ares agrees, a pleased grumble rumbling through his chest, his tusks shining. “You’ve found us a great champion.”
There’s something in their eyes that Percy doesn’t like. A shared understanding passes between them.
Our weapon. Apollo’s eyes scream.
We found him. Are’s agrees.
The man chuffs. A noise that Percy’s never heard before. He bites back the crooning call that instantly almost makes its way out of his throat. Vocalization– as he learned it in Atlantis– is for the inner circle of family. Not outsiders.
Apollo responds with a bird-like click.
“So, young warrior, if you already have glory.” Ares muses. “What is it that you want?”
“We could offer gold,” Apollo suggests with a soft smile. “Jewels? Perhaps a beautiful woman to wife?”
Percy gapes at them. “No! Absolutely not! Besides, I have a girl I’m courting already.”
“You must want something–” Ares starts.
“-- Every mortal does.” Apollo finishes.
“I want my father!”
Just as soon as the words leave Percy’s mouth the rains speed up, torrenting into the tents, almost knocking them over. The two gods both curse and Ares readies his sword.
“Can you get him inside the inner wall before he shows up–?” Ares asks over the rain. Shows up? Could it be–? Hope kindles in Percy’s chest.
“We have to hurry!” Apollo curses, pulling Percy closer and away from Ares. His arms tighten around Percy to the point it almost hurts. Not matter how much he struggles though, there is no give in Apollo’s arms. The sun god takes a step towards the door.
There’s another tremor that rumbles through the ground.
A flash of lightning brightens the tent.
There’s a deep, echoing growl.
“Too late.”
Dark blue, almost black eyes swirl like the depths of the ocean.
Poseidon stands at the other end of the tent.
Wind billows around him and he wears a deep blue chiton with pearl jewelry draping across him. Green and black scales crawl up his arms and legs, ending just below his jaw. The trident in Posideon’s hands threateningly point towards the two gods holding his son.
A rattling noise fills the tent as Posideon takes a step forward.
“Lord Uncle, this isn’t what it looks like–”
However, Percy doesn’t care to let Apollo finish, squirming and shooting out his free arm towards his father. They lock eyes. Sea green stares into dark ocean blues. Percy cries out as Posideon takes a halting step forward.
“Dad, please!”
Instantly scaled arms are across the room and between him and Apollo, prying them apart until Percy is solely in his arms. Percy can’t help the sigh of relief he feels as Apollo loses his grip on him. Poseidon’s eyes glow dangerously at the two sulking gods in front of him.
A protective hand reaches out and tucks a curl of black hair behind Percy’s ears. Percy leans over and rests his head in the crook of his neck. He's finally safe.
The other two wouldn't dare to smite him now when he's in the arms of the god of the ocean.
Poseidon’s voice is calm and soft.
“What is your name?” He asks gently.
Percy blinks. “Perseus, but everyone calls me Percy.”
The god of the sea’s smile is sharp and full of fanged teeth, “Destroyer.” He speaks the name as if he’s testing it. “Yes, it fits you nicely.”
“Uncle, we were only trying to–”
“Silence!” Poseidon shouts. Immediately, Apollo and Ares kneel down in front of him, their heads bowed. They share a look.
Percy pretends he doesn’t hear the grumbled voice Are’s whispers to Apollo, “This is your fault.” There’s a grunt and the sound of an elbow being jabbed into someone’s ribs.
“Idiots,” Poseidon sneers, hefting Percy so his knees are hooked over his bicep and he’s sitting on one arm. He looks at him softly. “You’ll have to forgive me, I don’t quite remember conceiving you.”
“That’s okay,” Percy answers. He flutters his eyes down low and tries not to look smug at the shocked look the other two are giving him. “You’re here now.”
Poseidon gives a trill that Percy immediately gives back. The sea god’s eyes widen, and he looks at Percy like his future father would eventually. As if he held all the stars in his hands.
It's that moment that Percy can feel something between them shift, a bond snapping into place.
Percy makes himself a reminder to thank Triton when he gets back. His older brother had drilled him on all merfolk vocalizations. “Just in case,” He had said.
“My son,” Poseidon whispers, no, claims. If it were modern day Percy has no doubt a trident would be hovering over his head right about now.
A part of Percy is relieved. He had been worried that his father wouldn’t claim him, that being from an unknown mother would cause there to be a rift. Another part though worries. He’s in Posideon’s arms now. Safer than many other demigods ever would be. But, he’s still in Ancient Greece.
(He still has no clue how he’s going to get home.)
“Where are you from?” Poseidon asks, lowering Percy gently to the floor. He stands as his father tugs at his clothing with a scrunched up nose. “And why are you wearing rags? Has no one properly outfitted you for your status?” He glares at the two kneeling gods at the last line. Neither make a sound.
“I’m from lands to the west. These are my sleeping clothes,” Percy explains with a sigh. “I fell asleep in my bed and woke up on the shores of the beach a few hours ago.”
Poseidon makes a sound of noncommittal hum, as if that were a normal occurrence that could happen to anyone.
Apollo finally raises his head, looking between the two of them curiously. “It’s a sign by the fates Uncle.”
There’s another rattling noise. “Did I give you permission to speak?”
Apollo immediately ducks his head back down.
“However, I do think you’re right.” Poseidon says. “Though I loathe to admit it.”
A kernel of anxiety forms in Percy’s chest. “But, father–”
“No, call me the other word you used.”
Everyone stilled. Are’s jaw drops.
Percy tilts his head. “Dad?”
“That’s the one,” Poseidon smiles, shark teeth gleaming. Eyes look fondly at him. “None of my other children take such an informal tone with me. I think that I might like it. We’ll see.”
Then his father sighs, placing his hands on Percy's shoulders. “ Perseus,” Poseidon pauses. “ Percy. Your arrival has been noticed by the council by the time you stepped up to the gates.” Percy does not like where this is going. Ares and Apollo have the audacity to look hopeful. “It’s not often that the fates have sent not one– but two demigods to war.”
“Two demigods?” Apollo asks. “There was another one? Were they sent to the Greek encampment?”
Poseidon nods, for once not scolding Apollo for speaking. “A daughter of Athena.”
Oh, no, this is what it must be like to have a heart attack. Percy’s heart rabbits inside of his chest. Underlying the overencompassing fear though is a sliver of hope.
She had been sleeping right next to him. Had he accidentally dragged her here? Is she in trouble?
(He doesn’t have to do this alone?)
“Annabeth’s here?” Percy breathes.
Poseidon’s eyes widen and then narrow just as quickly. The unspoken question lingers in the air between them; I didn’t say her name.
Well, shit.
“Athena, our lovely sister of war, has a child?” Apollo looks disgusted.
“How can this be?” Ares asks, standing. “She broke her vow?”
“She did not. I’ll explain that at a later date,” Poseidon says, not looking away from Percy. “How do you know of the child of Athena?”
Percy decides to politely ignore the accusatory tone in Posideon’s voice. “We’re friends. We grew up together.”
Apollo pauses, and like before when they were alone, his pupil’s dilate. He tilts his head, clicking with his tongue, and rises elegantly from his knees. His smile is predatory. And though Ares and Posideon look confused at his sudden glee, Percy has a gut feeling he knows exactly what Apollo is about to say.
“You said you had a girl you were courting earlier.”
Percy closes his eyes.
When he opens them Posideon is looking at him appalled.
“No–” Disbelief fills the word, just a tad short from being horrified. “Perseus, tell me he's wrong.”
But that would be a lie. And Apollo would be able to see through it instantly.
“We're friends,” Percy stresses. The sun god beside him snickers.
“Is that what we are calling it in present times?” Apollo asks with a laugh. “Then I have a couple of friends of my own in this camp.”
Percy frowns at the implications, “That's disgusting.”
“Careful there little demigod,” Apollo frowns, eyes flashing a molten gold.
Posideon cuts him off, shooting Apollo a glare before looking back at his son. “How could this have happened? How did we let such a thing occur?”
For a second, Percy forgets that this is the height of the Posideon’s and Athena’s rivalry. There had been the contest in Athens– multiple fights– there’s no way that Poseidon is on good terms with Athena. And that distrust would naturally extend to her daughter as well.
Apollo’s eyes gleam as he strides up to the two, leaning close to Posideon. An image flashes in Percy’s mind of a little raven, whispering in his father’s ear. “They grew up together, he said. Do you think Athena arranged this?”
Abyss eyes flash a toxic seafoam blue.
“That’s not–” But Poseidon isn’t listening to Percy. The seed of an idea is being planted in his head. The young demigod can see the thoughts churning in his mind. He's not quite in their ploy yet, but he is thinking about it.
Ares takes a step forward as well, his lips pulling into their own smile.
“It would have been a cunning plan. To ensnare your help by having your children growing close.” Ares murmurs as if he were talking to himself. Then he shakes his head. “Would you have denied him to go to Greece if he asked to be close to a friend?”
The rain pours even harder outside. Poseidon reaches up and rubs a hand along his jaw, but Apollo isn’t done.
“They’re courting each other. What if this is just one more Helen in this game?”
“That’s not it!” Percy argues. “We met before we even knew who my father was.”
A strangled sound comes mockingly from Apollo’s mouth. “You poor thing. She had you in her clutches for that long?”
Poseidon’s eyes widen and look over to him with nothing short of pity.
“Annabeth isn’t manipulative. She wouldn't involve me in any of her mother's plans without telling me.” Percy snaps. “We’re friends regardless of our parents, not because of them.”
“Oh, I am sure,” Apollo lets out a saccharine croon. “I am positive that you two had no intention of being pieces to her game. I can tell that you’re telling the truth. But, just because you two are not aware of her plans, does not mean they are not there.”
“Annabeth would have known, she would have– She is one of the smartest people you’ll ever know.” Percy says.
“So, she’s a strategist.” Are’s smile turns a bit sharper. “And you know the way she thinks.”
Percy inwardly curses. If Ares hadn’t wanted him on their side, he definitely did now. Knowing how an enemy strategist thinks? That's the kind of insight that could make or break a war.
“That's besides the point.”
“Is it?” Ares raises an eyebrow, eyes still hungrily gleaming at him.
( Swords clash in midair followed by the scent of iron.)
(Oh, our little warrior–)
Posideon looks between them and raises a hand, “Enough! I’ve heard all that I needed to hear.”
“But Dad–”
“No, son. Forgive me Perseus, but you are forbidden from seeing her until we know for sure of her intentions.”
“I'll run away!” Percy threatens, cringing at how much he sounds like a child. “You can't hold me here!”
Posideon's nostrils flare. “You dare to defy your fathers orders?”
Behind him Apollo and Ares blanche. The sun god shakes his head at Percy, while Ares grits his teeth.
He makes the executive decision to ignore them both.
“I dare!” Percy fumes. “The sea doesn’t like to be restrained, father.” He crosses his arms.
Apollo's face falls and he silently mouths, ‘ You are insane.’
“The child does not mean his words Uncle,” Ares says just short of a plea.
“No, I do!”
“Shhhhhhhhhh,” Apollo walks beside him and places a finger to his own lips, signalling silence. “You're tired. It's been a long day and you've woken up in a strange new place.”
At his words, Poseidon's shoulders slump from their tense position. He takes on a slightly worried expression.
“Like this is the first time–” Apollo cuts him off by slinging an arm around his shoulder.
“He's very tired,” The god of the sun and medicine says. “And iron deficient–” He stops and drops his facade to genuinely look at Percy. “--And he has malnutrition. Wait, child, when was the last time you ate?”
Percy has to think about his answer. Tarturus didn't have food. And it hadn't been that long since they climbed out of the pit. His stomach is still adjusting to a normal eating schedule, according to Will, at least.
He shrugs.
Posideon gapes. “If he stays here, will you help him heal?”
Apollo nods. Before Percy can protest, Apollo places a single finger on his forehead. His eyes shift from blue into a glowing molten gold. “Get some rest Perseus.We three have much to discuss.”
A warm sensation washes over him and the world starts to fade to black. Before he passes out completely, the feeling of two familiar arms catch him before he hits the floor, and he has one last remaining thought.
‘ Hold on just a little more Wise Girl– I’ll be there as fast as I can.’